Acacia - Secrets of an African Painting

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - GATSHENI

  Gatsheni made his way slowly through the streets of the capital, the carvings he had displayed on the pavement were in a large suitcase that he half carried and half dragged along behind him.

  The incident with the young white man had disturbed him and he knew that the old stories passed down to him by his father and from his father’s father before that were again coming to pass. He feared what would now happen, as he understood that his own life was expendable and despite a long and mostly happy life, he did not wish to die. But he had another reason to take action: revenge!

  The words he had spoken to the white man had come from deep within him, and he knew not what their source had been, only that they were not of his mind or body. He believed in the spirit of Mlimo even if the spirit’s human form had long since departed this earth. The last time he had visited the hidden valley, there had been many people there; women with children, hawkers selling carvings and Coca Cola to the tourists who flooded the area. Nothing stayed hidden forever.

  He reached a city bus stop and caught the bus that would take him to the huge bus terminal outside the city. There he felt safe, where no white man ventured. This was a huge area of dusty ground where country busses departed for every part of the land. There were always crowds of his people here, mixing with the hated Shona who now ruled his nation. The smells of diesel fumes, cooking pots, and human sweat mingled in the hot, dusty atmosphere where organisation struggled from the chaos. Vehicles constantly came and went, belching great clouds of black smoke, their interiors filled with black faces and their tops loaded with all manner of goods destined for the small towns and villages dotted around this vast land. No signs told passengers where to go or which bus to catch, but rarely did anyone miss their connection or climb onto the wrong vehicle. The hawkers did the rounds, selling food, drink, knives, and excess goods they had been unable to sell in the city, preying on those waiting for their own transport to rev up smelly engines and weave their way from the terminal.

  The old man unerringly made his way to the centre of this maelstrom, picking the bus he needed from rows of identical vehicles lined up along one side. He slung the sack up on top and climbed on board, finding a seat near the back where he could think about what he needed to do in the days to come.

  As they left the noise of the bus station behind, his mind went back to his childhood, when his father had first told him the story. The first of many tellings of this tale, he remembered the expression on his father’s face and the passion he had seen there, and so had remembered it word for word from that day to this.

  Our ancestor was Mboku and he was a brave warrior, never flinching from a task if it was to help the king and the nation. Once, he worked in the great pit of Kimberley where the white man dug in the earth for the stones that glitter like raindrops in the sun. He worked there for the nation though, not for the white man, and he became respected amongst the other warriors, helping to gather together a great treasure for the king.

  Mboku discovered a plot against the king though and he chose to risk his life to stop the traitors who were eventually brought to justice and slain like the dogs they were. He was a spiritual man and it is said he spoke directly with Mlimo who gave him instructions that he followed all his life.

  The great treasure was hidden in a secret place in this land, but one day, a white man came there and took some of it away. Mboku saw this as a chance to hide all the treasure from the traitors and so he helped the white man bury the stones, but then called the spirits to rub the memory of the hiding place from the man’s head.

  But the white man held the memory in his heart as well as his head. When he understood this, Mboku chased him from the land until he was swallowed up by the great river and saw no more. The traitors were caught and slaughtered. Mboku returned to the Great Kraal in triumph for capturing them. However, when he spoke again to Mlimo, he told him that the stones would always remain hidden, for their time had passed. They will bring only misery to the nation until a time when the dogs rule the land and our people,when false rulers starve the people; when greed stops food growing in the fields; when the nation is cheated by its own; when the warriors who never fought take over the land; when the wise are taught by the ignorant. Then, the stones will find their use.

  However, Mlimo said that the white man, who had died, had lived again. That he would return and then there would be danger and death would result.

  Mboku waited for the man to return, but he never did. He passed the story to his son, who passed it to his son, and then finally to you, my son...Gatsheni.

  Gatsheni knew that Mlimo had protected the diamonds from that day to this, but he was worried about his power in these days when the people had lost their faith in the spirits, for it was only the strength of the people that fed the strength of the spirits. His own belief had never wavered and he knew of others who thought in the same way, but would there be enough of them to succour Mlimo? This question waited to be answered.

  At Kadoma, to the southwest of Harare, he got off the bus just long enough to talk to some youths who were hanging around the bus stop, looking for any way to make some money, whether by legal means or otherwise. Anyone watching the scene may have noticed some notes change hands, but the transaction was over so quickly that it would have been easily missed.

  The bus then trundled on along the highway towards Bulawayo. After they left Kadoma, the road turned round to the south. He looked out of the right hand window and sensed the treasure, out there somewhere, but he knew not where. He had to act, he knew that, but he was only an old man, what could he do? He thought again of the others whose belief was as strong as his own and he knew that he must go to them, call the indunas together, and summon Mlimo one more time.