Chapter 1

Muchato—Wedding

When Priscilla woke up the day of her parents’ wedding, she didn’t know that her life was about to change forever. There is a saying in Shona that would always remind her of that day. Rine manyanga hazviputirwe, that which has horns cannot be wrapped up. On that day the truth did come out, and it shook Priscilla’s life.

Why were they having a wedding anyway, she wondered. What was the use? They had been husband and wife for over thirty years, and, as far as Priscilla was concerned, it had not been a happy marriage.

Lately in Zimbabwe, the new trend had been to get married again, in church with the priest, the white dress and bridesmaids. To her thinking, her mother should’ve been running away instead of making new commitments to Oliver in front of people and God, too. Besides, her father had always upheld traditional values, shunning the western culture like a disease. This wedding seemed so against his nature.

What stood out for Priscilla from the wedding were the words she heard after the celebration was over. How can seven words change your life so easily? The words obliterated everything that happened before the wedding, hours spent cooking beef stew and grilled chicken. She completely forgot about the night she’d spent decorating the hall with red balloons and plastic flowers with her sisters and women from the neighborhood. She barely remembered the brick church that was packed with invited and uninvited guests, and the walk from the church to the school hall where the reception took place.

The wedding was over and her parents drove off in a flurry of goodbyes and drumbeats. The women sang and danced with joy. Priscilla didn’t join in. Oliver and Monica didn’t go home, but had booked a hotel for the night. Their bags were in the trunk of the car taking them to the Nyamayaro Hotel.

Priscilla felt a little joy trickle in her heart as she began to take off the tablecloths that had been donated by one of her mother’s friends. She would have to wash them before returning them the next day.

Her surprising joy gave her energy as she continued to work, though she had hardly slept the past two days. Priscilla walked over to her sister.

“For old people it wasn’t such a bad wedding,” Rutendo said, taking out a tube of lipstick and applying it to her full lips. Rutendo had left home as soon as she had a job. Priscilla recalled Oliver screaming and shouting for weeks after Rutendo left. She was the rebel of the Pasipano daughters, and was very proud of her reputation.

“I know. But we have so much work to do now,” Priscilla said, looking around the hall. There were many people helping to clear the food and sweep the mess on the floor, but more hands were needed. Yes, after months of planning, the wedding was now over and it had been more fun than Priscilla had expected.

“You do it, Priscilla. I’m leaving soon,” Rutendo said.

“Why are you leaving us to do everything?”

“I have a date,” Rutendo said and rushed off, not caring that the rest of her sisters had to help with the cleaning. Priscilla was about to call out when Vimbai walked over to her.

“Leave her,” Vimbai said. Priscilla was about to argue when she noticed a deep sadness in Vimbai’s eyes. Besides, it was hard to argue with Vimbai. She had a gentle way about her that made it hard to say even a cross word to her. She was the total opposite of Rutendo, so considerate and kind in her words and actions. Rutendo had always wanted to do her own thing and not follow any traditional protocol, especially the way women had to work at every event until their hands and feet hurt. Rutendo didn’t care what anybody said about her. She would not be that kind of woman.

“Didn’t Gilbert come?” Priscilla asked about her sister’s husband. Even saying his name left a very bitter taste in Priscilla’s mouth. She had witnessed too much of Gilbert’s poor treatment of Vimbai to feel kindly towards him. Even when Vimbai lost the first baby and then the second, Priscilla had always blamed it on his cruelty.

“No. He said he would come, but I think he was too busy at work…”

“Vimbai. I’m your sister. What’s going on with you two? Gilbert never visits us, and the few times I’ve seen him he has been very disrespectful to you.”

“That’s how marriage is,” Vimbai said meekly, picking up empty Coke bottles and putting them in the crates. Priscilla’s face twisted in disgust.

“Men are supposed to be that way?”

“Most men. They don’t know any better,” Vimbai said.

“Is that how your life has to be?”

“You’ll see when you get married.”

Priscilla shook her head. “If marriage is having a man cheat on you, beat you up and treat you like dirt, then it is not for me.”

“He’s nice sometimes,” Vimbai said half-heartedly, but there was sorrow in her voice. She started taking off the white tablecloths from the tables and folding them into neat squares.

“Let me take the cloths to the inner room, and then I’ll come and help pile up the chairs,” Priscilla said, walking away from Vimbai and thoughts of her husband. She walked towards a smaller room at the back of the hall with the pile of white tablecloths.

With the door closed tight, she had to put down the tablecloths before it. There were some distant relatives talking in the kitchen and she recognized some of them to be her father’s cousins. She listened with dismay as she heard Oliver’s half sister, Beauty’s voice.

“Did you see the way Rutendo was dancing?”

“She is a whore, that one. Living in the Avenues and dating a married man.”

Priscilla felt heat build up in her with her rage. How dare they? No matter how Rutendo lived her life, hearing her relatives call her names infuriated her.

“You know what they say. The son of a snake is a snake. Aunt Monica is not an angel herself.”

“I never thought he would have a wedding with her,” Beauty said.

“Ah. Sometimes I wonder about your brother. That woman put him through so much. And that Priscilla child is not even his, but Monica forced him to look after her as if she was. She never gave him the son he wanted and still…”

Priscilla stood frozen for a second, unbelieving, and then afraid someone would see her. She quickly opened the door and stumbled into another tiny room stacked with empty crates. She closed the door and let the words she had just heard sink in. Swiftly her anger was replaced by shock.

‘That Priscilla child is not even his.’ No! It couldn’t be.

Priscilla closed the door and leaned against it, her heart beating with the shock of the few simple words that could change everything, if true. Before she could even think or digest what she’d heard, she heard footsteps approaching the room. She quickly opened the door and met Vimbai, who was holding a crate of drinks.

“Oh, Pri. I was wondering where you’d gone. There are more tablecloths out there. Can you get them?”

“Oh. Sure,” she replied in creaky voice.

“Are you okay, Pri? You don’t look well.”

“Tired. You know last night we didn’t sleep while we were busy decorating the hall and then cooking the chicken by the fire. I think I’m now feeling the lack of sleep.” Priscilla lied with difficulty, but she did feel tired. The energy she had felt a few minutes ago was gone, replaced by cold dread and weariness.

She tried very hard to push what she’d heard out of her mind, but the words kept repeating over and over in her head. She couldn’t stop hearing them, and the more she thought about them the more she believed them. Those words explained everything.

That Priscilla child is not even his.