There was a knock at the door. I was in a deep slumber, but the rapid knocking in the stillness of early dawn suddenly woke me up.
The hour hand on the clock had not yet struck 6am. Who could it be? Mr Tigere, the landlord? And then shortly afterwards, a female voice called out.
“It’s me, Mai Bhobho, open up the door!” Mai VaMaidei rose from the bed and went to see Mai Bhobho. She was not amused.
What did she want so early in the morning? Mai Bhobho, our neighbour, was notorious for spreading gossip from one end of the street to the other.
I had warned Mai VaMaidei several times to stay away from her.
When Mai VaMaidei opened the door, I could hear their voices, but not what they were saying.
A short while later, Mai VaMaidei came back in the bedroom. I thought Mai Bhobho had gone away.
“She wants to borrow some money for school fees for her children. She is waiting outside,” Mai VaMaidei said.
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I was surprised.
“But we don’t have money. The money we have is to pay school fees for our own children,” I said.
Baba Bhobho was always buying beer at Zororo Bar and boasting of his good fortune, but I did not say this to Mai VaMaidei.
“We can help her with some money,” Mai VaMaidei said.
I was taken aback. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief.
“We don’t have the money, where’s it?” I said. I was dismayed.
The only money we had under the mattress was to pay school fees for our children as the new term had just begun. We also had served a little money to buy inputs like seed and fertiliser as the rainfall season was imminent.
“We can borrow her some of the money we have saved for inputs,” Mai VaMaidei said. I did not like the idea.
“I don’t want problems. The new agricultural season is about to begin,” I replied. I was adamant and Mai VaMaidei kept insisting.
“She will return the money, I will make sure,” Mai VaMaidei said.
In the end, I capitulated. She took US$30 under the mattress and went outside to give Mai Bhobho.
Mai Bhobho had a stall next to Mai VaMaidei at the market. I hope she knew what she was doing when she lent her the money.
Later, when I came back from work, I was surprised to find Mai Bhobho at home in the kitchen with Mai VaMaidei. She was crying uncontrollably.
It is not good to see a grown up woman crying.
I was alarmed.
“What has happened?’
I said.
“My husband has taken all the money I borrowed this morning,” cried Mai Bhobho.
I had just passed by Zororo Bar and the first person I saw was Baba Bhobho. He was surrounded by his friends. They were having a braai and drinking beer.
I felt pity for her, but this had nothing to do with us. It was a domestic affair.
“What am I going to do?” Mai Bhobho asked.
I looked at Mai VaMaidei as she tried to comfort Mai Bhobho. She looked confused.
The struggle is real. Sometimes for women with abusive husbands, life becomes unbearable.
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