The Wanderer

SPRING 2025, SHORT STORY, 3900 WORDS

My son does not know that I am dead because he is far from home wandering. So when I die, lying on my grass mat, I am surrounded by my dead wife’s relatives, all of them peering at me with an impatient look.

One of them says to me, “Just let go. Dying is like falling.”

But he is wrong. For dying is more like sinking. Even though I hold on stubbornly to life, I feel myself sinking. I call out my son’s name one final time, “Vambe.”

Dying is standing in a river watching the water that was around your ankles rising, while the riverbed under your feet steadily drops. And the last thought I have, just before the water closes over my head, is wondering who it is who will tell my son that I am dead.

After I die, my spirit is in the wilderness. I am in a dark forest and all around me there are wandering spirits. Everywhere I look, I see the dead. Some of them watch silently, as if they are waiting for their time when they will be called out of the wilderness and back home. Others moan in fear, horrified by all the death they see. Others weep for the lives they can never return to. But the ones that disturb me the most are the ones who wail. They are dark shadows, like they have been wandering so long that they have lost their human shape. And they wail endlessly as I feel them brush past me in a futile search for a way home. Futile because none of us can make it home on our own.

The only way home is if our families perform the kurova guva ceremony to call our spirits home. For a year, we each must wander. Then the ceremony happens and our spirits can return to the family homestead to join the ancestors and watch over our descendants for eternity. But what happens to those who are never called home? What happens to those who have no one to perform the kurova guva for them? Are they these shadows that wail unendingly? The questions threaten to overwhelm me. And in the wilderness, I begin to panic.

Everywhere, I see these restless spirits who have never been called home. I see the spirits of the abandoned, people who had illnesses, physical deformities or disabilities that their families did not want passed on to the next generation, so they buried them far away and never called their spirit home. I see the spirits of those who died far from home, soldiers, merchants, and hunters who fell where no one knew them, and no one would remember where they were buried. But it’s the spirits of the forgotten that alarm me the most. People who were loved, and wander in the wilderness wondering why their people do not call them home.

My son does not know that I am dead. So how can he ever have a kurova guva ceremony for me? I ask myself this question and know immediately that I must find him. He does not know I am dead because he has been away from home for five years now. Vambe left home at nineteen years old in search of adventure. He did not think about leaving his father at home alone. He did not think about his responsibilities. He only thought of the horizon and finding out what was beyond it. So he carried his bow and arrow and a few things in his animal skin bag, then set out. When I was alive, I had no idea where he was, but now that I am dead, I am surprised by how quickly I find him. As I turn my mind to him in the fog of wilderness, a light appears on the edge. I walk towards it. I walk for what feels like weeks towards the growing beacon, and I persevere because I know I will find my son.

#

What I expect to see at the end of the light is a village, clusters of small huts made of mud, wood, and straw. But what I find is a large stone city filled with structures built from perfectly stacked granite blocks. It is a bustling place with men and women hurrying along as they do their Mambo’s bidding. A place as elaborate as this must be the seat of a mighty ruler. Large men wearing buck hides and holding large spears stand guard at the city entrance, and floating behind them is an army of mudzimu barring my entry. These ancestral spirits are not like the spirits in the wilderness. For one thing, I can see them clearly. For another, they speak to each other. And right now, they are speaking about me.

“Who is this wanderer?” the spirit of an old man says.

“I do not recognise him,” another answers.

“You must not let him in,” the old man says.

The spirits glare at me and some begin to stand in a line, barring entry into the city.

“Wait. He feels familiar,” says the spirit of a middle-aged woman with a baby suckling from her breast. “I feel like I know him, even though he is obscured in darkness.” She squints at me, as if trying to penetrate a cloud around me. “I know who he feels like. He feels like the foreigner.”

And just like that, they let their guard down. Immediately, they understand what I am doing here, that my son drew me to him, and even in death I had no choice but to come.

