I am not a Harare girl (at all!) - City of Kings (&Queens) baybay is the place I rep til I die, but I once (6 years ago) spent a good amount of time on a forced "vacation" in the capital of Zim, during that time I fell in love - with writing. First time I ever wrote anything for something other than school, first time I ever wrote just for my own fulfilment, so I like to read this short story about my Harare days, it ALWAYS puts a smile on my face, especially during nostalgic moments. These conversations happened - lol, names have been changed, but what hasn't changed is the fact that the friendships made were truly everlasting :-) + it's raw, rough, uncut & unedited - I blog what I like, don't say I didn't tell you.
A Writer is Born
Looking back at the first
day we met, it makes no sense to me how we came this far…
Sundays were my days,
to peruse the city looking for a quiet place to enjoy some peace and lose
myself in a novel. Then I met him, it
was a rather odd chance meeting which I think God creates randomly when He’s
taking a break from listening in on His worshippers below Him praising Him on
the Holy Day. So, on this chosen Sunday
God was looking in on the art gallery and decided to create a meeting, a kind of
meeting that resembled electromagnetism.
Yes, it was a kind of magnetic attraction, correction – magnetic meeting
because attraction only happened later.
The kind of magnetism that occurred in this meeting defied the laws of
Physics. Opposites attract but Likes
repel, yet what my scientific left brain always accepted as some kind of truth
would later choose me to believe otherwise.
So I stumbled upon
this art gallery, pleased to have found some kind of sanctuary for my Sunday
afternoon reading. My curious mind led
me all over the gallery, it cost me $20 000, but its funny how a small amount
of money can change one’s life drastically – not to say my life changed
drastically that day but my point is this; Scenario one – I may have had no
money on me at all, and not have had the opportunity to venture through the
gallery and meet him. Scenario two –
Maybe I would have left the gallery in pursuit of money and have bumped into
him in some other crazy circumstance.
Such scenarios are
besides the point, the point that exists is that I had the money to be able to
explore the gallery I stumbled upon and gain some kind of satisfactory pleasure
which would enlighten my otherwise dull Sunday.
An exhibition was
taking place and some of the art pieces were breathtaking. I always found it ironic how as a writer it
was so easy for me to express myself on paper whereas in spoken word I always
managed to turn the simplest things into something of such a complex manner no
one could really understand. This was
something that always bothered me, especially when people would look at me with
a stunned expression on their face and say to me
“I really don’t understand what you’re
saying.”
I guess this is what
plagued my confidence as a writer – I always did find myself a bit awkward and
weird – and the most straightforward procedures (in life, even) became
complicated when it came to me. I
believe this came from birth, even that was a complicated event that could have
happened simply like my one friend said to me;
“Why you Cherish? It always seems to happen to you,”
this statement came
after I asked him if he had even woken up suddenly from his slumber and the
sudden abrupt movement of lifting his
head off the pillow causing his neck to snap slightly but not fatally followed
by a huge rush of blood to the brain leaving you faint headed for at least half
an hour. This is something I thought
happened to many, obviously not.
I was finishing off my
tour of the upper level of the gallery when he said
“It’s a shame, you’re
too late – you missed the food,”
I was standing by a
chocolate cake, wrapped in cellophane – how I loved chocolate! I hadn’t eaten it in so long and was real
tempted to just put my finger in the middle of the icing.
“I could always just
take this cake with me can’t I?” I joked,
He laughed, he was
with his cousin Trawe, a name I would only discover later on, the same as his,
he was Ekim,
“Seen anything you
like?” asked Trawe
I have never exactly
been the world’s greatest art appreciator, I actually felt nervous as if I was
being put on the spot; at least they didn’t know me, the real me, a scientist
trespassing in on artists’ turf.
“I’m not really into
art appreciation,” I replied, “and I’m a scientist, I’m not an artist,”
They both laughed
“I’m an artist, well
really I’m a writer,” Ekim said
“And I’m a painter,”
Trawe chipped in
“Actually that’s one
of my pieces over there”
He pointed to an
amateur painting obviously created by a ten year old.
“Impressive,” I said
dryly, my obvious sarcasm apparent but humorous,
“It’s reminiscent of a
Picasso piece”
Ekim smiled,
“Wow, a lady who knows
Picasso,” he said
“Well Picasso, Monet,
Van Gogh and that’s about it, I only know three artists,” I said
“You can’t leave out
the Godfather of them all though,” Trawe said
“Rembrandt?” I quizzed
“Leonardo Da Vinci,”
they said in unison
“He was also a writer
and a philosopher,” Trawe added,
“I write,” I said with
such braveness I actually amazed myself.
Mathematics was my speciality and I knew I was magnificent at it, I had
superior confidence – I know it sounds crazy but being the daughter of a
mathematician it had to be in the genes as my father always said.
“You write!” Ekim
exclaimed, “what do you write?”
“I’m writing a novel”
I replied
“What’s your story
called? What’s it about?” Ekim asked
“It’s called Exodus,
its just about people leaving a place and all their lives are somewhat
connected,” I said.
