Night in a Drum A Short Story by Emmanuel Sigauke “What? Since
when am I your lady? We send you overseas and you come back
calling us ladies! Is it the spirit of the war?” “Mbuya, you
will make me lose it!” shouted Mukoma. “South Africa is not
overseas, and who gave you the idea that you sent me there?” Then I heard
the stamping of feet on the ground; then another male voice
said, “Jefi, I know you have a right to beat the boy,
wherever he is, but you are crossing the line here. You
can’t talk like that to Mai Ranga, who in many ways is your
aunt.” “Back off,
man!” shouted Mukoma. “Who are you
calling man? Me who is like a brother to your mother, me who
saw you growing up, me who helps your mother with her field
work? Man, that’s all you know to call me?” That was VaNgeya
speaking, the old man who always visited our home. There was
another sound signaling the arrival of someone. Mai Ranga
coughed. Then I heard a third male voice saying, “We know
you are a grown up man, the more reason you shouldn’t waste
your time chasing kids around.” Mukoma
growled, “Listen, Tukano, you have no right to meddle in my
business.” “Since when
do you have a business, and am I the middle man?” There was
laughter from—I think—the fire. Even Mai Ranga coughed out a
brief laugh. Then she said, “You men, there is beer to be
drunk, and money to exchange hands. Let’s get moving.” I
heard footsteps as they shuffled away. “You too Jefi,
give us that Joni money!” Silence, then “ Ah! Where do you
think you are going?” She did not receive an answer from
Mukoma, whose boots hit the ground hard. “Who are you to try
to sneak in an old woman’s private hut and think you can get
away with it?” “Because if
you are lying to me there will be war here. I want to search
on my own,” he said. “I don’t see
that happening!” “Just watch.”
Then the door was opened again, but someone tried to close
it, then it banged against the wall inside as it opened.
There was now some light in the drum. “Don’t get in
there, or you will have a naked old woman standing in front
of you.” “No, there
will be no naked woman…. Ah, hey what do you think you are
doing?” Mukoma’s voice had taken a worried, almost pleading
tone. “I told you,
didn’t I? How would you feel if I came and tried to force
my way into your tsapi?” Several
voices shouted from the fire, mostly inaudible things, but
the loudest one said, “Jefi, you are playing with fire now.” Mukoma
remained silent. I waited for Mai Ranga’s voice. It did not
come, but the man at the fire said, “Some things just let
go! The comrades get time to play, even when they know the
soldiers are nearby.” “Your point?”
said Mukoma. “You can’t
live like this, young man.” It had to be VaDzoro who said
this, because Mukoma did not respond. “And why are you so
angry? What did they do to you there in South Africa?” Still Mukoma
did not answer. No one spoke for a moment. The door was
closed. I heard the boots walking and fading away. Some more
silence, then a big sigh from Mai Ranga. “Mirosi, your
friend didn’t answer VaDzoro’s question. You saw how there
was a cloud on his face?” “It’s the
war. He should have joined the comrades. These young men who
remained just need do something, to go and fight,” said
VaDzoro. “But that
doesn’t make sense. He carves stools; helps his mother,”
said Mirosi. “It’s the
war, that what I say. Look at the evil filling up the
bellies of our daughters.” That was VaDzoro, and indeed, he
had a whole kraal of daughters. “But is that
what’s making him beat the poor boy everyday? This evil
spirit of yours, VaDzoro?”
“Maybe. Don’t they say Shami ran away with a
comrade?” “Shami what?” “Tukano,
don’t act like you don’t know about Shami,” said Mirosi. “So what does
that mean?” said Mai Ranga. “Ah, where
have you been, Mai Ranga? Aren’t you this village’s radio?” “But I don’t
know what Shami has to do with anything.” “Well, they
say she was already pregnant when she slept with that
comrade.” “So you are
saying–. Did she use to play with Jefi?” “Play? Ha!
Ha! Ha! You must mean play.” “Hezvo,
nhai vedu! This war is evil.” They went
silent like they were looking at the evil drifting across
the sky like a cloud. I shifted in the drum and brought my
ear close to one of the holes. “He refused
to marry her, so she found a comrade.” That was VaDzoro
again. “The comrade sent her to his village. Even comrades
are stupid too.” “That’s a
story,” said Mai Ranga. “But I don’t want him to continue
beating this orphan though.” “Like he
said, let him do his job of raising the boy.” “Since when
does mbanje raise a person?” “Mbanje? What
are you talking about now?” “Come on, you
saw his eyes.” “But
still–.” “Yeah, he
should leave the poor boy alone.” I sat in the
drum, tears streaming down my face. I was not thinking about
Mukoma anymore, I was not afraid even. I was thinking about
growing up one day to join the war and kill that comrade.
Shami had always been nice to me, taking me to the stores,
buying me sweets, sometimes cooking for me when she came to
visit Mukoma, back when he laughed a lot. I wasn’t
thinking anymore. I was just sitting in the drum, waiting. Then I heard
Mai Ranga say, “Let’s finish up. I have to go to the field
tomorrow.” “We thank you
our keeper,” said a man’s voice. Other voices
expressed gratitude in like manner, and then they faded away
in the distance. But one more male voice, VaDzoro’s, said,
“You don’t need company tonight?” “There is a
boy here. Don’t you have any sense?” “Will you let
the boy go?” “Sure. He’ll
go.” “So what’s
the problem?” “He’ll sleep
here. I want to punish the brother, crazy man. People who
don’t grow.” “Some of us
are grown.” “Find your
way home.” There was a pause, and then Mai Ranga added,
“Wives are waiting.” “Did you have
to go there?” “I just did.” Then,
coughing, VaDzoro left. I could hear the sounds of Mai
Ranga putting away things. But when they faded, I curled in
the barrel to settle into sleep. That’s when the wound on my
foot started to sting. Top of page | Page 5/5 | Fiction Index | 