You’re Nobody ‘til Somebody Loves You

I stared at the effervescent brown liquid swimming in the red Kango cup that the Sangoma had forcibly placed in my hand and gulped in preparation for what was to come. At first sight of it, I’d thought it was coke, only to be thoroughly disappointed and slightly bewildered to discover a taste that was nothing like the Coca-Cola I grew up crying for. In fact, it didn’t taste like something anyone should ingest. “One last sip,” he’d said, one last sip of this bitter liquid that will scorch my taste buds, and my true love will finally find me, grace will locate me and I will finally flourish. My mother will finally stop trying to get me to attend the single women’s crusade and all night prayers where I’d be chanting the slogan “Ndicharoorwa chete”, at the top of my lungs in front of the congregation. They’d probably make me wear a white dress and a veil like a young bride in the hopes that my Boaz would finally make himself known to me “by fire, by force” as the zealous preacher viciously declared in her hoarse voice, as if she was being tormented. My family will finally get off my back about being single, and I can start a family and earn the respect of my male colleagues at work. Success.

Reluctantly, I lifted the cold cup and directed it towards my lips, barely parting them before taking the tiniest of all sips. This earned me a sharp smack on my free arm as Sangoma was clearly growing impatient. “Ouch!”

“Imi ambhuya imi, muri kuda murume here kana kuti kwete? ZvechiSalala imbosiyai pasi, inwai nekuchimbidza musati matsamwisa mashavi angu!” He barked sternly and kissed his teeth reproachfully, his long, grey beard jumping in response. I immediately found the strength to take a huge gulp and swallow, and within seconds the cup lay empty between the Sangoma and I, next to the dry chicken bones he’d cast to try and determine which one of my relatives had cast a spell on me to never marry. All that remained was the bitter taste of the muti he’d mixed up for me, and I couldn’t wait to pop a peppermint chewing gum in my mouth to rid my poor tongue of the horrible taste.

“Right,” he began, deliberately taking a long pause for effect, “within two weeks, you shall meet a man on the road.” A mouse, followed by a lizard, ran across the room into an invisible spot in one corner of the dimly lit, musty room. I don’t know how I did not scream, perhaps because I could already imagine what his reaction would be; my arm could not take another smack. “He will be walking in the same direction as you, wearing trousers and a shirt. You can’t miss him.” Oh, great! Of course that helpfully narrows it down to just about every man in Harare! Trousers and shirt, really?! I tried my best not to roll my eyes nor interrupt him; my neighbour had warned me never to interrupt a Sangoma when he’s giving instructions. Ok then, Sangoma. Humour me.

“He will greet you, and you must greet him back. Don’t ignore him.” He added. In my head I kept thinking, must I greet every single man wearing trousers and a shirt walking in the same direction as I, who greets me? Also, will I meet him in town or will I meet him in my neighbourhood? What day of the week am I going to meet him so I can place myself in the best position to receive this blessing from the ancestors?

“Take this,” he said, jutting a suspicious looking brown root in my direction, “you must chew on this every morning. It will make your breath stink, so do it very early so that it wears off during the course of the day. Don’t brush your teeth after chewing, only brush your teeth before, otherwise the effects of this muti will wear off. Mazvinzwa?”

“Yes, Sangoma”. I meekly replied. I couldn’t understand how having bad breathe would help me attract a man. Surely it would do the opposite? But, I desperately hoped this would work; I needed it to work. Being single at thirty-three was not something I’d envisioned for myself when I was younger. I even dated and went through some very promising relationships with some down-to-earth men, but it never resulted in a long term relationship. Not even a suggestion of eloping, nothing. Themba, my ex-boyfriend who’d moved to South Africa a year before we broke up, turned out to be gay. After spending three years in a relationship, I don’t know how I could have missed the signs. It’s like the universe was playing some sick joke on me, but I was tired now. I was tired of being the only single woman in the office, being treated like the plague whenever we had office parties and my female colleagues brought their spouses but made sure they’d only exchange pleasantries with me, nothing more. They feared I’d steal their husbands, according to Mbuya Zvisinei, our receptionist and the oldest (arguably wisest) employee in the company. The men felt like I was desperate, so they’d make passes at me at any given chance, and their logic was that I had no man to “defend my honour”. That night of the office Christmas party when Mr Mutoramombe groped my butt after a few glasses of Jameson on the rocks, I stormed off home and bumped into Sekai, my neighbour, whose shoulder I cried on. It was Sekai who directed me to Sangoma, swearing that her Uncle Nevermore was cured of herpes by the exact same Sangoma when doctors couldn’t help him. I should have known then that this would be futile, but like I said, I was desperate. And, well, desperate times call for desperate measures. I had to at least try.

And then there was my mother. To her, marriage is a glorious life achievement that transcends and overshadows any other accomplishments, including my PhD from the prestigious Harvard Business School which I managed to complete after pouring in blood, sweat and tears. Marriage is the ultimate life goal of any self-respecting woman, because it ensures security and dispels potential rumours about promiscuity, witchcraft and other supernatural factors such as “spiritual husbands”. In her eyes, who would want to remain single and become the family’s laughingstock and bring shame upon her parents?

