As we travelled along the rural dusty road towards the growth point, I would constantly look in my cracked rear view mirror of my battered old van. She had always sat stiffly at the back, facing the way we had come. Still engrossed in thought about the disaster that had happened the previous day to my dog, I was suddenly jerked into life by the knock at the back windscreen.
I pulled my head out of the window and yelled in the dust.
“Masvika here gogo?”
“Ndasvika muzukuru, apo panemutamba muhombe uyo”, she yelled with a shaky voice, pointing to a huge mutamba tree a few metres up the road.
I stopped the vehicle, came round at the back and opened the back van panel.
“Waita muzukuru”, she said, dipping her frail hand into her bosom and pulling out a tied handkerchief. On her hand, she had some bangles. I wanted to ask her something about the bangles but I thought otherwise. It did not matter anyway.
“Musabhadhara henyu gogo”, I said as I closed the back panel…