When I arrived at Zororo Bar, it was already getting dark. A bank of clouds was still visible in the distant western horizon.
I was in a hurry. This time I had made my plans carefully. Rasta had changed his mind at the last minute. He gave me a funny excuse. To be honest, I did not care. Fatso was busy at his car wash.
As for Baba VaTata, he was preoccupied with his water selling business. Someone had offered to sell him a water bowser. Business was brisk for him.
In two days’ time, rent was due and Tigere, my landlord would be by my doorstep first thing in the morning on the last day of the month.
Business at the market was at an all time low and Mai VaMaidei was complaining bitterly everyday about police harassment.
The circumstances left me with no option at all short of robbing a bank. I had to raise money for rent, or Tigere would throw me out of the house like a dog. I had only two days to raise the money. It was extremely cold, gloomy days and cold bitter nights. For me the bitter cold was a piece of cake. I saw an opportunity to make big money by selling firewood. There was a shortage of firewood in the location to keep the fireplaces burning and keep the cold at bay. Where was I to get the firewood?
Fortunately, adjacent to the location was Holland’s Greenwood Farm, that spread eastwards. There were rows and rows of pine trees, acacia and msasa trees. The farm also teamed with game, like kudu, springbok and buffalo. I was not interested in hunting for game meat this time around . I wanted the money. And the money was in firewood.
The sudden thought of my landlord, Tigere almost drove me mad.
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Holland’s farm was the ideal place to get the firewood. But there was a catch. Greenwood Farm was heavily guarded like an impenetrable fortress. All round was barbed wire. Guards roamed around the breath and perimetre fence with German shepherd dogs. The stories of vicious attacks by the shepherd dogs on trespassers were legendary. One ventured into Greenwood Farm at one’s peril. But what choice did I have?
The good thing is I knew one of the guards, Murefu, who lived in Nzou Street, not far from where we lived. Several days before today, I met him in Zororo Bar. I used my last dollar to buy him a pint of beer and coax him for information. At this time of the year, Holland was somewhere in Europe, in Switzerland, skiing and enjoying his holiday in the Alps.
By the time I bought him the second pint he even agreed to gather the firewood for me. It made my work easy.
“There’s a lot of dry pine logs lying everywhere on the farm to fill a truck,” Murefu said. I was excited like a child who has tasted candy for the first time .
“I’ll also want my share of the money after you’ve sold the firewood.”
I agreed with him and we shook hands on parting. That was two days ago. And today early in the morning, Murefu called me.
“It’s all ready, the ball is now in your court. Arrange a truck,” he said. After the call, I went about my business with renewed vigour. I had to find a truck.
Agrippa had a battered Mazda B16 single cab truck. He was the only one who would agree to take the risk. His truck always had mechanical problems. He spent much time under it , just as much the time he spent driving it. Our families had lived together in the same street for years. Our fathers had bought the houses almost at the same time decades ago, before the dawn of independence. Agrippa was older than me and he had grown up playing with one of my elder brothers.
“They don’t make cars like this anymore these days. It’s a workhorse, and anyone can easily fix it,” he always boasted. I found him at the open space behind Zororo Bar. Anyone who wanted to hire his truck found him there .
We haggled over the price of the hire for several minutes. He had one tooth, one of the front canines that almost jutted out and this gave him a rat-like look if one’s imagination was fertile enough. The resemblance was uncanny. He wanted to suck me for all its worth.
“It’s just a small truckload of firewood. The wood, it’s dry at this time of the year anyway, so don’t complain of the weight,” I said.
It was not easy to negotiate the price with him, but finally, he capitulated.
“I am only doing this for you because your father was a good friend of my father, but next time, I want money that 'buys',” Agrippa said.
“We can only go to Greenwood Farm when it gets dark,” I said.
“I wish I had charged you more, the risk is too much,” Agrippa complained. As dusk settled, a cold chill filled the air. It made the waiting even more difficult. The story will continue next time. Don’t miss out
*Onie Ndoro
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