{"id":12570,"date":"2024-11-26T19:29:22","date_gmt":"2024-11-26T18:29:22","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=12570"},"modified":"2024-11-26T20:44:08","modified_gmt":"2024-11-26T19:44:08","slug":"the-headman","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=12570","title":{"rendered":"The Headman"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"
Image: \u00a9 Manchester Museum, The University of Manchester<\/span><\/p>\n

July can be unforgivingly cold. Walking outside, the chillness feels like multiple blades cutting the skin. He\u2019s sitting in his bedroom hut, thinking of Mucha. In his mind he\u2019s walking towards her. His heart is pounding.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c<\/span>Ndeipi<\/span><\/i>\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhere were you yesterday?\u201d Mucha says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI got held up. I am sorry.\u201d He says holding her hand. Mucha pouts, her hand is warm and sweaty.<\/span><\/p>\n

The sound of the organ booms from the nearby light green building. Mucha looks at him dreamily. An old silver sedan approaches. He gently pulls her off the road.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWe are late. The service has already started,\u201d she says, her voice almost a whisper.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOk then, let\u2019s go,\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n

But when he comes to he realises Mucha is not with him. He\u2019s all alone. He stares at the glowing embers and the two remaining stubs. The firewood is quickly burning out. He\u2019s unwilling to go out and get more.<\/span><\/p>\n

Suddenly there\u2019s a ringing sound outside. It\u2019s coming from the gate, sounds of the cold night, something metallic hitting the rocky ground. He ignores it. It\u2019s probably a stray dog which has knocked down the shovel he left near the gate. Stray dogs frequent the yard at night. The barbed wire surrounding the yard is not much of a barrier to them.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

He hears the noise again, followed by a loud clatter at the gate.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cVictor!\u201d his mother calls.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m checking it mom!\u201d he says and rushes out of his hut. The evening cold bites him the moment he steps outside. The clatter is still going on. He rushes to the wood pile, pulls a long stick and heads for the gate. As he nears it he pauses. It\u2019s not a dog he finds, but a man.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c<\/span>Apo<\/span><\/i>,\u201d he says anxiously.<\/span><\/p>\n

The man grunts and continues to struggle with the gate.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCan I help? Are you lost?\u201d The man does not reply. What\u2019s wrong with him? he wonders.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cVictor! Who is it!\u201d His mother calls from her hut.<\/span><\/p>\n

He switches on his phone\u2019s flashlight and points it at the man. It takes him a couple of moments to make out who it is. \u201cOh, uncle, it\u2019s you,\u201d he says with relief.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cVictor!\u201d his mother calls again.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s the Headman!\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n

The Headman is drunk, very drunk. It\u2019s apparent from the cut on the cheek and the soiled clothes that the Headman fell down somewhere along the way.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s cold. I can\u2019t walk on anymore. I\u2019m cold,\u201d the Headman says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s okay. Let me help,\u201d he says, opening the gate.<\/span><\/p>\n

The Headman lets go of the gate and picks up his bicycle. The bicycle proves to be too heavy for him, it falls on the ground.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cLet me take it,\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n

On the way to the bedroom hut the Headman keeps complaining about being cold. It\u2019s distressing. He finds himself experiencing a surge of sympathy for the elderly man.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhere are you coming from?\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe bottle store,\u201d the Headman says.<\/span><\/p>\n

He waits to hear more but the Headman doesn\u2019t say anything else. When they reach the bedroom hut the Headman staggers inside. He tries to lean the Headman\u2019s bicycle on the outside wall but it moves and falls on the ground. He picks the bicycle up and tries to lean it on the wall again. As he is doing this the door to his mother\u2019s hut opens.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWho is it?\u201d she says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s the Headman,\u201d he says. \u201cI don\u2019t think he can make it home today. He fell off his bicycle and hurt himself.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHe fell? How bad are his injuries?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t have to worry. It\u2019s only a few bruises,\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWill you be okay?\u201d his mother says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t worry mom. I will be fine,\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n

There\u2019s a pause. His mother\u2019s door closes.<\/span><\/p>\n

It takes him a while to make the bicycle steady against the wall. There\u2019s some wrapped stuff on the bicycle\u2019s luggage rack. On close inspection, he realises it\u2019s a two-litre bottle of cooking oil and a bar of soap.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

In the sky the crescent moon shines among the stars, it\u2019s wispy light lending an eerie aspect to the surrounding landscapes. In the north he can hear a dog barking, the chirr of insects fills the cold windy night. He picks firewood from the wood pile and walks into the hut. Inside he finds the Headman sitting near the fire, shivering.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s cold,\u201d the Headman says.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

