Mai VaMaidei was sick. All home remedies were not yielding results. It was only yesterday that she had complained about having a headache. In the morning she became feverish. She wanted to go to the market, but I had to prohibit her.
“My vegetables will get rotten,” she said. She was worried that all her vegetables would be rotten by the end of the day if they were not sold.
“May you bring a glass of water,” I said. My daughter Maidei had not yet gone to school. She had a look of concern on her face. When she brought the glass of water, I helped her mother to take two tablets of paracetamol. She gulped the water down her throat.
“I can go to the market today since mother is not well,” said Maidei.
“Go to school, leave that to me,” I said firmly.
Soon afterwards, Maidei grabbed her satchel and departed for school.
I looked at Mai VaMaidei, she lay on her side. She looked helpless. I had to prepare a meal for her. I tried to light the gas stove to no avail. The gas was finished.
“I will go to the market today, so just rest and try to heal,” I said to Mai VaMaidei before I left to refill our 5kg gas tank by the shops. While on my way I decided to make a call to my supervisor telling him that I would not be able to make it to work for my shift. There was a staff shortage at work, but the supervisor reluctantly agreed in the end.
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When I returned home, I prepared a quick meal for Mai VaMaidei. As she slept soundly I prepared her favourite dish of rice and chicken. There were only two small pieces of chicken and I made a lot of soup. I woke her up. She smiled faintly when she saw the meal. I sat at the table and watched her eat the food. After a while, her face became radiant, but I could see that she was still weak.
“For today, just take a rest, I am going to the market,” I said. There was a huge basket of tomatoes and another one for green vegetables. I went out in the street in search of Mukoma Mike. He was tall and gangly. Mukoma Mike always wore from day one of the month to the last day of the month the same worn-out corduoroy and a white sweater that had changed colour due to overuse. He was always there when you needed him for odd jobs. He helped me carry the vegetables to the market and I paid him $1. By the time I arrived at the market, it was intensely hot and I felt sweat under my armpits. It was very uncomfortable.
Business was slow and I took shelter under the shade of the old msasa tree. I saw Comrade Mobiliser, in fact our eyes met at the same time. He was the last person I expected to see. He came straight to me although it took a while before he reached me. He hobbled on his feet, walking like a crab which does not move in a straight line. He was a bitter man. He had knocked on several government offices and the assistance he had hoped for as a war veteran had not been fulfilled.
“I can’t work because of this leg, look, it’s an artificial leg,” he said. It was not the first time I had been shown the artificial leg. He blamed all his troubles on his wartime injuries on the battlefront. He was failing to move forward. And many people are in this trap.
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