away.
“What’s the matter? Did the leopard come back?”
“No. Vatete is sick. They’re sending for the nganga. ”
Nhamo got up at once. Nhamo’s village had no nganga , and sick people had to travel five miles to be treated. Vatete must be extremely ill to ask the doctor to come from her village.
“She was tired by the walk yesterday,” Masvita said as they hurried through the dark. “We had to rest every mile or so. I thought she was better last night, but she began to vomit after the party.”
By now they were at Aunt Chipo’s hut. Vatete was curled up on a mat inside, and Aunt Shuvai was wiping her face with a wet cloth. Nhamo saw at once that Vatete was extremely ill.
“Thank goodness! Nhamo, cut some thatching grass. We need it for bedding.” Aunt Shuvai dipped the cloth in water and bathed the sick woman’s arms and chest. “She’s very hot. I don’t think this is food poisoning.”
Nhamo took a sickle and hurried off. The first streaks of light were turning the clouds pink. She could see well enough, but she moved cautiouslyafter leaving the village. No one else had seen any trace of the leopard, but Nhamo had no doubts about its existence.
Presently, she came to a stand of dry grass and sliced off as much as she could carry. When she returned, Aunt Shuvai and Masvita packed a layer under the sick woman. Aunt Chipo attempted to give her water, but Vatete only moaned and pushed her away. The sick woman was curled up in a ball as though her stomach hurt. Her face was gray and her eyes were squeezed shut.
“Don’t just stand there, Nhamo,” Aunt Chipo snapped. “Fix breakfast and feed the babies. Don’t think you’re going to sneak off to the bushes today, my girl!”
Nhamo spun around and left. She felt stung that Aunt Chipo thought she would run away during an emergency. It hadn’t escaped her notice either that she had been the one awakened to cut grass.
At least it shows they believed me about the leopard, thought Nhamo with a bleak smile. She blew last night’s coals into a flame and hauled a large pot to the fireplace.
All day she ran from one chore to another. Inside Aunt Chipo’s hut, Masvita fanned Vatete , and Nhamo’s aunts watched with expressions of great worry. Uncle Kufa sent another messenger to urge the nganga to hurry.
But at midday Aunt Chipo and Masvita suddenly broke into wild cries. Aunt Shuvai rushed out of the hut, pulling her hair. “She’s dead! She’s dead!” she wailed. She fell on her knees. Nhamo caught her emotion and began to wail, too. Other women rushed to add their cries.
Poor, poor Vatete , Nhamo thought as she rocked back and forth with her arms tightly wrapped around her chest. Only last night she was joking about roora. She was so happy!
People hurried off to carry the message to the other village. A woman poured ashes into a mortar and pounded them as she called the names of Vatete ’s relatives who lived too far away to attend the funeral. “Cousin Kuda,” she cried, “Greataunt Misodzi. Uncle Tendai. Please do not be frightened. Your relative has died here. We know you would come ifyou could.” The ashes blew away on the wind, carrying the message.
But when evening came, grim news arrived. People were dying in the other village. Even the nganga lay in his hut, unable to rise. None of the relatives would be able to come.
“What is this illness?” Nhamo whispered to Masvita.
“ Ambuya says it’s cholera,” Masvita whispered back.
Nhamo’s eyes opened very wide.
“She says we must boil our water. We must wash our hands carefully and go far from the village when we have to—”
Nhamo nodded. They would have to provide old Takawira with a pot.
“But Father”—Masvita meant Uncle Kufa—“says it’s witchcraft.”
Nhamo sucked in her breath. That meant a witch-finding ceremony. She had never seen one, but she had heard about them. The most horrible thing was that a person could be a witch and not even know. He or
“What’s the matter? Did the leopard come back?”
“No. Vatete is sick. They’re sending for the nganga. ”
Nhamo got up at once. Nhamo’s village had no nganga , and sick people had to travel five miles to be treated. Vatete must be extremely ill to ask the doctor to come from her village.
“She was tired by the walk yesterday,” Masvita said as they hurried through the dark. “We had to rest every mile or so. I thought she was better last night, but she began to vomit after the party.”
By now they were at Aunt Chipo’s hut. Vatete was curled up on a mat inside, and Aunt Shuvai was wiping her face with a wet cloth. Nhamo saw at once that Vatete was extremely ill.
“Thank goodness! Nhamo, cut some thatching grass. We need it for bedding.” Aunt Shuvai dipped the cloth in water and bathed the sick woman’s arms and chest. “She’s very hot. I don’t think this is food poisoning.”
Nhamo took a sickle and hurried off. The first streaks of light were turning the clouds pink. She could see well enough, but she moved cautiouslyafter leaving the village. No one else had seen any trace of the leopard, but Nhamo had no doubts about its existence.
Presently, she came to a stand of dry grass and sliced off as much as she could carry. When she returned, Aunt Shuvai and Masvita packed a layer under the sick woman. Aunt Chipo attempted to give her water, but Vatete only moaned and pushed her away. The sick woman was curled up in a ball as though her stomach hurt. Her face was gray and her eyes were squeezed shut.
“Don’t just stand there, Nhamo,” Aunt Chipo snapped. “Fix breakfast and feed the babies. Don’t think you’re going to sneak off to the bushes today, my girl!”
Nhamo spun around and left. She felt stung that Aunt Chipo thought she would run away during an emergency. It hadn’t escaped her notice either that she had been the one awakened to cut grass.
At least it shows they believed me about the leopard, thought Nhamo with a bleak smile. She blew last night’s coals into a flame and hauled a large pot to the fireplace.
All day she ran from one chore to another. Inside Aunt Chipo’s hut, Masvita fanned Vatete , and Nhamo’s aunts watched with expressions of great worry. Uncle Kufa sent another messenger to urge the nganga to hurry.
But at midday Aunt Chipo and Masvita suddenly broke into wild cries. Aunt Shuvai rushed out of the hut, pulling her hair. “She’s dead! She’s dead!” she wailed. She fell on her knees. Nhamo caught her emotion and began to wail, too. Other women rushed to add their cries.
Poor, poor Vatete , Nhamo thought as she rocked back and forth with her arms tightly wrapped around her chest. Only last night she was joking about roora. She was so happy!
People hurried off to carry the message to the other village. A woman poured ashes into a mortar and pounded them as she called the names of Vatete ’s relatives who lived too far away to attend the funeral. “Cousin Kuda,” she cried, “Greataunt Misodzi. Uncle Tendai. Please do not be frightened. Your relative has died here. We know you would come ifyou could.” The ashes blew away on the wind, carrying the message.
But when evening came, grim news arrived. People were dying in the other village. Even the nganga lay in his hut, unable to rise. None of the relatives would be able to come.
“What is this illness?” Nhamo whispered to Masvita.
“ Ambuya says it’s cholera,” Masvita whispered back.
Nhamo’s eyes opened very wide.
“She says we must boil our water. We must wash our hands carefully and go far from the village when we have to—”
Nhamo nodded. They would have to provide old Takawira with a pot.
“But Father”—Masvita meant Uncle Kufa—“says it’s witchcraft.”
Nhamo sucked in her breath. That meant a witch-finding ceremony. She had never seen one, but she had heard about them. The most horrible thing was that a person could be a witch and not even know. He or
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