Blessing Musariri - My Totem Came Calling

My Totem Came Calling

Blessing Musariri & Thorsten Nesch

2019 Blessing Musariri & Thorsten Nesch

Except for purposes of review, no part of this book may be reproduced in any form without prior permission of the publisher.

We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts for our publishing program. We also acknowledge support from the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Arts Council.

Cover design by Sabrina Pignataro

Cover photo: berry2046/Painting hand drawn animal multicolor zebra on a white background/Shutterstock

Blessing Musariri photo credit: Nyadzombe Nyampenza

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Title: My totem came calling / Blessing Musariri & Thorsten Nesch.

Names: Musariri, Blessing, 1973- author. | Nesch, Thorsten, 1968- author.

Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20190136464 | Canadiana (ebook) 20190136502 | ISBN 9781988449753
(softcover) | ISBN 9781988449760 (HTML) | ISBN 9781988449845 (PDF)

Classification: LCC PZ7.1.M87 My 2019 | DDC 823/.92dc23

Mawenzi House Publishers Ltd.

39 Woburn Avenue (B)

Toronto, Ontario M5M 1K5

Canada

www.mawenzihouse.com

Contents

The Zebra in My Garden

Through the bars of my window I see the zebra standing in the garden, beside the old jacaranda tree with its crooked branches and tiny green leaves. I know its waiting for me, but nobody else can see it. Not Lameck, our gardener, who is now watering the border hedgeits the kind of useless thing he doesand not anybody else. The other day when I saw the zebra in the middle of an intersection at rush hour, nobody in the street saw it, nor did any of the people at Sam Levys shopping village. Its getting scary. And the zebra seems to pop up more and more often.

Maybe if I touch it, that would break the spell. This idea propels me off my bed. Landing with a thud on the hardwood floor, I run out of my room, startling our housemaid Nora, who stops what she is doing, dusting the expensive Chinese vase John brought home from a business trip last year, and gapes at me. I run down the hallway straight to the living room windows to check if the zebra is still there. It is, and I burst out of the open door into the garden. The grass is cool and soft under my feet and the afternoon heat warms my face as I race towards my hallucination.

Lameck swings around and stares as I run towards the tree, my arms stretched out, ready to touch the zebra. But the closer I get to the animal, the more it fades away, and it disappears just as I reach it.

Panting heavily, I look around. Yes, I saw it disappear, but who knows, maybe its hiding somewhere. Nothing makes sense about it, so anything is possible. Exhausted, I drop to the ground. I give up. Its official, Im losing it. Im going crazy. Not only am I forgetting stuff ever since I had the blackout and woke up in hospital, but now this zebra hunts me down. I saw it for the first time four weeks ago, when I woke up in the hospital room. It disappeared immediately when I blinked, and I thought the meds were screwing with my mind. But the second time followed soon after: it was in town, at the shopping centre.

Hey Chanda. What are you doing? Lameck jolts me from my daydream. Nora is peering through the open door, minding everyone elses business as usual.

Nothing. Im fine.

Why were you running like that?

I... was running away from a bee.

He looks to Nora then back to me. Is it gone? Did it sting you?

Yes, its gone. It didnt sting me. I pretend to check my arms.

I can tell he wants me to say more, but Im not in the mood. I get up, brush the dust off my legs, and walk back to the house. At the door I pause and turn around. No zebra, its gone. Who knows for how long? Lameck points the hose at the bed of morning glories, this time watering something that actually needs it.

And why was I standing on my bed looking into the garden?

I have to talk to somebody about the zebra. So far Ive kept its arrival in my life to myself, finding any possible excusethe heat, the meds, some odd eyeball malfunctionto explain it. Lying to myself.

I should tell Rumbi and Johnmore respectfully, Mama and Baba, my parents. Theyre already worked up about my blackout and stuff, and the doctors having no clue whats wrong. Lameck or Nora will probably tell them about me running through the garden like some lobotomized boy band groupie. I have a feeling they didnt buy my bee story. Id better be the one to tell the parents. I have to tell someone anyway, otherwise Im just going to implode.

I march into the living room, absent-mindedly scratching my hair, forgetting that I was at the hairdresser only yesterday and shouldnt ruin my Brazilian weave, but it itches like crazy. Rumbi and John are sitting next to each other on the couch. Its a weekday and very rare for John to be at home in the afternoon. Hes been working from home more since my blackout, but it seems hes given himself a break at the moment, and theyre watching one of those unbearable Nollywood dramas with a lot of weeping, wailing, and loud praying overcoming evil.

Rumbi gives me the look. I see that shes already braced herself for a calamity. Shes been a bit of a nervous wreck since all this started.

I need to talk to you, but you must promise youre not going to overreact, I begin.

They look at each other in silent consultation, and then, as if reaching some telepathic conclusion, they both turn towards me. Rumbi carefully puts down the bowl of roasted peanuts theyd been sharing.

I dont know where to start, and I search for the right words.

Are you pregnant? John asks finally. I want to laugh. Its like were all losing it in this house. Failing other explanations, my memory problem and strange behaviour can only mean one thing to him: his absolute worst nightmarehis only daughter, young and unmarried, knocked up by some halfwit party animal.

I can lose my memory, my mind, not recognize him, forget my own name, and all would be Gods way, but baking a bun in my oven would be my own faultand therefore his failing. Go figure.

No, Im not pregnant, Baba, so just relax yourself.

Im being cheeky, but these days I can get away with a lot. The two Nigerian actresses theyre watching on telly look half my age and are wearing a quarter of what I have to wear to pass John and Rumbis fashion checkpoint on Friday nights. But on TV thats okay.

What then?

I saw a zebra in our garden. No other way but just to say it.

John gets up and strides to the window. Each step he takes oozes his frustrationwith me and my condition.

A zebra! In our garden?

It was standing by the jacaranda tree.

John spins around to look at Rumbi.

A zebra in our garden, he says to her, as if maybe she hadnt heard. A zebra, he says again and laughs, shaking his head. He looks at Rumbi again and they do that telepathic thing. And Im beginning to hate it. Rumbi gets up and goes to the window. They both stare at the garden. Of course they see nothing. Artificial giggling from the girls on TV.

There is no zebra in the garden, John says.