I passed through Zororo Bar on my way home from work. It was not a good day from the beginning. Sometimes things just go wrong whether you like it or not, and there is nothing you can do about it as you don’t have control. And so in the end you surrender everything to fate, hoping to ride the tide over. Everything that could go wrong, had gone wrong and I could not wait for the day to transit to another dimension.
There were not many people in the bar. The absence of Baba VaTata, Fatso and Rasta did not surprise me as it was midweek, but I had half expected to see them or one of them anyway. Their absence triggered a sense of loss and convinced me further that it was a bad day altogether. I went to sit down at our usual table, I met Bigboy and nodded in his direction. Bigboy was a very strange character. He was a tobacco merchant, or middleman. During the tobacco season, he bought tobacco direct from farmers, offering them miserable prices, especially from those who could not afford to sleep at tobacco auction floors, and wait for the processing of their produce, which oftentimes was quite frustrating and would take several days.
Middlemen like Bigboy had intrinsic networks in the auction floors and they received payments fast enough without any complications. The tobacco syndicates took care of their own first leaving the ordinary tobacco farmers out in the cold. He made huge profits and would pay his children’s school fees for the whole year and wait for the next tobacco season.
What was strange about him was that for the next five or six months, he would be bedridden and claim all sorts of afflictions. Those who knew him very well claimed that there was nothing wrong with him. He kept himself indoors and if anyone tried to see him, the response was always that he was sick. And for those who managed to get close to him, they complained of a bad odour. There was something wrong about all this. I did not pay heed to the rumours that he belonged to some cult. So on this day, I was quite surprised to see him, but I was quick enough to realise that the tobacco auction floors were about to open.
I did not stay long in the bar. It was already dark outside as I found my way home. Even as I arrived home, Mai VaMaidei rushed to meet me at the door. She was in distress. I had a premonition for disaster.
“I am just coming from the market and Maidei is not yet home,” she said. It was already after 7pm. I was alarmed. All my children knew that they had to be indoors before dark. I looked at Marwadzo, my son.
“Where is your sister?” I said.
“We came from school together, after our afternoon meal, she went to play with her friends,” said Marwadzo.
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“Do you know the friends she went to play with?” I asked hopefully.
Marwadzo shook his head from side to side.
The first thing we had to do was to check with her friends. I was worried because cases of the kidnapping of children had spiked in recent months. And to make matters worse, a girl child could be sexually abused. We went in different directions, and asked our neighbours and their children. She was not there. Some of our neighbours joined in the search. She had a friend who lived in Nzou Street. Again, I drew a blank, Maidei was not there. When I went back home, I found Mai VaMaidei in agitation. She could not sit still. Her search had been negative.
“Let’s go to Section C, her other friend, Rudo lives there,” said Mai VaMaidei.
It was our last hope, Rudo, one of her friends was home, but she admitted that she had last seen Maidei at school. This was not the time to lose hope. I kept thinking that she had a friend we did not know about. She was safe.
“Let’s go to the police, they know what to do,” I said. Mai VaMaidei started to pray in tongues as I held her hands. It was a bad day altogether right from the beginning. The story will continue next time.
*Onie Ndoro OnieX@90396982