As I wander the stone city, I wonder how my Vambe found his way here. What can possibly be making him linger in this place instead of returning home to his baba? The answer, of course, is a woman. I find Vambe sitting on a rocky outcrop, watching a group of women below who laugh as they braid each other’s hair. The markings on their brown hide skirts identify them as members of the Mambo’s family. There are five of them, all young, beautiful maidens, but it is obvious which one has caught Vambe’s eye. The most beautiful of them all. She is easily the shortest of them, yet she still stands out. And when she smiles…When she smiles…Any man who saw her would tell you that when she smiles, it is like the first gulp of water from a cold river after a long journey; it brings life to parts of you that you didn’t even know were dying. But on Vambe’s face it is clear that for him, when she smiles there is absolutely nothing else that matters.

In the days that follow, I discover that the woman is the eldest daughter of the Mambo of the city. I wonder where my child ever found the audacity to fall in love with a princess. For in love they are.

For weeks, I watch Vambe manufacturing meetings with the princess. He volunteers to serve as a guard when she leaves the city with the other maidens in search of herbs. And at night, she sneaks out of her hut, and they meet by the river. And there they sit, hand in hand, talking about the future that they dream of. An impossible future, for the Mambo will never let his daughter marry a poor foreigner.

#

My son does not know that I am dead, but sometimes I think he feels me. I think he senses that I am near. When he walks back to the warriors’ barracks after his meetings with the princess, I think he senses me following in his footsteps. He turns back quickly, looking intently, but he stares right through me, face wrinkled in confusion. I am right here, but he cannot see me. I plead with him to go home, but he cannot hear me. How will he ever learn that he needs to save me? On nights like those, I cannot bear to watch him sleep peacefully when I am facing oblivion. On nights like those, I wander around the city. I encounter the mudzimu of this place, but none of them speak to me. They watch me with pity as I drift past them, then they whisper behind my back. Are they wondering just like I am how much longer my spirit will retain its shape, or when I will begin to fade to shadow?

#

My son does not know that I am dead, so he spends his days amongst the warriors of the stone city, trying to ingratiate himself with the King. Whatever unpleasant task is required, Vambe volunteers. He searches for firewood with the young boys. He helps the female servants bring water from the river to the cooking place. When the travelling merchants at the market get overexcited, he is there to bring them back in line. And when it is time to fight, he is always at the front. The warriors of this place favour spears as weapons, but my son has always carried his bow and arrows. And he is so efficient with his weapons of choice that they call him Chirashamihwa, one who throws needles the way that porcupines do. When the men set out to hunt, it is always his arrow that brings the beasts down. When they return, it is his name the women sing. The months go by, and Vambe steadily works his way into the Mambo’s inner circle. He is known throughout the stone city as a problem solver. But a new problem is looming that even my Vambe cannot solve. A drought is deepening, water is dwindling, and each time the men set out on a hunt, they have to go farther and farther to find the animals. The entire city is at risk of starvation.

So, one day, the Mambo calls a special meeting for his warriors, and I follow Vambe as he walks to a meeting that he was not invited to.

When the Mambo sees him, he says “Chirashamihwa, why are you here? You may be brave, and you have helped where you can. But you are still a foreigner. I cannot ask you to risk your life for people who aren’t your own.”

“Mambo, I am your servant,” Vambe says. “Give me your orders and I will go.” And so, my Vambe sits down and joins the other warriors, awaiting the Mambo’s commands. The Mambo looks at his men with a worried look on his face. He lets out a big sigh before he finally speaks.

“I do not have to tell you the problems that face this city,” the Mambo says. “Look at this land. All that was once green now lies dying of thirst under the unforgiving sun. Our ancestors have deserted this land. Maybe it is time we did too. But I don’t want to leave. This is the only home we all have ever known, but I know to remain here would be to condemn my people to die. So, I challenge each of you to go out in search of water. And whoever brings us water can have my daughter’s hand in marriage. Go. Go now. Find me water. Save my people.”

