August 2003

Martin

I DIDN’T HAVE MUCH TIME to get ready, so I returned to Victoria Falls to tell Tecla and Phanuel the great news and get all my vaccinations.

From there I went to Mutare to say good-bye to my family. I wanted to tell them about the scholarship in person. I also had to say good-bye. I had a feeling it would be a long time before I saw them again.

I waited until my father and Nation came home that evening. We were all sitting around the fire, eating together. George was now seven, no longer a baby but a grown boy. Lois was twelve, the same age Caitlin was when she started writing me. She had maintained the number one position in her class since grade one without once slipping. Anne still sent my mother money to keep everyone in school, which meant Lois, too, would go to college if she wanted to.

I was thinking of her when I stood up to make the announcement.

“Mai, Baba, I have news,” I started. “I will be leaving in a few weeks to study in America.”

I saw a smile grow across my mother’s face—but it quickly turned to a frown when my father leaped from his seat and started to run around shouting, “Martin is going to the United States! He did it!”

My mother started hissing, “Keep quiet! This is no time to brag.”

Some things would never change.

My father was so happy for me, and this news, but my mother was superstitious. “You don’t brag about things ever,” she scolded my father when he finally calmed down again. “We cannot jinx this.”

Then she turned to me and said quietly and composed, “We’re very happy for you, Martin. You have made your poor parents so proud.”

Her eyes shone in the firelight, happy tears.

I was scheduled to take the train back the very next day. Before I left, I took my mother aside. Anne had sent one hundred US dollars to the Victoria Falls Western Union with a note that said for travel expenses. I priced the least-expensive round trip train ticket to Mutare and kept a small amount of money for food during the two-day journey, and gave the rest to my mother.

“This is for you, Mother, from my American mother,” I said, placing ninety-six US dollars in her hands.

“You keep this, son,” she said.

“No, Mai,” I said, wrapping her hand around the cash. “Once I get to America, I will send more. But until I get there, I need to know you’re going to be okay.”

My mother looked me in the eyes and said, “Martin, we are fine—because of you. Now go!”

I hugged her, and then my father placed both of his hands on my shoulders and said, “I am so proud of you, son. So, so proud.”

I said good-bye to Nation and Simba, both grown men by then. It was hardest to say good-bye to Lois this time.

“I will miss you, brother,” Lois said as she hugged me good-bye.

“Keep your grades up and you will soon come after me,” I said.

I returned to Vic Falls the first week in August, to wait for the plane tickets to arrive. Each day felt an eternity. By August 11, the tickets had still not arrived.

I knew Caitlin and her mom had sent them, but that didn’t help. The waiting kept me awake at night, and fed the wildest dreams whenever I did drift off. In one, I was lying on a dirt floor in a hut similar to the one I shared with Frank in Chigodora. It was pouring rain—the water sounded like pounding hooves on the thatched roof, which I was convinced would collapse at any moment. Suddenly, water started seeping in from the sides and rising up from the floor. When it reached my face, I startled awake, drenched with sweat.

I looked around and was relieved that I was not in Chigodora, or even Chisamba Singles, but still in the guest room at Wallace’s house. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the lost ticket was a sign that this was not meant to be.

That morning, at breakfast, Tecla informed me a prophet was coming to see me.

In Zimbabwe, prophets are like witch doctors. They can foretell the future. My mother made my father see one many years ago, before I was born, when he was misbehaving. That meeting, she claimed, cured him of his womanizing. I didn’t entirely believe in their powers, but they are hugely popular in my country. People turned to witch doctors more often than regular doctors, and many friends and family members claimed that it worked. I was so desperate at this point, I was willing to put aside my skepticism and try anything.

The prophet arrived dressed in a robe. His silver hair was clumped into dreadlocks, steel wool snakes slithering down his back.

We sat in the living room, and I told him my troubles. He grabbed my hands and started to chant with his eyes closed. When he started speaking gibberish, I was so terrified that I closed my eyes as well.

His entire body started shaking violently as he kept chanting. I cracked open my eyes and saw that his were open, too, but rolling in the back of his head. He started moaning, and sounded like an animal in heat. The shaking grew more intense until finally he let go of my hands with such ferocity that I fell backward. When I regained my composure, the prophet was sitting quietly, with his hands folded in his lap.

“Your aunt doesn’t want you to go,” he said. “She has a bone to chew with your mother, so she’s placed a hex on you.”

I had never met my aunt, but I know she stayed behind in the rural area and was worse off than my mother was. I thought of the topless women I saw in Chigodora, and of Enough, the young girl who walked seven kilometers to get to school. I thought of all the people in Zimbabwe who were struggling, who deserved the chance I was being given.

“What can I do?” I asked.

“Let us pray,” the prophet said.

I grabbed his hands and closed my eyes and I made a litany of silent promises. If those tickets came, if I was allowed on that plane, if I actually made it to the United States to study, I’d never forget those who couldn’t go with me. I would always remember Enough. And my mother. When I opened my eyes, I saw the prophet staring at me.

“That’s all you can do,” he said.

Afterward, I was so exhausted that I went upstairs and fell asleep. It was the middle of the day, but I was so tired that I slept straight through dinner and until the following morning. It was a sound, restful sleep, the first in a very long time.