I tried to leave the Sangoma’s one roomed cabin in Epworth as inconspicuously as possible, but despite the fact that dusk had brought a welcomed shadow for people with secret dealings and things to hide, like myself, as fate would have it, I bumped into Mai Chideya who was coming from Masowe. Mai Chideya was my father’s fifth-cousin or something along those lines, and she wasn’t the most discreet person I’d ever met. In fact, “discreet” is a word that wouldn’t remotely begin to describe her character.

“Ehhhhhh, ndiwe here Chipo muzukuru wangu wekwaMurehwa?! Heeeede! Nhasi ndazofara chaizvo mufunge! I’m so happy to see you, my dear. How are you?” She yelled from across the road as she jovially hopped towards me, arms stretched out ready to embrace me. My stupid car keys decided this was the perfect moment to jam, and my heart sank as the little lady etched closer and closer to me. She wrapped her sweaty little arms around my body and I shivered. With a fake smile on my face, I hugged her back and quickly moved back out of her unwanted embrace that smelt like kachasu. Masowe and kachasu? Weird.

“What are you doing in these parts of the world, Chipo? Don’t tell me you have a boyfriend in Epworth, the men in this neighbourhood are terrible! They cheat nonstop!” She said all this while flaying her hands all over the place as if demonstrating something. “Just yesterday, Jenny, Mai Jenny’s daughter, caught her husband in bed with their neighbour. Can you imagine? In this economy, in the tiny one room that they stay in down the road, next to Lavhu’s house? Iiii, Zvakaoma. I felt so sorry for her”. I loved how she went on and on about people that I didn’t even know, even specifying that Jenny was Jenny’s mother’s daughter, as if that would make me know who she was, and how she was so ready to spew gossip about other people’s business. I couldn’t help but chuckle, and I entertained her by reacting in shock as she’d expect.

“Haaaa, no way! Really? Ende futi! Inga zvakaoma,” I said, covering my mouth with one of my hands for effect, my other arm resting on my waist, then immediately regretted it because my hands weren’t particularly clean after all the herbs and surfaces I’d been touching just a few minutes before. Jenny’s plight provided the perfect excuse I needed to dash off, so I said to the animated lady, “Zvakaoma mufunge. Let me rush home ka before it gets too dark and some dodgy man tries to kidnap me!” I giggled and nearly threw up in my mouth because of how fake I was being. I might as well have said “kikikiki” out loud.

“Ok muzukuru, say hello to Baba and Mhamha, handiti ka? Mozouyawo kuzotiona asikana, the children really miss you,” she said as I clambered into my car. I’d never met her children in my entire life.

“Ehoi ambuya, see you later.” I waved as I started the ignition. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

*******

Farai rolled over and froze when he noticed the curvy lump lying in his bed next to him. A smirk spread over his face as a feeling of victory took over once he remembered where he was and whose body lay next to him. Another night, another body he felt he’d conquered. How many was it now? He’d lost count after Faffie, that curvy chick with a beautiful behind who was visiting from America. But that was years ago, long before he fell out with Deezer about yet another chick.

A moment later, he was mortified as he looked at the huge silver clock with his face as the face of the clock on the adjacent wall, to realise it was now 6:30AM. His mother had said she’d come and do his laundry and clean up at 7AM. Against the “African time” stereotype, Mrs Moyo was always on time! Panicking, Farai shook his Tinder date to wake her up. Still exhausted from the previous night’s escapades, she groaned and grumbled, but Farai was not giving in.

“You have to go. My mother is coming!” His deep voice was now slightly high pitched with panic.

“Nah, I definitely do not want to meet your mum yet. We’ve just met!” The girl said, suddenly awake and scrambling for her clothes. Her eyes were as wide open and crazy as she’d been last night. Farai watched her movements with fascination, her bare skin was still as smooth as he’d seen last night when he was drunk. She was still pretty in the morning, and her butt and breasts were still perky. He found it amusing that she was more concerned about not meeting his mother so soon, yet she’d found herself in his bed the very first day they met. But who was he to judge?

ThatLitDaije263 quickly left Farai’s apartment, but not without pausing for a goodbye kiss. Farai reluctantly obliged and slammed the door behind her before scanning the flat for any evidence of his mischief. Moments later, the intercom buzzed as his mother’s car pulled up outside. He grabbed the little blue remote control and let her in.

“I have a friend of mine from church with a beautiful, smart and really lovely daughter.” Mai Farai started as she picked up his laundry from all over the floor, and he groaned in frustration. Here we go again, he thought.

“I hear she’s single. You should meet her,” she continued after he’d ignored her, as she carefully folded his bedsheets over. His stomach twisted at the memory of what those sheets had seen and soaked in the night before.

“She was raised well, a very good Christian girl who would make a really good wife for you, mwanangu.” She fluffed the cushions on his couch so violently he thought they’d rip.

“You’re going to be 37 soon, I need some grandchildren before I die!” She said the last part in that whiny voice she puts on whenever she wants to guilt trip him about something. Perhaps she was right, it was about time.

********

Thirteen months later

SUNDAY 1 JUNE

The Sunday Mail

WEDDING ANNOUNCEMENTS:

“The Moyo family and the Takawira family would like to notify friends and family that Farai, the only son of Tamuka Changamire Moyo and Margaret Zvisinei Moyo and Chipo, the eldest daughter of Peter Haruperi Takawira and Eunice Tambudzai Takawira are to be joined in Holy Matrimony on Saturday 28 June in a private ceremony at Meikles Hotel, Harare. The reception will take place at the same venue.”