I set off, headed for Chinhoyi caves on a pleasant, balmy Saturday morning. Having heard from my best friend, Tariro, about its mystical
powers that seeped into one’s soul, I felt compelled to go and see if my own troubled soul could be flooded by its serenity. Along the way, I picked up a stranger.
She had a screaming skull of tinted red hair which oddly complimented her melanin skin. The dress she was wearing was simple, red and an African attire. I assumed it was more to be fashionable than an ethnic statement. The dress itself was not body hugging but it still revealed the softest and most intricate features of her body. A true African beauty! Drinking in the sight of her, I could not help but feel a tinge of pain. I wondered whether it stemmed from envy or not.
Greeting me in a custom I was familiar with all my life, I was surprised by my failure to reciprocate the amiability. As a matter of fact, I barely managed to mumble a response, my words seemingly throttled in my throat. She, however, took little notice of this and continued the conversation. She babbled on and on about how excited she was to leave the busy city life of Harare and elope to a more peaceful environment. I did not mind her babbling because something about her made me want to listen more. I could not fathom whether it was her aura of confidence or her angelic voice. All I know is that I was sheepishly agreeing with all that she said, not bothering to add my own input. As we approached Chinhoyi, I felt a sudden sharp pain as my heart felt like it was dropping down into the pit of my stomach.
The moment we reached Chinhoyi my car came to a stop. She politely thanked me for my generosity and handed me some money which I shyly refused. With that, she closed the door and walked away, leaving behind a cold, rotten silence in the car. Shortly after, a savage air attacked me, causing an involuntary shudder to pass over me. It was as if I had lapsed into a temporary state of paralysis. There, in that silence, my past confronted me.
My eyes flickered with images as bitter sweet memories engulfed me, hurling me down the streets of memory lane, to the dawn of my life. My first race. My first trophy. My first spotlight; all moments of triumph flashing through my mind. They all displayed an image of a girl with a face like mine, only younger. She had the same smile but only wider and the same eyes too, but only brighter. She wreaked of brilliance and boldness. Outspoken, ingenious and confident. The complete opposite of the woman who now sat in the driver’s seat. As I looked into the mirror, a strong sense of nostalgia seized me. The woman staring back at me did not hold any resemblance to the girl in my memories. My mirror image was merely a phantom of that little girl; a timid, reserved woman. In that very moment, my heart dropped as a wave of disappointment poured over me. Where had that little girl gone?
It then dawned upon me that the acute feelings of pain that had ravaged me throughout the journey originated from wistfulness. I had gradually allowed the touch of the white warp of time to take away my youthful vibrance. Upon realizing this, I felt estranged and foreign to my own body. Leaning against the seat, I laughed as I noted the irony of it all. Traveling a relatively short distance with a self-confident stranger elicited in me a strong desire to undergo intense introspection.
And so, determined to figure out the beginning of the end of the prodigy I once was, I pulled out of the parking space and ventured into the abyss. Searching!