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Zag's first pair of shoes was a hand-me-down gift from his older brother, Mukalo. Zag liked his shoes. They were black with laces and still had the same sturdy rubber sole that they had when they belonged to Mukalo. They felt comfortable when he wore them, and this was only allowed on special occasions like weddings, funerals, or if they were going somewhere important - where there would be other people. Like the temple or Mukalo’s school.
His 15-year-old brother Mukalo was in boarding school. He was responsible for using up most of the family’s resources to pay for his tuition and a seemingly endless list of requests for school materials. Once, Zag overheard his parents debating whether or not Mukalo’s request for a radio was something the school actually wanted or something Mukalo had made up.
Zag already knew the answer.
As a young boy, he had discovered that he could figure out what his mother was thinking even if she didn’t say anything. He knew when she was feeling happy, when she was worried about her husband’s constant traveling, and when she needed to hide away some extra money to secretly give to Mukalo - who Zag knew by now was her favorite child.
Zag discovered this ability by accident on a sunny day in June. Mother was in the yard making sheema (yam porridge) while he played with the water dripping from the standpipe. That drip was always there even though every so often Father - when he was around - would tie it with a fresh piece of thick rubber band made from cutting strips out of old tire tubes. Father had not been around for a while so the water was dripping more and more until there was an almost constant stream that flowed from the standpipe towards the part of the yard where Mother was making food.
That tap is dripping so much! Why does he never come back? Zag heard his mother say? Where does he go? He leaves me with this good-for-nothing child and thinks that just leaving me little scraps of money each time is enough. I’m tired. I’m tired of being his trophy wife to be paraded around every 6 months to prove to his friends that he is a man. I’m tired of being a single parent to his child. Other men provide helpers to their wives - not him. He struts around like he is the savior of the world. Only I know what a weakling he is. He cannot save anything, that waste of space!
I wish I knew this when he proposed marriage to my parents. His smile was so enchanting that I fell for him and lost my senses for three whole years. I couldn’t see him for who he was - a good for nothing, no-hoper. I’m tired and I’m leaving. Tomorrow.
Zag looked up from his water play station over to his mother. She continued her acerbic lamentations, which were getting more and more intense.
But her mouth was not moving.
She had a focused look on her face. With increasing frequency, she would furrow her eyebrows to coincide with a particularly strongly-worded thought or expletive about her soon-to-be ex-husband.
Her hands were delicate and strong. They were adorned with red, green, yellow and white plastic bangles that made percussive music as she worked. She was shelling peanuts with the speed and dexterity of someone who had done it for years. She had her favorite headdress on - a faded red chitenge cloth - the one with the black dots. It wound around her hair in a loose but sophisticated way that made her look younger than she was. It hid her greying hairs and made her sunken eyes shine even when she was sad. The matching chitenge wrap around her waist showed that she was a woman who cared about what she looked like even on a day when she wasn’t going anywhere. Besides visitors could show up any time, unannounced. Her good-for-nothing husband could return any time. She half sat, half squatted on one of the low stools, made from local acacia wood, that the merchants sold at the market in town. The stools were popular with the other mothers because they allowed them to sit for a long time without feeling any back pain. Having one of these stools showed that you had some money to spare, at least occasionally, which was all you really needed to show. Underneath the stool was a six-foot square wicker mat that every household had to have to keep the dust from getting into the makeshift food prep area and from making their clothes too dirty too quickly.
It was very clear that her mouth was not moving because she was biting down on a piece of sisal string from the bag that had the yam flour in it. Also, there were no grown-ups around for her to talk to. And this sounded like grown-up talk.
Don’t worry Mama, Zag said. I’ll fix the tap. He addressed what he understood to be her biggest concern and then started looking around on the ground for some stray rubber bands. He didn’t know that you couldn’t know people’s thoughts if they didn’t say them so he did not stop long enough to realize that at that moment his mother stopped what she was doing, stood up, put her hands on her hips, and started following his every movement with her intense eyes, wondering what else he knew.
She now knew almost for sure what she’d only suspected before. Her five-year-old son could hear her thoughts.
After a few minutes of watching him look for rubber bands, she walked into the house and came back out holding Zag’s shoes. The same shoes that were hand-me-downs from his brother Mukalo.
Let’s go. She said. We’re going to see Mukalo.
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Credits: Artwork by Theresa Le