“I know you, I know you, I do. Don’t tell me, I’ve seen you before I just can’t place you.” The familiar stranger in grubby blue overalls stared back slightly perplexed with earthy copper boron eyes and a flicker or bemusement as pointed back at me, while I tried to fuse my memories together. “Don’t tell me, don’t tell me, I know you,I do.”
It was nearing the end of a cold dark winter but the frosty veldt had little effect on me. I had just taken my 3a.m lukewarm bucket bath and was wearing my freshly ironed ‘I AM ZIMBO’ t-shirt. My only discomfort was my still throbbing big toe having tripped over the extension cable and spot welding it onto the coffee table. “Where have I seen you before?”
I could tell he was an engineer by the grease stain on his collar and his rough calloused hand shake. But I was yet to have that light bulb moment, my memory had not yet been jolted even by our strong connection. Dawn was breaking over the power line of pulsing kopjies but the birdsong was drowned out by the throbbing, thrumming and humming of generators. “Were we at school together? No, don’t tell me, I know you, I know you, I do.”
The short circuiting buzzing street light bent over double from a disagreement with a careering commuter omni bus didn’t make facial recognition any easier. A network of shadows formed a grid like pattern over his powerful face as I continued to plug away, “I know you, I know you, I do.” What change did he have of recognising me with my neutral features when I couldn’t even recognise his strong positive ones. So I place my hand on his shoulder and continue walking our scenic circuit.
“No shamwari, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before. But I haven’t been myself lately as this drought has taken its toll and I have been out of my element working these strange hours.”
“No, I know you, I know you, I do.”
“I must have very similar features to someone else. But with your hair looking as frazzled as it does I probably wouldn’t recognise you anyway.”
“Mirrors don’t work too well by candle light” I replied.
“And usually you wear ‘I AM ZIMBO’ t-shirts with the writing on the front and I have to say that is quite a look.”
“Oh” I chuckled slightly embarrassed looking down at my veldskoens and multicoloured mismatched socks.
“You’re quite the power dresser” he said as we passed a boarded up property. “That’s your first clue” he said, nodding towards the barricades and broken fencing, “I used to work there at the Hwange power station.”
“Oh I’m sorry, so now where do you work?”
“Times are tough these days, I work wherever I can find it.”
Our rather uncomfortable chat still hadn’t cast any light on his identity but the sun was coming up and hopefully now his identity would dawn on me.
“That’s your second clue” he said gesturing towards the newspaper stand. The news boys were pinning up the headline to the advertising board, “Kariba Shuts Down”. The warm fingers of sunshine massaged the tense atmosphere and the stranger’s name dawned on me. It was embroidered on his back in four vibrant capital letters. How could I have forgotten such a special relationship in such a short space of time?
“I do know you, I do” I said as well has solar light rekindled our friendship. His name was ZESA, a stranger that solar had once again reunited, and put us on our way.