CHAPTER FOUR

The birth and presence of Sekai's unusual baby was the source of many conversations in the village.

'Good news hops on one leg but bad news rans like a hare'. Some who discussed the matter were sympathetic.

"Oh isn't it sad? To have waited so long and got 'that'! Better she had remained childless..."

"Me? I would have sent it back to the ancestors immediately..."

"Ha! Maybe nothing is wrong with it. She might have had too much milk to drink during pregnancy...."

Orthers were malicious :

"Serves her right! She was too proud..."

Although she was barren she would not mix with the rest of us..."

"Wouldn't marry the man her parents chose for her. She thought she was too good...too pretty for him!"

"Oh that was your husband baba Zvidzai. Perhaps she liked him but did not wish to become junior wife to you mai Njedza."

But Sekai's Dadirai and Rumbidzai were the most malicious.

"Didn't I say I was afraid she would give birth to a monster?" asked Dadirai with wicked satisfaction.

"Yes you did! And how right you were! Perhaps you are also right about her giving our husband love potions. We will soon find out. She should be driven away - back to her people."

"Ha! Driven away? She is a witch! She and her monster masquerading as a child should be killed! She should not be allowed to trap another man." said Dadirai with all the force of her pent up hatred for Sekai. "Either way she should be out of our lives forever in a few days time!"

That afternoon, the second after the baby's birth, Pindai the second wife and Pedzisai their friend, went to visit Sekai. They went partly from friendship but mainly to satisfy their curiosity. On approaching the hut, they called and clapped their hands to announce their presence. They entered and sat in silence for a while. Inside the windowless hut with it's small fire, it took their eyes a brief moment to become accustomed to the dim light. Sekai was so happy to see her two friends that she began to cry.

"Makoroto! (congratulations!)" they both said, perhaps more cheerfully than they felt. In response, Sekai slowly removed the 'gudza' (fiber blanket) from the child feeding at her breast. She kept her eyes on her friends' faces trying to gauge their reactions to the baby's appearance. In the pale light of the hut the baby seemed startlingly white - like a grub against freshly turned back soil.

Their involuntary, sharp intake of breath betrayed the visitors 'shock at the sight of the infant.

"Mai we-e!" they exclaimed together as they craned their necks to get a closer look at the unusual baby. They did not know what to say to the mother, who sat like an ebon statue, one leg stretched out, the other drawn up under her buttocks, the baby cradled in her arms. For a long while the three women sat in the hut, silent like worshippers at the shrine.

Then, Pindai said in a sympathetic reproach, "Oh, my sister, you know the custom as well as we do. Why did you disobey and keep this child? Now it will be harder for you to send him back to the ancestors. Do you believe the elders will judge in your favour and allow you to keep him, Sekai?" asked Pindai, her voice full of sadness.

"I do not know, Pindai, I do not know. But neither do you know the shame of being called barren. You do not know the pain of living with a hope that dies a little with each moon which passes. I only know that now I feel whole and I will not give up my son, not to the elders, not to anyone!" Her full breasts jutted out in maternal defiance while unshed tears glistened but would not fall from her eyes. "What do the elders know of a woman's heart?" she asked of no one in particular.

The grim certainty of what would happen to the child before another sunset, wove an almost palpable air of gloom in the dimly lit hut. For some time, the three mothers sat in silence, thoughts of the baby, the only link of communication between them. Snapping out of her reverie, Pindai said softly:

"We go now, sister. Stay well."

"Go well, my sisters, go well," replied Sekai not looking up as the others walked quietly from the hut.

Just before nightfall, Ambuya Tukai brought a calabask of 'derere' (native soup made from okra) and 'sadza' (cooked cornmeal that is the staple food in Zimbabwe) to Sekai. The old woman looked at the sleeping baby and said softly:

"Tomorrow your Baba is coming to see you. May he receive you into his heart and not only into his eyes. I'm sure we're all like you under out black skins, eh Little warrior?" And, crooning softly to herself, Ambuya slipped silently from the hut.

That evening Makwati did not go to the 'dare' to chat and exchange views with the other men of the village. His heart was heavy with worry about the child and doubts of Sekai's faithfulness. And in any case, what could he say about a son who should be sent back to the ancestors, a wife who had defied tradition and probably had been unfaithful? His humiliation was too great. His fevered brain banished sleep while conflicting thoughts jostled one another in his mind. One thought stood firm and would not be removed : he had to see the child that night.