Customary Shambles

By Lilian Masitera

Customary Shambles is an exploration of the motives behind parenting. It is a tale of the cries of children caught in the jaws of a broken family, of overworked parents, single parents, authoritative parents and about unwanted children. The message is, pause before parenting.

Author interview

What makes your novel Customary Shambles so special?
Customary Shambles is different in that what was taken as the norm fails to fit into the usual pattern. The hunted animal turns around to face and dare the hunter! Children, unhappy with their lot, speak out or quietly live out their miserable lives thereby forcing the reader to rethink about haphazard parenting.

Customary Shambles is special. It addresses issues that are either whispered about or shelved altogether, issues such as parenting outside marriage. In such a case, the child might even be told to call its mum ‘sister’ so as not to reveal the single parentage. Issues such as preference for the boy child are also broached. Until a boy is born, the girls can pile up whether or not the couple can cope with the growing needs. No thought seem to go into the damage such cases can do to the ‘victim’ children.

Tell us more about your genre, way of writing and what led you to write Customary shambles?
The genre adopted in this book is prose in short story-telling. This kind of writing appeals to a great many young people whose concentration seems limited because of present day reliance on whatsapp and short message formats. The bulk of the stories are written in the first person as this facilitates identification with narrator, who in most cases is the protagonist.

Why should readers give your work a try?
I was compelled to write Customary Shambles when I witnessed a mum sending away her 14 year old daughter to marry the boy she walked with after school, home. That urged me to speak out, especially since this girl’s mum was a divorcee supporting 5 children. Generally, I know too many cases of traumatized kids who have no voice.
This book is suitable reading for students of psychology, sociology and literature and it offers entertainment for just about anybody.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BLUE DIAMOND PUBLISHERS
• Release date: Dec 12, 2019

Book preview

MHAZI

DISCLAIMER!

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names, they are not even distantly related to any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in any part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with BLUE DIAMOND PUBLISHERS and LILLIAN MASITERA. The text of this publication in any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording storage in any information retrieval system, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade, or otherwise be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without prior consent from the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than the one in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

® And ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and or its licensee.

CUSTOMARY SHAMBLES (ZIM) LTD

CUSTOMARY SHAMBLES® And ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and or its licensee.

© BLUE DIAMOND PUBLISHERS 2019

Cover designed by BD designs 2019

CHAPTER ONE

MULTIPLY AND FILL THE EARTH

Did the people of ancient times know the arithmetical meaning of ‘multiply’ when they handed down the wisdom multiply and replenish the earth? The most tragic interpretation was by my parents who dutifully unleashed 12 kids, my old man arguing that offspring were his security in later years while, for mama, we were cheap labour around the home. I, being the first born of this impressive flock was quite the little man by age 10. I would go to the municipality offices to pay our water bills and the rent. Most mornings I ferried bags of potatoes, baskets full of tomatoes and other vegetables to the musika where mama and other vendors spent their day. None of the ruffians in the neighbourhood messed with my brothers; I could stand up to the meanest bullies. By the time I turned 13 and was released to boarding school, I was dying to find out why our family was so big while my mates came from families of 5 and below. It was embarrassing to be one of 12.Plus, my chores were backbreaking.

The road to discovering answers was thorny and windy because grown-ups evaded questions on reproduction and changes in the human body. I later learned about baby-making from Biology classes. Next, I found out how to check if one is capable of fathering from myths peddled among my friends. The most common indicator was believed to be the trajectory of one’s urine; the bigger the arc, the more fertile one is. Alone, (and I’m sure every boy did) I toyed with myself to assess the potency of my semen by shedding it on to a piece of fabric which, it was said, dries stiff if the discharge is fruitful. Discovering myself this way was fun as was the thought that we were treading on ground that adults regarded as taboo.

1991. In a semi-dark cubicle I catch glimpses of the priest, a motionless silhouette in a black flowing robe with a purple and white stole round the neck, its ends hanging down to the arms which were folded in his lap. The man’s head is cocked towards the gauze in the wall separating us. A sensation of needles and pins pervades my knees despite the cushion underneath. My rehearsed citation scatters into a myriad pellets like spilt mercury while I try to focus on the dark figure in there. His calmness and composure sharply contrast with my trepidation and uncertainty. Just what sins does a priest hear from thirteen year old boys? I cannot even quite remember what a sin is according to the catechism. But, there is no going back now.

Bless me, father, for I have sinned, I whisper into the gauze with my heart in my mouth. I race through my sins to a very still, indifferent listener. Before I can recover my wits and breathe, the priest is mumbling the absolution for my iniquities ever so casually that I wonder whether or not he quite heard me. Self-abuse pardoned so lightly – or perhaps he did not hear me very well because I sandwiched the heinous sin between minor ones, like the thief who said he stole appl-orse’n-pears for apples, horse and pears! Is my soul in peril right at the brink of teenage? Nah! They say God sees all and it is He who forgives. Amen. I stumble back into the main body of church, ready to say my penance prayers and get on with my life. But the church will not let go so readily.

Today’s reading is taken from Genesis 20, verses 2-17, a long-limbed, enthusiastic trainee priest opens the day’s gospel in a brisk tone. I know my ten commandments backwards so my mind wanders beyond the congregation and Holy Mass until the senior priest takes to the pulpit to deliver the sermon. He is none other than my earlier acquaintance of the calm demeanour but now he is all wound up as he launches into a highly emotional sermon condemning those who succumb to sins pertaining to the flesh, notably adultery, fornication and self-indulgence. The entire sermon revolves around the sixth commandment because according to the preacher, ‘to break the sixth commandment is to invoke eternal damnation’. There is only one way for God-fearing, righteous men and women to have intimacy, only one institution, the holy matrimony.

The message is drilled into innocent, trusting, teenagers: holy matrimony or total abstinence. In subsequent sermons, the virtues of matrimony would be extolled through other readings and elaborated upon until it is no longer a question of believing in God but how much you have in common with fellow worshippers. If you refuse the word you become a misfit, an outcast. Marriage becomes the compulsory end for all self-respecting beings and the first duty within it is multiplying. WOE to anyone who does not procreate, like the fig tree which did not bear fruit!

2018. The biblical command resurfaces to persecute me. Multiply and replenish the earth. It already wreaked havoc on my attempts at married life and now I live alone. So, though I normally do not care for the pub, I can take what my father called poor man’s vacation, meaning a drink or two, and a dose of brash music. I drift towards the local club 800 metres down the road.

In the doorway of the pub I freeze, overpowered by the waft of stale beer, the din from the music machine and the smell of unwashed bodies. The clientele is a motley collection of young men in denims and kinky hair does; sportsmen with shirts designed to expose hairy chests and bulging biceps; the suit-clad types with clean shaved heads and professionally-trimmed beards and here or there a scantily dressed woman strutting her stuff. In the rowdy crowd of Friday evening revellers I spot a former schoolmate. Plump face and an easy smile, Fungai towers at one end of the crescent-shaped counter, chatting up a neighbour.

Ho there! He beckons me over and vacates his stool for me.

This is excellent timing, my man. How did you make this happen? He embraces me solidly and claps me on the back.

Let me spoil you silly! Evidently Fungai has already imbibed more than one. He talks like we are reuniting after a long weekend instead of decades since graduating from college.