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Since this morning when she woke up, something has been weighing heavily on her, a premonition. Of course, you might think to yourself, anybody in your circumstances would feel things weighing them down. But really it is not that. It is true her son and his situation have been weighing heavily on her mind. It has not been easy to raise three children singlehandedly. Beyond that, she can see history repeating itself. The same politics that made her first a grass widow, then a real one, look set to leave her bereft of a son now. She has been to see him several times in prison and things are not going well for him. He has even been denied bail. Considering what a star he had been in the party previously and how he had been rising, things are not at all well. Her consultations with Sekuru show that this is going to be an arduous battle even though he has promised that they will win in the end. When she looks at the charm, it does not look so impressive considering that it cost her a whole cow; she just hopes it works. It had better work after the big risk she ran in going to see a n’anga; she, the leader of the Sacred Heart Society at church! 22 The Old Woman J. Tsitsi Mutiti Give me hope that Help is coming When I need it most . . . Tracy Chapman, “Let It Rain” She carefully wraps the ointment in her old petticoat and packs it in the bottom of the bag. The amulets she wraps in her doek and puts in the side pocket. She decides to go to Harare on Monday, since Ticha’s court day is Tuesday, so that she will only have to stay a day with that wife of his. At the bus stop she and her baggage make a sad little island; the wide berth every young person gives the old and unattractive is always so obvious. Pity for them they can’t maintain it in the bus where they have to sit squashed up three to a seat. When the bus finally arrives, she manages to get in first and comfortably , since nobody wants to be pushing and shoving against her old body. In the bus she eventually settles in the far corner after squeezing past a surly young woman dressed in bright, new-looking clothes. Lost in thought, she no longer sees the dusty scenery flashing by. Her son, languishing in jail for the past several months, denied even bail, weighs heavily on her mind. I was never very happy with the way he shot so quickly to prominence. It was frightening to see the way he, who had struggled so beforehand, was suddenly able to build a beautiful, expensive house and buy two shiny new cars in such a short time. To my questions he answered, “Amai, is this not what you sent me to school for? I am educated after all and with all my degrees I should make money! Ko, do you think my ancestors are sleeping? What, aren’t I a dutiful son? Don’t I remember to honor my ancestors?” Ah, so it was your degrees, was it, mwanangu? What are you doing now in jail? She sighs and gradually becomes aware of a commotion near where she is sitting. Loud wailing is coming from somewhere behind her and she glances back to see. A young woman on the seat behind her is rocking a howling baby in her arms and humming to quiet it. The baby continues to wail furiously at the top of its lungs. “Why don’t you feed him?” a male voice near her suggests. It rather amuses her how that seems to be the height of male knowledge of baby care. Is the baby crying? Why don’t you feed it? “Yes, feed him. You young mothers abuse your babies letting them cry like that! He must be hungry. Go on, then, feed him!”another impatient male voice joins the chorus. That is their best advice, it is. Shyly, the young woman withdraws a plump breast from her blouse and puts the nipple in the baby’s mouth. She covers the baby with a corner of its shawl, while it suckles to the accompaniment of “I told you so’s.” The respite is brief, however, as the infant soon spits out the nipple and lets out a wail loud The Old...

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