#

My son does not know that I am dead, so when he makes his prayers to his ancestors to guide him on his way, he does not include me. He calls on my father, and my grandfather, and the ancestors who came before them. I know they hear him because they are not in the wilderness like I am. Their spirits were called home, and he will always be able to find them. Hearing him recite the long line of fathers makes me afraid once again. How long will I be able to see my son and hear him before the wilderness swallows me entirely? I listen as he asks for protection and guidance. I listen as he tells them about this woman he adores. I listen as he begs them to help him secure his wife. And the following morning, before the rooster crows, he sets out with dozens of other men. They split into groups and begin their search, each man determined to claim the title of being the Mambo’s son-in-law.

#

My son does not know that I am dead. Perhaps if he did, he would abandon this quest and go back to find my grave. Then finally my kurova guva ceremony would be held. As I watch him and the other young men hunting for water, I dream about my kurova guva ceremony. I imagine the people gathering by my grave. I see them bringing sadza, beer, and my favourite snuff. They slaughter a cow, and they spend the night singing and dancing in the yard. And in the morning, my son leads them back to my grave, and there, they fetch my spirit. They say “We are calling you back home. You do not need to live in the wilderness any longer.” And finally, finally, my spirit will be able to join my ancestors. But these are only dreams, and that future seems to be fading now. My son has no intention of turning back.

The warriors wander for days, and steadily, one by one, they start to turn back. The sun is too strong, the food dwindles, and they begin to give up. They give up until it is only Vambe who remains. Even though he is now alone, he continues his search for water. The stubbornness that made him leave home in the first place propels him now. He has decided that he will find this water. He has decided that he will marry this woman. So, he searches, surging forward even though his feet hurt, his back aches, and his skin begins to pinch from the pain of the sun beating down on it relentlessly. He continues even as he begins to weaken.

And as Vambe gets weaker, the line between life and death blurs. I lie beside him as he sleeps, and sometimes I am able to enter his dreams. In his dreams, I try to speak to him, but he cannot understand me. My presence just seems to fluster him. So as the days proceed, I choose instead to lie and watch the stars while he sleeps. I remember the days after his mother died, when Vambe and I made the trek to her people in search of safety. When we would rest at night, I couldn’t sleep. I needed to stay awake to keep my son safe. So I would lie next to him, listening to his steady breathing. I would look at the stars. They looked so bright. And something about the vastness of the sky and the multitude of stars that stretched across the universe reminded me about just how small a part I was in it. In those moments when everything else fell into insignificance in comparison to the immensity of the night sky, that very feeling of futility left me feeling completely stripped down to the things that mattered to me most. And that thing for me was Vambe and finding a place that we could call home.

Now I watch the sky, and I know that the thing that matters most to me is still my son. I cannot help but wonder what Vambe thinks of when he looks at the night sky. When he is forced to face just how small and insignificant he is, what are the things that still hold meaning? Does he wonder about me and the people he left behind? Or does he only think about the young woman who has captured his heart and the life that he will build with her? Does he ever look back, or does he only think about the future and the legacy he wants to leave?

#

My son does not know that I am dead, so when his thirst starts to make him delirious, he calls to his dead mother. He falls to his knees and begins to crawl in the grass as he begs his mother to save him. And like a mirage, a thicket of trees appears on the horizon. He drags himself towards the trees. Slowly, he reaches his goal. And in this place, there is a pool of water. In any other circumstance, Vambe would know immediately that this is a holy place. He would know the risks of disturbing the water. But because he is in the state he is in, all he sees is water and the end of his thirst. He falls to his knees, and he leans down, as he drinks greedily.

“You’ll choke if you keep drinking like a drunk elephant,” I say.

Vambe stiffens as if a noise has startled him. At the exact same time, I feel a shift. Like a veil has fallen away.

Vambe lifts his head in my direction. He says “Baba?”

I am momentarily frozen. Did he hear me? I do not know what to do. My son calling for “Baba” again startles me out of my shock. I realise that he is not looking through me. He is looking at me. My son can see me.

“Baba, how can you be here?” Vambe says. “You were alive when I left you.”

“Mwanangu, my precious son, I am with you always.”

“Baba, you have to help me.”

