Lovers of sight and sound.

The sun stared at the world without pause through the crystal clear sky. Fragile ornamental plants withered under the glare of the fiery orb while the trees sagged as if exhausted. The heat radiating from the streets soon created an atmosphere of an oven. Many people sought comfort from the heat by eating ice cream or drinking chilled beverages or sought refuge in their respective hostels with window wide open.

It was an October afternoon soon after the lunch hour, Nobert sat on a set of concrete benches under the giant Msasa shade on the middle of the chapel court typing his assignment that was due the following day at nine. There was not much time considering that it was a rewrite. He was quite busy and a couple of books were scattered on the concrete table in front of him.

He lifted up his head after finishing typing the first page. The sight that greeted him when he looked towards the nothern end of the yard , a few metres from the chapel fence – under the glorious shadows of the giant indigenous trees – was not pleasant at all. Linda was standing , infact leaning against this young man, smiling and a bit relaxed. He tried to ignore it.

He just couldn’t.

He forced himself to read and randomly flipped through the pages. In no time he had reached the back cover. He couldn’t concentrate any longer . A little later he felt chills and then suddenly nervous. He shifted his position a little and without reason he got up, turned off the laptop and paced to and fro as if he was a pastor ready to deliver a sermon. In no time sweat was rolling off his forehead like liquid beads. He gently wiped his face with his palms and sat back on the bench.

Why me? He asked himself bitterly. He looked at the young man with an odd beard and hairstyle. He was almost his age or even younger. He had recognised him.

He had actually performed at the Campus Nightlife Concert. He was a guitarist , admittedly a good one indeed. Why couldn’t he be like him. He was dejected. Ladies, according to his new ‘revelation’ seemed to be attracted by only two things – those were guitars and money – none of which Nobert possessed. Lovers of sound and sight – flamboyant clothing and luxurious vehicles, to him that was what attracted ladies. The mighty, magical and melodious guitar, did the trick, no wonder women often scream most – half lyrical and sensational- when artists strike a few chords on the stage.

Should I also try music? But I am not able to play the guitar. Should I enter into the Zim dancehall genre where guitar playing skills are not a priority? He was totally confused and was not sure what was the way forward if indeed any existed. Having quickly gone through all these , he saw that the ideas were not feasible at all. How could he do something that he was not interested in because he loved certain lady who he had accidentally met at the campus? Worse still there was no guarantee that she was going to love him if he ventured into music. He breathed hard.

His chills and shakes still persisted. He thought he would feel better somewhere away from the two love birds. He folded the sleeves of his shirt – leaving all his belongings on the table – he walked rapidly, past the gate and to the terminus opposite Manfred Dining Hall. The shades there were already occupied , there were university staff and some medical students who were waiting for the bus to town and Parirenyatwa respectively. He sat in the aching sun next to them with his right hand holding the cheek. His mind flooded up with unpleasant words to describe what he had seen and the way he was feeling.

 

 

Brighton Taruberekera aka @tbmunyori is a political Science student at the University Of Zimbabwe. He is also a poet. Above all he is passionate about writing. He can be contacted on 0778992045 / tbmunyori@gmail.com or www.facebook.com/tbmunyori

2017-11-08T11:19:20+00:00 0 Comments

About the Author:

Brighton Taruberekera
I am an African young man, a short story writer and a student at the University of Zimbabwe. My poetic works and several pieces has been published elsewhere.

Leave A Comment