An unpleasant coldness has indeed taken root in the hut. He adds firewood to the glowing embers and in a few moments there\u2019s a bright flame again. Bathed by the light of the flame, the Headman\u2019s injuries are clearly revealed. It\u2019s the left side which bore the brunt of the fall. There\u2019s dry blood on the Headman\u2019s cheek. The left hand of his brown long-sleeved shirt has ripped, just below the elbow.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI should have worn a jersey,\u201d the Headman mumbles.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGive it time. You will get warm soon,\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n

They sit in silence. The Headman draws out a cigarette and begins smoking. Within seconds the whole hut is filled with tobacco smoke. The smoke irritates his nose. He sneezes.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSorry about the smoke,\u201d the Headman says.<\/span><\/p>\n

He doesn\u2019t reply.<\/span><\/p>\n

This is his first time seeing the Headman helpless like this. The Headman is usually fiery and is widely known for engaging in fights at the beer hall, something which always makes his family anxious. The Headman\u2019s wife is the one who suffers the most. She\u2019s the one who has to take care of the ghastly wounds. Considering all the many injuries, it baffles him that the Headman continues to use violence to resolve issues. Is that what it takes for one to be considered a strong man? he wonders. But perhaps he\u2019s being too harsh to the Headman. Things may not be as simple as he perceives.<\/span><\/p>\n

If it were up to him, he wouldn\u2019t have done this, sheltering this drunk old man. But the village takes care of its own, the good and the bad. Everyone within it is considered family. This is how it has been for ages. And it\u2019s something everyone in the village abides by.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

After finishing the cigarette the Headman begins coughing. The headman curls painfully with each dry cough, spitting thick phlegm on the fire. He\u2019s aware tobacco smokers sometimes cough, especially the heavy smokers. But the Headman\u2019s coughing is unlike anything he has ever seen. It\u2019s quite unsettling.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI can put a kettle on the fire. Warm water helps,\u201d he says after the third coughing episode. The Headman grunts and shakes his head.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou may not want it but I insist. You need to drink warm water. It will calm your chest,\u201d he says and rushes out of the hut.<\/span><\/p>\n

The water doesn\u2019t take much time to boil. To it he adds a few lemon leaves and pours a cup for the Headman.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t want water,\u201d the Headman mumbles between coughs.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cUncle, just take a few sips,\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n

The Headman relents and drinks the water but nothing changes, the sickening coughing continues. Anxious, he keeps adding wood to the fire. As the night drags on he becomes sleepy, he starts dozing off. Waking up around midnight he notices that the Headman has finally fallen asleep. The elderly man is curled up dangerously close to the dying fire, with saliva dripping from his gaping mouth. He rises and pulls his sleeping guest away from the glowing embers. The Headman grunts in his sleep. He covers him with a blanket.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

When he wakes up the next morning the Headman is sound asleep, snoring. The cock is crowing in the chicken run. Its strident morning call muffling the sound of the wailing wind outside. He removes ash from the fireplace and walks out of the hut to get firewood. It\u2019s cold outside. The ground is damp. In the clear sky <\/span>Nyamasase<\/span><\/i> shines brightly. He looks at it as he walks to the wood pile. When the sun sets, gifting the sky to the bright planets, the moon and the stars, he\u2019s going to see it again in the west. Then, its name will have changed to <\/span>Marinda<\/span><\/i>, the bright celestial body which has inspired a myriad of beliefs and folklores.<\/span><\/p>\n

A chewing noise emerges from the rubbish pit as he is pulling logs from the wood pile, the sound of bone cracking under the force of a strong jaw.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c<\/span>Pfutseki!<\/span><\/i>\u201d he says sharply. A whitish dog quickly leaps from the pit and slips through the barbed wire. An image of his late lion dog flashes through his mind as he watches it sprint away. He resumes picking the firewood. Something like this wouldn\u2019t have happened if his dog was still alive.<\/span><\/p>\n

The Headman has just risen when he walks back into the hut. The old man\u2019s eyes look sleepy, a brownish mark stretches across his cheek, where saliva flowed during his sleep.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMorning,\u201d he says to his guest.<\/span><\/p>\n

The Headman smiles. It\u2019s quite interesting, seeing an adult embarrassed. The way the Headman is sitting resembles a newly married man who\u2019s sitting among his in-laws.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMorning. I didn\u2019t cause you much trouble last night I hope,\u201d the Headman says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, not at all,\u201d he says.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

