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Forget what you think you know. We were simple people, living and minding our daily  business as such is the norm of most common human beings. However, no one anticipated such a despicable atrocity to avail and commemorate itself in fully altering people’s lives and futures. We had teachers, mothers, fathers, pillars of strength, but how do you explain a good morning to somebody who woke up healthy and slept without a goodnight forever? I cry daily because no one understands that they call us survivors and heroes, yet we are the traumatised and storytellers that were left to fabricate and edit the horror that befell our loved ones. Two, twenty, one million, twenty five zillion, do the numbers of the dead really matter when everything totally changed for us? I remember we used to go to church on sundays and we always used to joke around with the police officers when we passed by the station on our way to church, but only a sea of boulders, the pulpit floor and one gumboot are left to tell the tale of what used to be.

We all had land, rich or poor, able or disabled, we all progressed under the blessed shadow of Mother Nature as an agricultural based economy and community, but the science that we knew wasn’t black enough for the terror that we witnessed. Things fell from the sky, water came from everywhere, darkness blinded us all and land disappeared. You could scream, pray and try to MacGyver the situation, but when the rocks came and the landslides cultivated a new tomorrow for us, it didn’t matter who you were or how capable you could be, it was simply God’s grace to survive. People usually address death as simply saying goodbye and pouring soil onto the grave of a loved one but this was different. Imagine waking up as a husband and a father of four kids with a beautiful wife only to see the next day on top of a mountain with nothing except one picture of your family inside your wallet. How then do you normalise and accept death, dear friends?

My last born survived because she was in her cot when the water broke through the wall. The cot floated, and because the water at the time was still rising slowly, she had time to escape through a window and hide under a mango tree. Her mother, unfortunately, still hadn’t come back from visiting my in-laws as she wanted to assist them at fields to plant sweet potatoes. To this day, l remember my wife and three other kids by their last words as they carried hoes and fertiliser bags to my in-laws’ place, “take care of the young one for us, we will be back in the evening.” That was the last time l ever saw them. Now, tell me, world. Because l have sought the worst and best kinds of pain, medications and drugs trying to forget and comfort myself and be strong for my two year old daughter, but l have failed. Some days, it gets even worse because people keep on asking what happened and every time l tell these strangers what happened, l just keep on wishing that l had gone with my boys and wife. If you have time, if you need more clarity and if you could spare a moment of peace and respect for the loved ones we lost, then listen as l tell you a story of “change within a night.”

Before the cyclone, there were over ninety formal houses and countless informal structures in our small village, in-between Chipinge and Chimanimani, but today only one house survived whilst the rest became part of the rabble that was flushed away by the great waters. If you ask us, whether we knew that the cyclone was coming, we would totally agree that, indeed, we knew, but what we didn’t know was what it was and what it could do. Being in a region where there was vast rainfall and high temperatures normally, we assumed that the weather forecasts and early warning systems meant that a cyclone was just more heavy rains and wind, therefore we resumed our daily lives as usual only to be caught vulnerable. My name doesn’t matter, but for the sake of progress, please understand  that what l am about to tell you won’t matter until you understand that l was just like you before l became a victim, a beneficiary, something l never thought or dreamed to be, void.

By profession, l was a school teacher, but by skill l was a barber on weekends when l was usually free. Abigail Mlambo, a black beauty that had this dimple and aura around her that made me smile every time she spoke, was my wife, my best friend and my Nubian queen. l met her twenty years ago. Our eldest child was nineteen, the second born was seventeen, the third was fifteen, and the last born was  two, the only survivor, my princess and world.

If l had time l would tell you extensively about what my kids used to like and do, and what my wife’s favourite meal and song were, the finer things in life and priceless moments, but because l need you to understand what happened on that Friday, that dark day, I will tell you of the things that truly matter. It began with a loud thunder, l mean the one they only show and make in horror movies. You could swear someone had stepped on a landmine, but the sound was so intense and loud that even people in Mozambique felt it the same time we did. In the moment, there were no borders, no wards, nothing besides the fight for survival. There was total darkness, it was so scary and overwhelmingly dark that you couldn’t even see your hands up close. I remember jumping to the side when the first boulder hit the family hut, it wasn’t  instinct or luck, l was reading my Bible, as usual, before l tuck in to bed when l heard a huge sound that followed the thunder. It was like someone rowing a boat in a quiet river and the fish were all oblivious to the net and traps that had been cast. When l jumped to the side and the boulder ate the entire kitchen away, it didn’t have to be dark or bright for me to understand  that l had to run for my life.

With no time to gather anything or prepare at all, l flew out of the house. Yes my friend, I flew. You see the family hut had  a one way ‘enter and exit’ door and the boulder had carved a picasso out of that normality. The windows were gone, the bedroom doors were all gone or carved in to a point of no recognition at all and what was left was a big hole on the roof that l flew bare footed from until l hit the ground rolling as l escaped. It was on my second step after hitting the ground that l realised l couldn’t run any further without looking for my child.

