River, a Flash Piece
We had just
finished the meeting with the headmaster, who called for schedule flexibility as
rains raged. Moyo suggested we require students to prove their absence or
tardiness was rain-related. A local teacher from Ngorima village said, “Just ask
them to show lightning bruises.” The meeting ended amidst light laughter as we
filed to the assembly point.
Outside, we were greeted by chaos. Three students ran towards us, screaming and pointing in the direction of Mozambique. They were calling the river near the school a thief. The headmaster shook his head and said, “Trouble.”
“We told her, but she didn’t listen!” said one student. “We told Tambu!”
“Calm down, ” said the headmaster.
“The evil one slapped her on a rock and swept her away.”
“What evil one?” the Math teacher asked.
“The river! We ran along the banks, and we ran!” The student’s statement looped into a scream, and the others joined. “Tambuuuuuuuu!”
“Which Tambu is this?” I asked Andrew, my Form 3 student. I knew three students named Tambudzai.
“Tambu Gau,” Andrew said.
Not Tambu Gau, my best student. Not my Tambu, please.
A female teacher shot me a glance and said, “Does it matter which Tambu?”
“Let’s do something now-now!” shouted the headmaster, breaking into a jog towards the river. The crowd of teachers and students followed him, plowing through fresh mud, skipping over puddles, skidding, falling. I didn’t run, but I walked fast, catching up with a prefect.
“So it’s truly Tambu Gau?”
“T.G., sir,” he said.
“What happened exactly?”
“No words can describe the river’s hunger, sir.” His shoulders slumped. “I’m not qualified, sir.”
I took off running, to catch up with the headmaster, to pass him even, to strangle that river. Dizziness seized me and the red earth came rushing towards my face.
Outside, we were greeted by chaos. Three students ran towards us, screaming and pointing in the direction of Mozambique. They were calling the river near the school a thief. The headmaster shook his head and said, “Trouble.”
“We told her, but she didn’t listen!” said one student. “We told Tambu!”
“Calm down, ” said the headmaster.
“The evil one slapped her on a rock and swept her away.”
“What evil one?” the Math teacher asked.
“The river! We ran along the banks, and we ran!” The student’s statement looped into a scream, and the others joined. “Tambuuuuuuuu!”
“Which Tambu is this?” I asked Andrew, my Form 3 student. I knew three students named Tambudzai.
“Tambu Gau,” Andrew said.
Not Tambu Gau, my best student. Not my Tambu, please.
A female teacher shot me a glance and said, “Does it matter which Tambu?”
“Let’s do something now-now!” shouted the headmaster, breaking into a jog towards the river. The crowd of teachers and students followed him, plowing through fresh mud, skipping over puddles, skidding, falling. I didn’t run, but I walked fast, catching up with a prefect.
“So it’s truly Tambu Gau?”
“T.G., sir,” he said.
“What happened exactly?”
“No words can describe the river’s hunger, sir.” His shoulders slumped. “I’m not qualified, sir.”
I took off running, to catch up with the headmaster, to pass him even, to strangle that river. Dizziness seized me and the red earth came rushing towards my face.
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