BY THE FIRESIDE- What Shall I do? By Dr.Vukani G. Nyirenda
Posted by Isaac Amo Kyereme | Posted in Culture, Education, Entertainment, Personal,
“What shall I do?”
Zyanga heard herself say. She was sitting on a tree stump in front of her mother’s hut. With her elbows resting on her knees, she balanced her head between her palms. She heard other children sing the children’s dance song, silayo, her heart pumped hard, and she felt lonely.
The village headman wanted a boy. But his wife bore him two girls in quick succession. Ten years passed. There was still no boy; no heir. When Zyanga came, it was a girl, AGAIN!
Zyanga was tall for her ten years, had a slander body perched on reed-thin legs, and darting big black eyes that rarely blinked as if they belonged to a guard on watch. These qualities she inherited from her father. From her mother she inherited the restlessness of a mother hen. From her mother, too, she took a shrill voice that kept her mouth so busy no fly landed on it.
But Zyanga was a favorite of neither parent. Her dad said: “she is Zyanga – a teaser,” because he didn’t get a boy.
“Zyanga is as disagreeable as her father,” said her mother, “stubborn, won’t take ‘no’ from me for an answer, and refuses to be sent on errands.” She did not treat Zyanga like her little one.
Zyanga’s sisters worried, “She’s too young to play with us. Plus she has a loose tongue.”
Children her age said, “she’s too showy, won’t play ‘baby’, ’coz she says she’s no baby. Let her play by herself!”
“What shall I do?” Zyanga mused.
Zyanga turned to children younger than her age. But whenever she showed up in their group, the children dispersed, mumbling, “Too old,” as they walked away from her.
Forlorn, Zyanga loitered in nearby bushes listening to “talking birds” or watching monkeys play among themselves up in trees.
“Even monkeys play, but I have no one to play with,” thought Zyanga.
“What shall I do?”
One day while wandering in the village, Zyanga saw two toddlers tagging each other; both holding for dear life onto a clay baby doll.
Nchane, “It’s mine!” said one.
Yayi, nchane, “No, its mine!” countered the other.
“Grandma made it for me…”
“My big sister found it on the trash heap…”
“You’ll break that doll,” said Zyanga. “Give it here.”
While still clinging to it, both toddlers handed the doll to Zyanga as if they were presenting her with a trophy. They glared at each other. Their bare chests heaved with baby furor.
Zyanga drew a line in the loose soil and placed the doll in the middle of that line. The two toddlers stood on each side, puffing, their eyes still fixed on each other.
“When I clap my hands, go for the doll. One who grabs it first owns the doll.”
But instead of catching the doll, the two toddlers glued to each other, rolled and tumbled on the loose soil. A small crowd of curious children gathered and cheered.
“This didn’t work,” said Zyanga to herself.
Zyanga put the toddlers one more time on each side of the line. Other children joined side, holding each other around the waist and forming a line like ants.
“Now,” said Zyanga. “When I say, ‘tiyeni’, you must pull hard. The team that crosses the line looses the doll.
More cheers.
“It’s fun,” said one little boy, “can I…?”
Zyanga had taught the toddlers a new game –guza - tug. Every day thereafter, the children gathered at Zyanga’s hut and played guza, tipping over and twirling on the loose earth (they didn’t fall that hard being so close to the ground!), kicking the gray dust into the air to their own amusement.
“What’s going on at your mother’s hut?” One mother asked Zyanga.
“A new kid game called guza I taught them.”
Wanozya - “You’ve done well,” observed the mother. “Now whenever I need to go fetch water from the river, I won’t have to tug my little one along.”
“They keep me busy, too,” said Zyanga.
A smile spread all over her face.