A silence passes between them. The Headman anxiously looks outside.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYour bicycle is safe. I leaned it against the wall,\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnd the luggage?\u201d the Headman says anxiously.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s there,\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n

The Headman quickly cheers up after hearing this.<\/span><\/p>\n

It\u2019s brightening outside. Through the slightly open door he can see the radiant sunlight. He expects the Headman to say his farewells, but the elderly man doesn\u2019t seem to be in a hurry to leave, something he finds annoying.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cStill haven\u2019t found anything to do yet cousin?\u201d the Headman says.<\/span><\/p>\n

He reclines his head. \u201cI\u2019m still searching uncle. The jobs are hard to come by.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cBut why search for a job? These days youths are expected to create employment for themselves you know,\u201d the Headman says.<\/span><\/p>\n

He remains silent, but this doesn\u2019t dissuade the Headman.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The fires of life burn so that, like water, those with wisdom can rise to the heavens. For they are the rain. When the season comes, the rain falls on the land, ending the dryness and sustaining life. There are many opportunities available, but many young people are squandering them due to lack of wisdom. Why isn\u2019t he venturing into farming, poultry or retailing? the Headman says. A memory flashes through his mind, being chastised for failing at school, for not finishing assigned chores and for coming home late. He looks down on the floor. It feels like his adolescent years all over again.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cVictor! What are you still doing in there?\u201d Mother\u2019s voice booms into the hut.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m coming!\u201d he says, going outside. The Headman follows him.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201c<\/span>Masibanda<\/span><\/i>,\u201d the Headman says respectably to mother, calling her by her totem.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGood morning, Headman. I hope Victor treated you well,\u201d mother says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh, I slept well. I\u2019m really thankful,\u201d the Headman says and begins inspecting his bicycle. Though it suffered many scratches as a result of last night\u2019s fall, the bicycle is fine.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCousin, can you hold on to this for me? I need to go back to the bottle store. I left my money there,\u201d the Headman says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou are not going home?\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI need to get my money first. I will come back for these soon,\u201d the Headman says, handing him the cooking oil and the bar of soap.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI will be back in a few minutes <\/span>Masibanda<\/span><\/i>,\u201d the Headman says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s alright Headman,\u201d mother says softly, wearing a wintry smile.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The Headman takes his bicycle and heads to the gate.<\/span><\/p>\n

After the Headman has left Victor lets out the goats and begins repairing the fence surrounding his mother\u2019s three hectares of land. The poles have been decimated by termites and much of the fence has fallen on to the ground. He removes the old poles, replacing them with new, thicker ones. As he works his thoughts go to the events of early morning. His conversation with the Headman troubles him. The old man\u2019s words keep coming back to him, like an echo from the mountains. One should create one\u2019s own employment, the Headman said.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

Some of his friends have skipped the border. Some have turned to illegal mining and foreign currency trading. The far-off bright lights they used to see are turning out to be an illusion.<\/span><\/p>\n

He sighs.<\/span><\/p>\n

He knows excessive thinking is not good for him. The anxiety that comes with it feels like being immersed in a thick stinging cloud of smoke, making it hard for one to breathe. His thoughts go to his late father. But why did his father have to be absent in a time like this? he wonders. He\u2019s struggling, he needs him badly. There\u2019s much he could still have learned from his father. In the modern world, the life of a young man is becoming increasingly harder. Every son needs his father to guide and prepare him for the rigours of manhood.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

He\u2019s tying the barbed wire to the new poles when his phone suddenly rings. He draws it from his pocket and presses the power button. The screen instantly comes to life. He smiles. It\u2019s a text from Mucha. She wants to know if he\u2019s going to the rendezvous tree today.<\/span><\/p>\n

They meet an hour later, in a forest south of her home. It\u2019s five days since they last met.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo one saw you?\u201d he asks when she arrives.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI was careful. Let\u2019s hurry.\u201d Mucha says. She\u2019s anxious to go back before her absence is noticed.<\/span><\/p>\n

He relaxes and sits beside her. She smells nice. In the light green dress she\u2019s wearing, her well rounded body looks flawless. He looks around and listens attentively to make sure they are alone. In the vicinity he hears the buzzing of bees. A stray cow grazes harmlessly nearby.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI need some airtime.\u201d Mucha says later when she\u2019s about to leave.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThe airtime you recharged last week is already finished?\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cUhuh,\u201d she says.<\/span><\/p>\n

The stray cow is still grazing nearby.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat will you do without me?\u201d he says, teasingly.<\/span><\/p>\n

