Chapter 9

Dana—Love

That first Saturday in her new place was a day of visitors for Priscilla. Her mother walked in with a serious expression followed by her sister, Rutendo, who was dressed in a tight black outfit and high heels.

“Mama,” she cried, embracing her mother. Her mother was almost in tears as she held her youngest daughter.

“My Pri,” she said, looking over her shoulder at the bare flat. Monica wore her church uniform, and Priscilla suspected that she had lied to her father that she was going to her church meeting with the women. It was a red belted jacket and black skirt with a white hat. A while back Priscilla had asked her mother why she always wore the outfit to church meetings, and Monica had explained that it was a uniform of sorts. Most traditional Zimbabwean churches had adapted the outfits for their female members, and they all seemed to embrace it.

“How are you, Ma?” Priscilla asked, looking at her face. She felt like she hadn’t seen her mother in a long time, even though it had been just a few days.

“I’m fine. I should be asking the same of you,” she said.

“Yes, Pri,” Rutendo added. “Mukai told me what happened.”

“I’m fine. I just need some of my things.”

“I only managed to take a few things,” Monica explained, taking out Priscilla’s handbag that contained her bankbook and money. She also pulled a dress, which looked wrinkled from the bag, a bra, panties, her toothbrush and her Bible from the paper bag she had brought with her. “Thank you, Ma.”

Priscilla looked at her sister, who stared at her with both sympathy and a knowing look. Priscilla could tell that Rutendo was trying to guess why Priscilla had left home. Rutendo was proud that she left home as soon as she got a job in a bank. She’d started out as a lowly clerk at the bank, but she’d taken advantage of advancement opportunities. Rutendo was now a manager in training. She had been determined not to stay home with her overbearing father.

Rutendo often complained that Oliver was just bitter that he had never had any sons, so she wasn’t going to stay home and take his stupid laws and insults. Of all his daughters, Rutendo was the most single-minded and difficult, at least according to Oliver. She answered back and refused submission. Priscilla had witnessed Oliver beating Rutendo with a belt, cutting all her hair off and banning her from talking to the rest of the family, but she remained as stubborn as a donkey.

Rutendo resembled Monica but lacked her quiet nature and reserve. Rutendo had her father’s fire. She was attractive in the voluptuous, unabashed way that many men found appealing. Rutendo could also dance shamelessly and make you laugh with her storytelling and straight talk.

“We can’t stay long,” Monica announced, still standing close to the door. There was really nowhere to sit. The women stood in a circle around the empty room.

“I understand. Next time you come I’ll have some food and drink,” Priscilla offered. She knew that being hospitable was very important to her mother. Whenever people visited, Monica went out of her way to buy drinks for them and prepare food even if the family had just finished eating. Priscilla had seen her mother begin cooking an elaborate meal at ten at night if guests should arrive that late. Priscilla felt awkward with nothing to give.

“I’ll bring you some stuff, little sis,” Rutendo said, putting another piece of chewing gum in her mouth. “Our father will regret treating us this way.”

Priscilla nodded. Rutendo had promised her many things in the past, but had never really delivered.

I will pay your fees for the computer course. I will buy you the books, don’t worry. I will come and see you this weekend.

“Don’t talk about your father that way,” Monica admonished her daughter. Rutendo pursed her lips tightly.

Monica and Rutendo left soon after that without really discussing what had happened. Later in the day, Mukai arrived with Unashe lugging a mattress, some chairs, cutlery and clothes. Mukai was in a hurry to go somewhere and had to leave with Unashe.

“I’ve got a soccer match, so I’ll see you later,” he said as they drove off.

Thanks to Mukai’s donations, her flat was beginning to take shape. She still had some time to go before it was a home. She did not have an iron, towels, dishes and many other things. She would receive her salary soon, and the first thing she would have to do is go for some major shopping. Priscilla liked the feeling of independence that being at her own place gave her. She felt liberated. There was no going back now.

After the hell of being at home, constantly fearing rejection and torment, this feeling of choice was exhilarating. Now she understood how her Aunt Mukai felt. She was her own woman. Not like her mother, or her two older sisters. Actually many of the women she knew were under the thumbs of men who did nothing to improve their lives, who gave nothing to them but heartache and misery. When she asked to attend college, she remembered Oliver’s disdainful tone as he admonished her.

“What do you think college will accomplish? Just waste my money anyway. You all get pregnant and run away. It will be a total waste of money. You just don’t want to work.”

The list went on and on, and her mother never defended her though she could see that Monica was upset. Monica was always trying to keep the home calm, though deep down she knew there was no peace at all. Deep down in all their hearts there was no harmony, a constant nagging snake kept the house in more turmoil than a country at war.

A knock on the door interrupted her troubling thoughts.

It was Unashe.

* * *

“How was soccer?” Priscilla asked him as she perched on the windowsill. It was warm there, and the sunshine streamed in like a seductive river. Unashe sat on one of her recently acquired chairs, dressed in his tracksuit and running shoes. As always, his dressing bordered more on the casual.

