GLASS HOUSES by Kafula Mwila: (Part one) It is said that, ‘People who live in glass houses should not be quick to throw stones’. If Gumede had heard about this saying or at least learned a few facts around what it means, perhaps his family would have still been with him at his home. ‘Perhaps,’ thought Gumede, ‘my sweet Elina would have been here to make the bed warm enough for both of us to sleep in.’ He turned on his side only to envisage the wall on the other side of the room. He came face to face with the bedside clock, which flashed its redness at him and reminded him that since he came to bed about five hours earlier he had not slept a wink. It was one hour after midnight and sleep had long since taken leave from him. When he turned again after half an hour, it was only to face the ceiling. On a night like this one, the structure above him was a great, white expanse of hopelessness as it extended its width to rooms beyond; beyond Gumede’s imagination. ’Yes’, Gumede said to himself as he rose from the bed to walk to the living room, “I can’t think about any reason why I ‘threw a stone at Mubweze, apart from pure greed and selfishness.’ His thoughts followed him from the room that he had been occupying to the living room. It seemed like transferring his problem from one place to another. In fact in the living room the problem grew with the size of the room. When he thought about what he had done, he realised that he had done more than throwing a stone; he had actually stirred a hornet’s nest. The living room was cold, as cold as a hearth that had long since seen its last embers. Gumede felt cold and drew his night gown closer. But the cold reached far beyond the skin, it pierced his marrow. ‘Slinging mud at people has it residual effect; it leaves the hands of the thrower dirtier than the face of the person it is thrown at,’ thought Gumede. He had lost his family but worst still; he had lost the chance of ever becoming the President of the country. But when and why did all this squabbling with his friend Mubweze start? He could not answer for the why but the when showed that the two men had a very long history. Gumede and Mubweze came from the same village, called Ulabota. It was one of the biggest villages in the south of the country. Gumede’s father was a successful man while Mubweze’s father was just a poor farmer. The former’s father owned several herds of cattle but Mubweze’s father struggled from one rainy season to another trying to grow maize. Gumede and Mubweze teased each other a lot their status quo. “You’ll see I’ll become president one day!” Mubweze would shout amidst a terrible stammer. “Th..the…then I …. I … I’ll f..f.f..fik….fix you” Mubweze speech impediment always got worse when he became emotional. “Ha ha ha ha… ha… ha….” Gumede would burst out into laughter and in between mirth, he would demean and degrade his friend, “You,” Gumede would begin, pointing and looking Mubweze from head to toe and toe to head again, “President? In which country?” He would ridicule his friend. “You good for nothing, low-life stutterer! You can’t even express yourself in public. Ha ha ha a a a a”. When his friend laughed liked that, Mubweze completely lost it. His failure to express himself worsened his stammer.
Posted on: Sun, 28 Dec 2014 20:14:15 +0000
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