I was in a hurry. And there was a reason why I was in such a big hurry. It had nothing to do with the anvil-shaped cumulonimbus clouds, which were gathering in the azure expanse. I wanted to get home, get a bath, enjoy the modest home-cooked meal and relax.
There are some days you just want to be home with family. It was one of the days.
At some stage in life, you will suddenly realise that what mattered to you 15 or 20 years ago, no longer takes centre stage. You will get to know that there is more to life, much more. That is why it is folly to compare the caveman of ancient times with modern man. You may be amazed that the caveman had it better.
You might not know of it, but there is a key to life, which we must unlock to come to this stage.
Many will perish without a clue to this life. I haven’t caught on it myself, but I think some are nearly there or there already, something above Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, giving life a deeper meaning.
Just as I was passing by Zororo Bar, I bumped into Baba VaTata and Fatso. Fatso was still wearing the black Chinos I had last seen him wearing five days ago. I don’t know how he managed it without feeling some discomfort. Some residue of dirt covered parts of the trousers. Maybe if he was married, his personal hygiene would have improved.
“We are coming from your home, we were looking for you, let’s have one or two beers,” offered Baba VaTata.
I could not resist the offer even though deep down I felt a sense of guilt. It dawned on me that I had not yet reached that stage in life where I stuck to my guns. I told my conscience that I would only have one or two beers and go home. After all, these were my friends.
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The moment I entered Zororo Bar with the others, I noticed thick cigarette smoke billowing in the air before it disappeared in the ceiling. The music blasting from the speakers that were mounted on the walls depicted another type of life. Several people, beer bottles in hand were dancing on the floor and swinging their hips with the beat of the music.
I saw our neighbour, Baba Svinurai dancing with a strange woman, taller than him. He looked happier than when at home. The tall woman was overdressed and was wearing fake gold bracelets on her wrists.
Our eyes met and I saw the sudden panic in his eyes. I was not going to tell his wife. He tried to detach himself from the tall woman, but it was too late and anyway the strange woman would not let him go. He was in a dilemma and in the end, helplessly he awarded me a sheepish grin that seemed to say: “I am a fool, but this stays here”.
Whatever he was doing, it was none of my business. He needed not fear. I was not going to complicate his life as he had already done so himself.
There were people already occupying our usual table and it took some time to find another table. And just as I was sitting down, Comrade My Mission came to join us.
It was not that I did not like him, but he attracted resentment. A war veteran of the liberation struggle, all his stories of the war glorified him. Everything was about himself. Too narcissist. I had a problem with the type.
I always wondered why he was suffering like all of us.
“Did I ever tell you how I downed a Reims-Cessna FTB 337 G “Lynx”, a versatile light aircraft used for surveillance and light precision ground attacks by the Rhodesian Air Force. It was in early 1979 when the war was at its fiercest and the tide of war was swinging favourably to our side, that my shot hit the pilot clean in the cockpit,” he said.
Baba VaTata enjoyed these war stories more than anyone else and he ordered beer for him. He could spin a yarn. This time Comrade My Mission left us speechless, but that is a story for another day.
Onie Ndoro X@Onie90396982