“My son…” I begin to say, but then I pause. The moment feels so important, and I am overwhelmed by the worry that I have this one chance to get it absolutely right. But Vambe has ideas of his own. He keeps talking, even as I struggle to find the words.

Vambe says, “Now that you are gone, I am alone. Help me win this woman I love so I can have a family again.”

I want to tell him to abandon this quest. I want to tell him he needs to go home. I want to tell him he needs to do the kurova guva ceremony so that I can join my ancestors. But I cannot get a word in edgewise. I am trying to get my son to think about where he comes from, his responsibilities to the past, but the only thing in his mind is the future. The only thing on his mind is this woman that he is building every dream upon. And I know I have to let him go.

So, I tell him where the water is.

I have always known where the water is. I knew almost as soon as I arrived in the city on that very first day. Untethered from the physical body and its distractions, the spirit becomes overly aware of the earth and how it moves. I could sense the water under the earth. An ancient river that is now hemmed in by rock, aggressively trying to find its way out. I always knew where the water was. There in the middle of the Mambo’s meeting place. All Vambe needs to do is use his arrows to free it.

And the final thing I tell my son before he turns away from the pool is “Go and claim your wife.”

#

My son now knows that I am dead, but all he can think about is that he now knows what he needs to be able to marry the princess. His love and desire propel him across the land, and he finishes the journey in just three days. He finds the entire city gathered in the meeting place. There is an air of mourning. The Mambo is announcing how they must all head north in search of better land and water. All the children are silent, and some women are weeping quietly. Vambe hurtles through the crowd and straight to the Mambo.

“I know where the water is. I will save my people.”

“Where?” asks the Mambo says incredulously.

“Right here!” Vambe says.

Vambe now faces the large rock in the meeting place. The people all look at him. He takes out his bow and arrow, takes aim and shoots. His arrow hits the rock with a slight tap and falls tamely to the ground. A few people laugh. He tries another arrow with the same results. The people begin to leave the meeting area saying that the sun has gotten to the foreigner’s head. He tries a third time and still no water.

The Mambo looks at him disappointedly and says, “I expected more from you.” He walks away with the few remaining people and leaves Vambe alone. My son cannot understand. He looks around in confusion, almost as if he is waiting for me to appear and explain. I want to tell him to try again. But I cannot. His shoulders fall, and he looks at the rock dejectedly as if surveying the gravestone of his dreams.

Then a gentle voice says to him, “Try again, Chirashamihwa. A porcupine leaves many quills in the lion’s face.” He looks up and realizes that one person is still watching him. There stands the princess, a few steps away with an encouraging smile. “Try again.”

He picks up his bow and arrows and sets aim again and shoots a fourth time at the stubborn rock, but still nothing. Not wanting to disappoint the princess, he gets ready to shoot again, stringing his bow, but before he can let the arrow go, the ground begins to tremble. Then there is a loud cracking sound. The rock breaks in two and water gushes out, drenching Vambe and the princess.

The water spouts out as it showers over the pair. The noise summons the people who all scream with joy at the sight of water. Some begin to dance. Others get on their knees and begin to praise and thank Mwari. Others still run to find containers for the water. And in the middle of it all, Vambe and the princess stand, staring at each other, speechless, as if overwhelmed by the realisation that what had once felt like an impossible dream of being together is really going to come true. They look at each other, water droplets sparkling in the sun. And in those drops, I see…the future. I see Vambe’s son, and his son, and his sons’ sons. I see the homes they will build. I see the wives they will marry. I see the daughters they will treasure. And I see them all, standing tall and proudly as they carry their ancestor’s name: Chirashamihwa, mukwasha waMambo, Chikandamina weshanu uri pauta.

I see my descendants, and I feel the ties that bind me to my son loosening. The light dims. The sound stops. And once again, I am sinking. I am sinking like I did when I died. Sinking away from my son, sinking away from this city, and sinking away from the world. I sink into darkness, into the void where I know I will never be able to leave. I wander in the wilderness forever so that my son’s wandering can end.

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