“Hmmm, interesting, so
tell me the starting line of your story,” Ekim said
“I can’t remember, you
write? What do you write about?” I said to Ekim
“He has some of his
stuff on the PC, you can come check it out,” Trawe said.
We made our way to the
office, the designer’s studio in the gallery, it had a balcony which overlooked
much of J.Nyerere Way in the Sunshine City and an extended view of second
street leading to the Eastgate shopping centre.
From small talk I gathered that Trawe worked further out of town in his
art studio and Ekim spent most of his time in the gallery writing. Together they had their own plans, with big
aspirations of what they would do with their talent, they were close and really
valued each other in their lives this I observed and admired especially when I
learned the true nature of their relation.
They weren’t former lovers or anything, nothing scandalous but a
humorous story nonetheless about how they were related. I smiled inwardly, it was funny how the most
unlikely pairs of people ‘click’ as is well known and form a connection –
meeting in the unlikeliest places such as toilets, planes, trains, exhibitions
in art galleries? God had an interesting
mind and He made sure everything happened for a reason.
I was sitting in front
of Smoking Behinds. Literally speaking,
I was sitting in front of Smoking Behinds the consummation of Ekim’s mind and
paper. It was his story, a sick story,
at least that’s what I thought, upon hearing its title I asked
“It isn’t anything
anal is it?”
They both
laughed. If only they knew I had the
greatest fear of anything anal, I felt so much compassion for the straight
innocent men sent to the roughest prisons to do time for their petty crimes, I
never quite understood how homosexuals did it and enjoyed it. Anus equalled output and not input. The simplest way my straight forward brain
could put it. Yes, the a-word really made
me cringe, so when Smoking Behinds stared at me from the computer screen I was
a bit afraid to read it.
Ekim took hold of the
mouse and began to read an excerpt. The
story of Smoking Behinds is a story of its own, one must read it to understand
what its about, it cannot be retold.
So we departed from
the gallery with Smoking Behinds on our minds.
Ekim recited two of his poetic creations, which fascinated me. It was refreshing to meet a person who was so
comfortable in their own skin to say exactly what was in their minds and share
it with others, things so intimate such as the passing of his mother which he
mentioned in a poem title referring to rubber contraceptives, a bit crazy, yes,
but very beautifully written and recited, I became even more inspired to
write. We walked and talked, Trawe, Ekim
and I, and we learnt about each other the kind of things people gather about
one another when they’re ‘getting to know each other.’ We said our goodbyes when I had reached the kombi
rank, there were no hugs – ‘maybe they’re just not affectionate people,’ I
thought to myself. We did exchange email
addresses though, never imagined communication could be so hard in the year
2007 but although it may have felt like we were stuck in a twilight zone,
non-physical communication being so hard to achieve would later prove itself to
be a blessing in disguise as meeting each other in person became the only
logical means to communicate. He only
asked my name before I boarded the kombi,
“Oh by the way what is
your name?” Ekim asked
“Cherish,” I repied
“I’m E…” he started to
say
“Ekim,” I finished for
him, Trawe had done the name introductions earlier whilst Ekim was otherwise
engaged.
Another amusing work
of God, is how people can ignite a type of fever in another human being causing
them to speak with passion and drive, really revealing the best in them in my
opinion; and the other person feels a sense of fulfilment purely based on the
fact that they somehow enlightened another person’s mind. Names are not necessary, aesthetics come
secondary if not tertiary or even not important at all – just a kind of fringe
benefit they are. A truly powerful
person is not one who is responsible for changing the world but the one who
triggers the mind of the person who could change the world.
This is what put me in
awe of Ekim, this humble contemporary writer, with a sick and twisted mind that
was perfectly normal really but displayed in an unorthodox and unconventional
way when he wrote. He would later say
“I’m full of filth,
and it all comes out when I write,” this statement would be followed by “As a
city we are all full of shit,” and where did the latter statement came
from? A discussion being had by me,
himself, Inanakam, Italash, Inanakam’s chemical engineering mother had told her
about how sometimes the city water would taste sweeter than usual. The sweeter tasting water was the one that
should be re-boiled and filtered. The
way water treatment worked in the city was that it was retraced from
sewage. The water would be extracted
from the sewage, treated and then came flowing through the taps of the H-town
masses sometimes with pieces of shit not fully removed from it –
literally. Hence Ekim’s profound
declaration that the city was a city of people full of shit.
I’m sure people who would
walk by and catch snippets of me and Ekim’s conversations must have thought we
had left sanity at birth. Ekim’s mother
funnily enough was actually a nurse in a psychiatric hospital; I once joked
“I’m sure your mother was bringing back small doses of madness into your home
on a daily basis;” from what he had told me of his mother she seemed very
eccentric and extremely interesting. One
conversation of madness between Ekim and I happened as we were walking in the city,
“Nobody seems to wear
bras in Zimbabwe anymore,” I said
“What?” he asked “I
never really noticed”
“Everyday I see
bra-less women and their bouncy breasts staring right at me,” I continued
“Do you reckon they’re
also not wearing panties?” he asked, “Cause there are some serious cases of ass
moving freely in jeans and skirts, tits crazy they just go up and down, one
cheek at a time,” he went on with hand gestures as well.
