Short story - Burying the hatchet
by AUBREY CHIRWA - Saturday, November 15, 2008 - 11:19:26

The day started like any other day. I was very busy in my office, attending to customers. As I was about to go out for lunch I received this other visitor. His face was familiar. Even though he was very old now, I could still remember him. He was an energetic young man the last time I used to deal with him. But now he was old. His face had some wrinkles. His shiny black hair was now grey. He was no longer an upright man. His name was Mr Matabwa. He was actually my uncle.

I wondered what had really made my uncle swallow his pride and come back to me to apologise. Here was a man who nearly ruined my future. A man who made my path of life a difficult one to travel on. A man who brought psychological torture to me. A man I would hate to see the whole of my life. Here he was apologising.

A train of thoughts violently rode my mind back to the time I was a small boy in the village. The only child for my parents. I was staying with my mother only. I have never seen my father since I was born. He went to Salisbury to work in the coal mines. In those days these were the hottest jobs men were doing in order to earn for a living. Since he went, there was no any communication. There were no phones by then.

Stories were told that he had married a white woman in that country. Others said that he had died of a landslide that had occurred in those mines. But all in all he has not returned up to date.

My mother was left alone taking care of me. I had grown up knowing my mother as a kind person. She was so loving, caring and generous. She was a source of my happiness. She meant everything to me. She was a pillar of my life.

The first time I came across Matabwa was when my mother was ill. She was admitted to the hospital. He was always there for her. He really played a role of both brother and father to her. He showed all his love to her until the final day of her stay here on earth. She called for both of us for her final word. “My dear son and brother, you gave me love and care I needed. For this I say thank you,” she started speaking while groaning in pain. “Matabwa, as you already know that the rest of our relatives have already been swallowed by the jaws of this earth, please take good care of my only son. And you my son be an industrious student. Commit yourself to your studies. And above all commit everything you do to God. You will be guided by him.”

All this time tears were meandering down my cheeks. I could feel the pain she was going through she as she speaking,

“I know that you toiled for me because you wished I had lived longer but God has chosen otherwise” She could not continue. She started jerking spasmodically. Her barely audible words marked the end of a journey on a bumpy road. She closed her eyes. Everything in her became still. Coldness asserted itself where body warmth had previously prevailed.

It was nice staying with my uncle a few months after the demise of my mother. Soon after that, it was hell on earth. He had changed completely. I had thought that he was an angel but in fact he was a devil. He was so harsh. He lacked understanding. He didn't know what it means to be an orphan. He didn't know how an orphan feels to be ill-treated by someone when he or she was living happily with his or her parents. He enjoyed me working even in odd hours. The work I was doing was at par with my age. I worked like a slave. Some human rights activists would have called it child abuse or child labour. Worst still he told me to stop schooling in order to take care of his cattle. This was a decision I dreaded most. Grazing cattle was a tiresome job. I could go to the field in the morning and come back in the evening. This meant that I could have a meal in the morning and evening only.

By that time he was considered one of the big shots in our village because of the large flock of cattle he had. But I couldn’t see any logic of having a lot of cattle and yet the house we were putting up at was a thatched one.

I had stayed away from school for two solid years. This was the most painful moment to me because the pieces of advice from my mother were still flesh in my mind. So I had decided to run away from him. “But then where will I go for he is the only relative I have?” I had asked myself. What I wanted most was going back to school.

So I run away to town where I was employed as a house boy. I had narrated the whole story of mine to them. I told them that what I wanted most was going back to school. These people understood my situation. They sympathised with me. They employed me on the basis that I should go back to school. They enrolled me at a nearby primary school. So I was both an employee and a pupil. Unfortunately, they were not paying me. I didn’t care much with that because I had found what I wanted most. I worked so hard that I passed with flying colours. I was selected to a reputable boarding school. I cried bitterly when I learnt that I would not go to a boarding school which I was selected to. My employers said that they would not manage to pay for my tuition fee at this boarding school. But instead I would go to a nearby community day secondary school.

I was going to school in the afternoon after doing the house chores. My salary was used as tuition fee. I studied so hard and above all I never stopped praying.
“What God has planned nobody can destroy it no matter how powerful or influential he may be,” I had spoken to myself after I learnt of my selection to Mahara University, the prestigious University in the country.

Having my background in mind, I worked very hard. After my studies at this college, I secured a well paying job since I had passed with flying colours.

“Please Vitima, forgive and forget,” these words of my uncle brought me to the present. I stared at him passionately. Tears were trickling down my cheeks.

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