THE QUEST_PART I

Nothing had prepared me for the cold wind that slapped my bare cheeks as soon as my foot touched the white marble. It was pitch dark outside. The howling wind slammed the door shut behind me and my faith faltered briefly - why was I letting my ego go out of hand?

With half-closed eyes, arms hugging my boney frame, I looked up the sky. It was dark and tiny stars were scattered on it, sparkling from a distance, a distance I could never fathom. I gathered my courage and slowly pushed my way forward against the wind's wild rage. I had to reach the train station.

As soon as I reached the sidewalk, I took one look at the house that had been home for the past twelve years. Twelve years which had begun when I was a young bride, Bryce's bride. Bryce was not rich, neither was he poor. With a school bursar's salary, he managed to make us live a comfortable life. I loved him, even now inspite of the concrete wall he had erected between us. A wall so thick and high that I no longer knew how his heart functioned. We had dated for three years before our nuptials and he had become everything to me. We were true soulmates.

I did not have much in life. My parents had passed away leaving me, an only child, with nothing but our vegetable stall in the market place. I was sixteen when Mother died and eighteen when Father followed. With no known relatives to look after me, I was left to the wolves. The market stall and a few kind friends, was all I had inherited from my parents. Fate was all I looked 76 up to besides them. And this fate had led me to Bryce.

He was an orphan too, but luckily for him, his parents had lived long enough to fund his college education. They passed away as soon as he started working. It was a tragic bus accident. His relatives did not need to do much for him. He was man enough to face the world. He married me. There was no blood relative to claim the bride price, so I just went to him like a sheep to the slaughter.

Bryce was naturally quiet, he didn't say much except that which was necessary. I was equally an introvert. We were comfortable with each other's silence and we had some kind of telepathy at certain times. I saw our union as a union of lonely souls. As the time went by, we couldn't keep quiet about our failure to conceive. No words were spoken at first, but we both knew something was not right. I became more and more agitated with each menstrual period, and he became more and more impatient.

The atmosphere became too tense for comfort. I began looking outside for answers. I had heard of faith healers but they somehow frightened me. I literally shuddered at the thought of someone poking around my soul. I felt fear deep down inside my tumultuous mind, a fear of doing things without Bryce's knowledge, but I had to do it. Maybe this was a test of my bravery. Surely, a day had to come when I had to make my own decisions.I needed to brace myself. I visited Madzibaba Despajier and what he told me shook the very core of my mind. My dead parents' spirits were not happy with how I had gone to Bryce without a bride price. A blood relative was needed for further consultations. But who would I go to? At that moment, I felt cheated by my parents' dead souls. My father had come together with my mother from Zambia. Before settling in Zambia he had left his homeland, Tanzania in search of greener pastures. He met Mother in Zambia and together they trekked further down into Zimbabwe. I had never heard them talk of any relatives.It was a dead end for me.

More time lapsed and Bryce began to change. First, it was the distinct smell of beer that accompanied him home each weekend. He had been a teetotaler all along so this was a shocker. But I kept my peace. Soon enough the beer smell gave way to strange perfumes and night outs. My spirits became heavier. I asked no questions and he offered no explanations. Then one day he dropped the bomb.

He spend his Friday night out as usual, but this time he came back in brighter spirits.There was no smell of beer. I felt uneasy, what was he hiding? I soon found out. My answer came that Sunday afternoon. It came in the form of Sally and her newborn baby, Bryce Jnr.

He may had reasons to look for a greener garden, but it didn't have to be Sally from three streets away. Sally, who had taken over my market stall when I got married. Sally, my mothers' friend's daughter. So many pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. Sally had closed the market stall about seven months ago and her mother had explained that she had eloped. Indeed, she had eloped for she was now staying with Bryce's niece just outside town.

His explanation was surprisingly cold. He showed no emotion as he introduced me to his "second wife and son." I didn't react visibly, I was too stunned. Sally and her son now occupied the spare bedroom. They were "part of the family."

Thus began my journey towards freedom. I had to go back to the beginning. Reclaiming my market stall wasn't difficult. I needed a place for undisturbed solitude. In the house I made myself as absent as possible, at the market my wings came out. My social skills grew a bar. I needed people to search for people. My conversations were long, but witty. I threw in relevant questions here and there. I had to be patient, the elderly do not dish out other people's personal information, except for MaMpofu of course.

I put her age at around seventy or so. Her face was a vicious terrain of scars, wrinkles and the heaviest, thickest, whitest eyebrows I had come across. Her eyes were two small dark pools which darted around all the time, one would mistake her for a sly pickpocketer. Her mouth was small, round and slightly bend downwards at the corners. I didn't like her but I had to talk to her.

Her stall was much further into the market. I bravely approached her. It was worth the effort. She was so willing to talk, too willing I thought. Just mentioning my father's name sent the craziest stories flowing from her tiny mouth like a rivulet. Most of the information was surprising but irrelevant, until she mentioned my "brother." Cleverly, I extracted the information about his whereabouts, his age and his mother. I got some leads.

My mind was a strange pool of trepidation and sadness as I made my way back home that evening. I had to find Nodumo, my brother, the train operator. His train passed through our town each Friday from Zambia and each Monday on its way back. Tomorrow night he was returning to Zambia and the train was to pass through the train station a few minutes to midnight. I had to be there at all costs. My soul had been uneasy for long enough. I needed answers.

By Catherine "Woman of Valor"

catherinengazimbi48@gmail.com +263775534429