“I doubt it,” I said
“although my cousins seem to know when a girl is wearing a thong, through her
clothing they seem to be able to see it, I mean wow talk about x-ray vision.”
He laughed. We had many such discussions, not seeming to
care who was within earshot and what they would think about our conversations.
“I once wanked my
dog,” Ekim said
“What?” I spluttered,
we were sitting on the balcony outside the designer’s studio the one that
overlooked J.Nyerere Way and Sam Nujoma Street.
“Well my mom would
never let it out of the house so it was never going to have a shag, I was
really doing it a favour,” he explained.
“Wow, you’re not
serious” I said
“I did” he said
“Did it come?” I asked
“Eeeew, so it must have come in your hands?
What does dog come look like?”
I was on a roll, I had
too many questions that needed answering.
“I wore a glove of
course, I wasn’t going to wank it with my bare hands,” he said.
“So did it come?” I
asked again,
“No it didn’t come,”
he said
“Well you obviously
didn’t do a good job if it never orgasmed,” I said
“I did the dog a
favour, and he was really happy – he even licked my face to say thank you,”
Ekim went on.
We both laughed at the
absurdity of his revelation
“So have you ever
wanked one of your male friends?” I asked
Ekim looked at me as
if I had just told him he was about to be castrated.
“No!” he replied
vehemently
“It’s the same
principle really as wanking your dog, your friend hasn’t had a shag so you’re
helping him out,” I said
“No way! I’m not gay, he can wank himself why should I
have to?” Ekim exclaimed
“I never said you were
gay, what if your friend offered to wank you?” I said
“Under no
circumstances will I let another man touch my dick” Ekim said
I laughed.
“Not even a doctor?” I
asked
“Ok well, maybe a
doctor only if necessary and there are no females ones around to do the job” he
said
“But no to wanking
your friends and them wanking you, it wouldn’t mean you’re a homosexual, you
wanked an animal but that doesn’t mean you fuck animals” I said
“No, the thing is that
the dog couldn’t do it for himself that’s why I helped him out,” Ekim said
“Ok then say your
friend can’t do it for himself, he’s broken both his arms so it’s not possible,
would you do it then? You did it for the
dog because he couldn’t do it himself so how about your armless friend?” I
asked
“Ok, I fuck dogs,
happy?” Ekim said. We both laughed,
“I wanked the dog
because I’m a dog fucker,” he went on
“Whatever, how about a
blow job? You obviously can’t do THAT
for yourself unless you’ve got an abnormally long dick or abnormally long neck
so would you let a male friend go down on you?” I asked
He laughed again. These were the regulars of our crazy
conversations, anything went – it was an open floor we were both at liberty to
say anything we wanted without feeling any kind of judgement from the other
person.
“I would like to read
some of your writing,” he said
“Ok” I replied, and he
walked me on my way home.
“I read your stuff,”
he said, the week after the weekend I had given him an excerpt of my “book.”
“It was very brief, I
didn’t get the whole picture of the story.” He paused “I wish you could write
down all the weird and crazy things you say, just get it all out in writing
because you’re obviously thinking it, I’ve never met anyone like you with such
an awkward mind,” he said
“Gee thanks for the
compliment,” I said sarcastically.
I smiled inwardly, how
would he feel right now at this moment knowing I am writing down all the crazy
shit we both say?
We talked more about
each other, sharing stories about our families and our relationships with them,
talking with Trawe and random people walking past whilst we sat on the benches
outside.
“You really love your
parents,” he said. I was not sure if
this was an observation he made or a question he was asking.
“Of course I do, they
have come a long way and have done everything they can to make sure me and my
sisters have a future worth looking forward to,” I said.
“You would understand
if someone hated their parents though,” he said;
“True, there are some
evil folks out there in this world, but then again how evil could they be?” I
said.
He nodded his head and
our moment descended into silence.
Ekim and Cherish, from
a birds eye view it seemed very simple but beneath it all it was a whole lot
more complex.
Ekim was walking me
back to the kombi rank. It was a silent
walk, but it was a comfortable one I guess we both had a lot on our minds. He turned to me suddenly
“Cherish I really like
you, you know” he said
“Yessss, I like you
too, in a friendly manner” I shrugged back
“No, you don’t get it
I really really like you in a special way,” he said.
I had one foot in the
kombi that was about to disembark, I gave him a bewildered look, mixed with
confusion and astonishment that he had chosen this inconvenient moment to tell
me how he felt about me. I looked him in
the eye and he continued talking
“I also just wanted to
ask if it would be okay if maybe I could hold your hand sometime,”
I genuinely smiled,
“I’ll have to think
about it” was my response, as I got on the kombi, I turned back and gave him a
hug and a kiss on the cheek, I looked out the window as the kombi drove off, I
waved, a final goodbye, because that would be the last time Ekim would ever see
me.