“Good. You must come watch some time. I actually scored two goals for you,” he boasted, giving her his lopsided, one-dimple grin.

“For me? How wonderful,” she replied, feigning pleasure. Priscilla marvelled that they always talked like that, teasing each other and making each other laugh.

But his next question took her by surprise.

“So how come you don’t have a boyfriend?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“What?” she asked, not sure she had heard the question properly.

“A boyfriend? Where’s he?”

Priscilla laughed briefly. He was looking around like there was a man hiding behind the walls.

“Boyfriends. What will they bring me? You know what it usually leads to, marriage.”

“So? You have to get married some time,” he said, challenging her.

“No, I don’t. I can look after myself, thank you.” Priscilla tossed her head in an almost childlike manner.

“I’m sure somebody has been interested in you,” Unashe persisted.

“I don’t have time to entertain such thoughts. I haven’t seen anybody that is happily married. Except the men who enjoy other extra ‘relationships’ on the side. I totally hate African marriages. Completely. They just don’t seem to have any love or romance in them.”

“Aren’t your sisters all married? Is it that bad?”

“Worse, Unashe. I’ve watched them for years, and they put me off marriage. Vimbai and Gilbert have been unhappily together for nearly twelve years. Vimbai is the sweetest person you could ever know, and Giri…Let’s just say he’s a monster in the making.”

“Why did she marry him?” Unashe asked, puzzled. He shifted on the uncomfortable chair and finally found comfort when he stretched his legs.

“She was young when she met him. Gilbert lied to Vimbai, saying that she wouldn’t get pregnant, and when she did, he had also been reluctant to marry her. Baba forced her to move in with him, basically just kicked her out one day.”

Priscilla could picture the day Vimbai had gotten in the car and driven away, her heart constricting with pain. “I was there the day she left. Vimbai never worked since her first son was born, followed by a daughter. Both children died of malaria when he sent her to live in the village with his mother. Now she has two kids. She raised the children, tried to make the small two-bedroom house comfortable, and was constantly saying he never came home, how he never paid the bills, how she had no money for food.

“Once after I had just started to work I had to pay for their electricity to be turned on when Gilbert disappeared for weeks and Vimbai didn’t know where he was. Only lately Vimbai started talking of taking a course, or doing something to bring money.”

“That’s tough. But not all men are like that, like this Gilbert,” Unashe argued, leaning towards her.

“That’s all I see. It just makes me so angry how her life is just wasting away.”

Her vehemence shook him. For a while, they were both quiet, digesting what she had just said.

“My other sister is the same. I don’t know her too well. She also married very young and moved away. Hope’s husband actually acts like he owns her and we are not that important. We are not very close.”

“That’s too bad. And Rutendo?”

“She’s okay. We are not too close, either, but we talk sometimes. She was here today with Ma.”

“So now you have sworn off marriage, huh?”

“I just don’t ever want to depend on anyone. Especially not a man.”

She had a point, Unashe thought. How many happily married people had he ever come across? His own mother had hinted at unhappiness with his father, though of course they didn’t discuss his father much. All he knew was that he was a soldier in the war of independence and when he came back, he was violent and chased his mother away when he was very young. Before Unashe could meet him again, he died in a bus accident. He was uncomfortable talking about it after how he treated his mother. The few married friends that he knew were always looking at other women while their wives were at home. To them, being married was like being chained. Surely, no man would feel like he was chained to Cilla. She was just incredible. He looked at her, the sunlight lying on her soft brown skin. Her lazy, dreamy eyes somehow told a woman’s secrets. In her eyes, there was something deep, innocent and seductive all at the same time. There was a certain secret promise that drew him in even as he tried to fight it. Everything about her was sweet and inviting. He realized that he had to stay away from her.

She was special in more ways than just her sensuality. And he had no right to her. Not that she wanted him. Not that he wanted to settle down either, with all the complications a relationship with her would bring him. He had plans. His big plans that did not include anyone but himself.

“I don’t want to get married, either. Not for many years to come,” he said, as he leaned back on the uncomfortable chair.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Like I said, I want to go overseas. I want to study, get a job, a good job, make money—lots of it—and build a big house, drive a brand new car and just be able to go any where in the world I want.”

“And when you have all that you will come and marry Chantel?” Priscilla asked.

He laughed. “What is it with you and Chantel?”

“Well, she was once the woman in your life, the only one I know about,” she reminded him.

“That was once upon a time,” he threw back.

They looked at each other for a while, and then Priscilla turned away from his gaze and looked out of the window.

“I can tell that we both have the same philosophies on life. That’s good,” Unashe said suddenly. She turned to him and smiled.

“Yep, we do. We have a lot to accomplish and don’t want relationships stopping us.”

“So when are we going to buy you a bed, and a radio and a TV?” he asked, and Priscilla laughed at the sudden change of subject. It made her relax, and she wanted to feel relaxed with Unashe and not be filled with butterflies as if she was riding a scary roller coaster. Lately, even as they laughed and talked, she could sense an undercurrent of something that seemed bigger than her plans for her life.