She smiles and reclines her head.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhen do I see you again?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI will call,\u201d she says.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

He stays behind after she has left. A dove perches on a tree a few metres away from him. A few moments later another one joins it. The birds perk at their greyish feathers. Sometimes they pause and look at him. The first dove soon flies away, and the other one follows it. The sun shines brightly in the clear blue sky. Beneath him, brown decaying leaves crunch with every slight move. They completely cover the ground around him, spreading to the dry grass and the nearby trees.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cHe hasn\u2019t come back yet?\u201d he says when he walks into the kitchen later that afternoon. The Headman\u2019s things are still on the kitchen bench where he left them, he pushes them further to free up sitting space.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHe went to the bottle store. What did you expect?\u201d his mother says, stirring her stewing relish.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean by that?\u201d he says, puzzled.<\/span><\/p>\n

His mother looks at him. \u201cVictor, grow up. You know how he drinks. Don\u2019t tell me you actually believed what he said.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI did,\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh well,\u201d his mother says shrugging. \u201cDon\u2019t mind him. He will come back eventually.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

He removes his phone from his back pocket and sits on the bench.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHe needs to take his things and go home. He\u2019s nosy. He was asking me things that do not concern him.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

His mother frowns. \u201cWhat did he do?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHe asked why I\u2019m not at work.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHe did.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

His mother pauses stirring the pot. \u201cMy dear son, I know you are trying. None of the organisations you have applied to have responded yet?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNot even one mom. I\u2019m getting frustrated,\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHave a little patience. I know it\u2019s frustrating but sometimes life is like a footpath lying before you. One that winds on until it disappears into the trees. All you have to do is to follow it, you have to keep walking,\u201d his mother says.<\/span><\/p>\n

He remains silent. He doesn\u2019t have a clue what she\u2019s saying.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

The heavy afternoon meal makes him feel sleepy. He goes into his bedroom hut, switches on his mobile data and goes on the internet. After browsing through a job vacancy site he sees an advertisement of a job he\u2019s qualified for. An entry level position. He rises from the bed and draws out a pen and a new sheet of paper from his satchel. Job applications, he has lost count of how many he has sent out in the past two months. Each time he begins to compose one though he feels a surge of excitement, like one who has discovered the elixir of life. He can\u2019t help himself. He\u2019s hopeful again.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It\u2019s dark. A wind blows outside. He\u2019s preparing to go to bed when he hears the noise. He sighs and checks the time on his phone. Outside, the gate continues to rattle. He stares at the fire.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cVictor!\u201d his mother calls.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI heard it mom!\u201d he says, leaving his hut.<\/span><\/p>\n

He goes to the kitchen where he takes the cooking oil and the bar of soap. At the gate, he finds the Headman drunk again, but not as drunk as last night.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCousin,\u201d the Headman says when he reaches the gate.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYour things uncle,\u201d he says, handing the Headman the cooking oil and the bar of soap.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYou are not letting me in?\u201d the Headman says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGo home uncle,\u201d he says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cPlease cousin, I will die out here. I\u2019m cold. Let me in,\u201d the Headman says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNot today uncle, not today. They are waiting for you. Go home.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

There\u2019s a pause.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCousin, you can\u2019t do this to me. And how dare you talk to me like that? Do you know who I am?\u201d the Headman says, angrily.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGo home uncle,\u201d he says, his voice firm.<\/span><\/p>\n

The Headman mumbles something indistinct and leaves the gate. Victor looks on as the old man walks away. It\u2019s a chilly night. The sound of the Headman\u2019s footsteps slowly die down in the wind.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

____<\/p>\n

Talent Madhuku is a writer from Zimbabwe. His work has been published in Kalahari Review, Brittle paper, Impspired, The African Writer Magazine and Idle Ink.<\/em><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Image: \u00a9 Manchester Museum, The University of Manchester July can be unforgivingly cold. Walking outside, the chillness feels like multiple blades cutting the skin. He\u2019s sitting in his bedroom hut, thinking of Mucha. In his mind he\u2019s walking towards her. His heart is pounding. \u201cNdeipi\u201d he says. \u201cWhere were you yesterday?\u201d Mucha says. \u201cI got […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":381,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[376,426,407,425],"tags":[],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\nThe Headman - The Manchester Review<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=12570\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"The Headman - The Manchester Review\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Image: \u00a9 Manchester Museum, The University of Manchester July can be unforgivingly cold. Walking outside, the chillness feels like multiple blades cutting the skin. He\u2019s sitting in his bedroom hut, thinking of Mucha. In his mind he\u2019s walking towards her. 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