Our honeymoon. Nothing special, just a modern hut in a complex at Victoria Falls, where every morning we rose to the lilac rays of light falling across the red polished floor as the sun filtered through the Jacaranda trees. It was paradise: the beginning of our new life. We were staying at the cottage for a week, enjoying each others company before returning home to Salisbury where I would be packing up my possessions to move into our new home in Northern Rhodesia. The ten-hour drive to the breath taking sight had prevented me from ever seeing the falls previous to my honeymoon; it was our wedding present from my parents. The peacocks wandered towards us, their confidence hardly surprising when we had the braai going; I had already collected at least half a dozen of their glamorous feathers that were left stranded around the cottages from the local party. I wasn’t too fond of the gudos though, they had a tendency to surround me whilst I surrendered, forced to call on Jeremy, my clumsy knight, to rescue me. Our second meal as husband and wife was a traditional meal of steaming sadza with stew and marrow bones the size of a toddler’s fist, served with a bottle of chilled white wine. It was a pleasant week, but as the end loomed nearer I began to get flutters about the upcoming months’ trials…
James worked in the mines in Northern Rhodesia in Chingola, at the Nchanga Mines Open Pit and we would be starting our new life together in that area. At the young age of twenty-two I was well accustomed to the sheltered lifestyle of a fairly affluent family in a community I had lived my whole life. Next week, however, I would be migrating to an area entirely unknown to me. James reassured me that the women there were welcoming, describing our enticing new home. But the daunting event of moving still made me falter; would I cope in my new role? Packing up our belongings from the cottage, the houseboy loaded our bags into the car. His young eyes well accustomed to the arrival and departure of newly weds, brandishing bags heavier than most of his meagre possessions added together. Warmly smiling I awarded the child with a tip, his eyes glowing with gratitude, tatenda chikwashuro.
*
Dressed up in my navy linen suit, James and I drove to Chingola and our new life together. The six-hundred miles lead us to a foreign area, an isolated community of expats from all over. As we crossed the border into the country that was later to become known as Zambia, we pulled up along the road where James captured my youth as I stood in both Southern and North Rhodesia. The next time I would pass through the border the countries would be know as Rhodesia and Zambia. Passing through the town that was then known as Broken Hill, I wondered about my new home, with my new responsibilities as a wife. Idly, my mind questioned my ability to provide and make James pleased. Of course, I wasn’t going to suffer myself to merit his happiness but I would try at least. As we neared our new life the trees became denser, the road bumpier as we left the Great North Road. Parts of the ground slithered menacingly, thin waves hissing dangerously. I was a relatively outdoorsy person but those vindictive legless beasts could make me collapse just crossing my line of sight. Ian, my elder brother, frequently teased me and once tortured me with a dead one. He cut the lights, carelessly flung the limp body into my box room and shot a blank bullet outside my door. The echo created the illusion that I had been shot sending me into a fainting spell. Awakening I saw the long cadaver hanging over the bed, inches away from my exposed face. Screaming, my heart momentarily stopping, I passed out. Ian was severely punished for his devilish act, since then I panic at the simple thought of the deadly hiss and venomous fangs.
As the sun transcended the equator allowing the moon to fill the sky we drove into our new life. The electric lights flickered, declaring the community a modern imitation of the city life from which I had come. We had passed through some primitive towns on our way up where the few lights were run by generators. At least Nchanga was a modern mine, not the archaic village that I feared. My exhaustion level high, my energy seemingly siphoned by the car, I stumbled into my new home blind to its beauty and promise. Tomorrow I would explore, introduce, unpack, and set up my new residence….
*
Rising early to Jame’s soft snoring I began to acquaint myself with the house. As Mrs. Rowena Parker I was in charge of directing the servants-two maids, a cook, a gardener, and a houseboy- and handing out tasks. It was the lady of the house’s responsibility to manage the house, a role I was unaccustomed to. Isolated in the bush, with only the community to socialise with I was anxious of introducing myself badly. Stepping into the spacious kitchen, its floor icy on my naked feet I squinted into the half lit room, curious about the black puddle on the floor. A selous mongoose skittered out the room, its presence unnerving. Flicking the switch, I bathed the room in light, screaming as the puddle transformed into the deadliest African Snake, the rovambira. Thankfully the mongoose had killed the creature; otherwise I would have been instantly paralysed by the fifteen foot assassin, whose single bite would have killed me in a matter of hours. Welcome to the bush, home to even more murderers than the African city of my childhood.
As I adapted to my new surroundings and attended socials at the local hall I began to familiarise myself with marriage life. We had Scrabble nights at each others’ houses, shared stories of bad experiences with servants and riots and formed a bond to our neighbours who were experts at our new roles in society. Limited media coverage sheltered us from the riots and grenade attacks in major cities in Sothern Rhodesia, hiding us from the two legged killers. I learnt to control the household with the grace of years of experience, hosting small parties and discovering full independence. Being married to a mine worker provided me with opportunities to learn of cultures from distant countries, the chance to discover the simple joy of being one’s own person in a new world.
Married life was different to childhood and adolescence; it demanded stamina and perseverance as husband and wife learn to negotiate lifestyles. James and I passed its audition, surviving the civil wars of our country; the changes of government, saw Southern and Northern Rhodesia change their names as they divorced. We remained united, watching our faces age as we weakened. It was on our sixtieth anniversary that the bush overpowered civilisation and destroyed our seemingly eternal bond. James surprised me with a pair of diamond earrings whilst we were on our daily walk. Catching the moonlight they shimmered, lighting up my face. It was my fault, everyone always says that afterwards but in my case it was true. Brushing my silver hair behind my ear I knocked one earring from my ear-I hadn’t put the hoop in fully. The delicate gem jumped to the ground in murderous descend. Sneaking into a large pile of decaying leaves, the diamond twinkled teasingly.
“My earring, I’m sorry Jeremy.”
“It’s okay. Let me get it, it’s just leaves-“
His knees creaking he knelt over the bundle, smiling his contagious smile he pulled faces at the slime and faces drawing laughter from my frail lips. Giggling I playfully nudged his foot accidentally knocking him into the pile. He laughed, eyes lighting up. A black blur touched his arm knocking James to his back as the murderer indifferently slithered away.
*
That day James passed away, the venom had instantly paralysed him and within twelve hours killed him. Last week I went to the complex where we spent our honeymoon and said my last farewell to him as I sprinkled his ashes over the falls. His death was a turning point in my life, rather than flee from the legless beasts I had taken to standing boldly in their path determined to overcome my fear. James would have been proud.
Meanings
Chikwashur--miss Rovambira--black mamba
Braa--barbeque Sadza--a meal made out of maize
Gudos--baboons Tatenda--thank-you
© Heather R Ellis
November 2009