New Read
StoryTime has published Masimba Musodza's story, "Yesterday's Dog", a kind of story I love, linking the Zimbabwean present to the 70's and the years that led to independence. I believe the decade of the 70's has possibilities that Zimbabwean writers have to tap into in order to foster an understanding of the present. Go to StoryTime and enjoy Musodza's story.
Excerpt:
It had been a long drive, and Stanley was beginning to doze off. Harare was less than 20 kilometres away on the Mutare Road. The radio was not working, and he had exhausted the four tracks that made up the only CD, why did Zimbabwean record companies sell these as albums? And the air-conditioning wasn't working, leaving him at the mercy-or the lack-of the October heat. He would have gladly stopped somewhere, but the need to get to Chitungwiza was urgent. Already, the sky to the west was tinged with mauve.
Stanley had shut his mind from the outside scenery. So, when the man appeared on the road, he seemed to have materialised from another dimension of his consciousness, an apparition from a half-remembered and not very comforting dream. Stanley recognised him at once, and this is why he slammed on the brakes pedal. The tyres seemed to scream forever as the car slowed to a halt.
In the rear-view mirror, Stanley saw the man trot with a pathetic, hobbling gait after the stationary vehicle, one stretched arm flapping wildly. He heard the door open. There was a waft of body odour, sweat, tobacco and something else Stanley could not put his finger on. Read More...
Excerpt:
It had been a long drive, and Stanley was beginning to doze off. Harare was less than 20 kilometres away on the Mutare Road. The radio was not working, and he had exhausted the four tracks that made up the only CD, why did Zimbabwean record companies sell these as albums? And the air-conditioning wasn't working, leaving him at the mercy-or the lack-of the October heat. He would have gladly stopped somewhere, but the need to get to Chitungwiza was urgent. Already, the sky to the west was tinged with mauve.
Stanley had shut his mind from the outside scenery. So, when the man appeared on the road, he seemed to have materialised from another dimension of his consciousness, an apparition from a half-remembered and not very comforting dream. Stanley recognised him at once, and this is why he slammed on the brakes pedal. The tyres seemed to scream forever as the car slowed to a halt.
In the rear-view mirror, Stanley saw the man trot with a pathetic, hobbling gait after the stationary vehicle, one stretched arm flapping wildly. He heard the door open. There was a waft of body odour, sweat, tobacco and something else Stanley could not put his finger on. Read More...
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