Cut Of The Assegai

Chapter 3

3

Even as tired as I was, I had some trouble catching sleep when we got back to Fairburn's; and I must have remained sleepless for upwards of two hours, wondering whether I would succeed at what I'd set myself to. Eventually, though, I did succumb to my exhaustion and slept for long such that when I regained my senses it was almost mid-morning.

I decided on a bath as soon I rose from my blankets—asked for hot water; and Fairburn's loyal and hard-working servants, like yesterday, boiled a potful for me. Fairburn's bath house was built of thatch, with no proper floor, save for an array of closely-laid flat stones which one could stand on to avoid the mud that the bath water created when it flowed into the soil. I stood on the slick stones, and breathed in reflectively. It was a little mouldy and dewy inside, but there was something homely and inviting about the dank smells that permeated. It gratified me a lot to imagine myself as preparing for a great and productive day of discussions.

Last night as I'd lain awake worrying about my mission, my thoughts, I must confess, did occasionally wander to those two outstanding girls I had met. Getting married and settling down was also one of my goals and those two young women had impressed me. My host was against the idea, though. 'It's not the women that you are here for, I hope,' he'd spoken. And I'd understood him, but even if his advice made sense at some level, especially considering that I was still new to this town and it would be wise to avoid getting entangled in the politics of romance, I still couldn't avoid thinking about the two: Nonto with her gleaming beads and jangling bangles; Banele with her light skin and stately gait. The risks of falling in love too soon stood clear, and one false move could destroy my mission, but what could I do? I was a man, and a man had needs...

A wire-line ran inside Fairburn's bathhouse, tied to two poles on opposite ends. I hung my worn pyjama shorts on the wire, before dipping into the bath-pail with my piece of soap. After finishing, I towelled off and slid the pyjamas back on. The struggle had again begun.

Today, rags of clouds covered the sky, strewn all over in disorderly fashion, but the sun currently was spotted on a clear patch; and its rays lit and warmed up my bare shoulders as I energetically walked back towards the hut Fairburn had temporarily allocated me. The task ahead waited, and excitement and anticipation filled me, but despite that I was going for an important appointment, I somehow didn't particularly feel the need to dress so formerly, and I put on a simple shirt and longs. A pair of jungle boots and a sun-hat then completed my outfit. By the time I got out of the hut, a hunger for something to eat had taken control of my stomach, but the one in my heart—for success, meaning, and fulfillment trumped everything.

Inside Fairburn's kitchen, a ramshackle breakfast of tea and sweet potatoes waited for me, laid on a small table; and as I sat to eat, I started fretting again about how things would go, whether I'd receive the same warm welcome as I got last night. The novelty of my arrival at the court could have worn off and the ndunas today may not be as accommodating.

"I don't have to take you back there again," announced Fairburn who was already seated at the table and munching away. His words startled me; I had not expected them. "You must find your way from now on. You are on your own," he added.

That hit me hard and for a second I felt abandoned, but when I replied him there was no tone of disappointment in my voice. "Mr. Fairburn," I said, warmly, "I appreciate all that you have already done for me. I'm sure I will be able to find my way."

"You will, John. I know you will."

I finished eating, then took the same road as yesterday. Of course I now knew the way; and nothing had changed: couldn't suddenly expect to find myself walking on a concrete-paved or cobblestoned pathway. The wagon road still snaked in an easterly direction, its dusty surface fringed by summer bush and grass, and my boots plodded on its sandy top. With my coming to Africa, I knew I had forsaken the dream of living in any one of the modern European capitals, with their synthetic upper-class neatness, lavish parks, tended gardens and designed walkways. This here was Bulawayo, not London or Paris, and I could never fool myself into expecting anything different from this rudimentary dirt-road I walked on.