Dead silence, clouds of chewable dust, frothy darkness and the sheer twilight of horror. This sounds far fetched, but this is the reality that awaited me as l set foot on the squashed door frame of my baby’s bedroom. I called all the sweet names you can ever give and call your baby girl with, even the ones l knew she would respond to smilingly with her sweet baby gestures but only a torrid coldness of air replied me. It felt like l had escaped an episode of death in order for it to theatrically embrace me at it folds in the most excruciating way possible as l saw my feet getting soaked suddenly and the water rising furiously. At that point, l literally  froze and lost my mind for a second. I had already lost a house to the stones and land slide and the water was here to flush and finish the job. The worst part was that l was possibly standing on my child’s souped and minced body, and there was nothing l could do about it if that was the reality.

Whatever happened next, l was ready to embrace it. There was no shame, no time and no honour in such a death. As the water rose, the land see-sawed on the ground and the sounds from the exploding mountains  got louder, l saw my life from the beginning up to now in a flash. They say when you are about to die, everyone sees at least a segment of their lives in slow motion or fast forward, depending on the type of death that awaits you, and l believe it. In that flash, l saw all my failures as a father, as a son, a husband, but most importantly as a man. You see, dear friend, humanity is guilty of complacency  and that was one of the things that led for Adam and Eve to fall in the first place. We don’t see beyond our own purpose of life and so when we get comfortable at something we assume is rightly ours and feels good, we fold our hands and call it a day. This was what l was prepared to do as l had accepted my death. l couldn’t see beyond the situation that l was in and as fear crept in, l found a corner of comfort and closure in my mind and heart, and tucked myself in nicely as I awaited either a boulder to squash me or the water to flush me away.

“Baba baba!” Followed with a high pitched cry of severe pain brought me back to life. That was my daughter’s voice and cry for help beneath the rabble that was near the big mango tree. If l had no strength any more then, there was no better motivation for digging in the last reserves of whatever energy l had left because for my princess, l could fight the whole world itself and win. Rock after rock, l rolled them to the side trying to get nearer to the cries of my baby. Miracles do happen, dear reader. You see, my baby girl was saved by the same big mango tree l had wanted to cut down. When the boulders hit our house, they pushed her bed to the side of the garden that was near her room and she crawled outside to the tree for cover. This is how she survived although she lost two fingers in the process. I have never liked mangoes but only tolerated them for the love my family had for them but if you ask me today about mangoes and how to eat them properly, my answer would be this: before you eat one, pray that the fruit enriches your body and soul for the known and unknown, and appreciate the deliciousness that comes with the belief  that, indeed, it will boost your health and save your life. So when l made it to my baby girl, l took her in my arms and we escaped before the water and boulders consumed us.

 Have you ever climbed or tiptoed barefooted uphill on a mountain that is known to harbour the most deadliest snakes and baboons in the region whilst water and all cyclonic elements erase every footstep you make forward? Well, it was my first time and unfortunately not my last too. You see, l knew the terrain better than a blindman could ever rely on his walker to see the environment, and believe me, l saw shadows of things running  past me instead of towards me. It was like Noah had made the boat all-over again and a few species had to make it there before the great flood began again. Everything knew naturally that this phenomena was a force of nature that even fangs and claws couldn’t save  you from. It felt like walking on glass whilst on a cow’s yoke as l strode up the mountain carrying my baby girl on my shoulders. I was tired and breathing like a steam engine but l didn’t stop. Finally, l made it to the pinnacle of the mountain and as l put my daughter down to catch my breath and check  behind what was happening, l was traumatised.

Cattle, goats, chickens, ducks, pigs, you can name it all, the cyclone took it all away! Wealth, in our culture is both monetary and quantity in livestock but we lost all our net worth in a single night. The advantage of where l was standing was that l had an eagle’s eye view of the whole village but l couldn’t help them or scream enough for anyone to take heed and run for their lives! One by one, the houses fell and were swept away. You could hear cattle trying to moo for help, but the water choke-slammed them deep inside the cold and silent darkness. Boulders fell from the mountains and crushed entire generations in some huts in a single hit of impact. As the water continued to rise, the screams and sounds got quiet, only bubbles filled the place as living organisms took their last breaths, submerged. It was like someone had opened a fizzy drink on a small anthill and it overflowed, spreading the bubbles and spillage everywhere untill all the ants drowned.

My little one  was catching a cold and if l am being honest, as clueless as a two year old child can be, she knew that something bad had happened and she had scars to prove it. I chewed some non-poisonous shrubs and rubbed them around the open flesh where two of her  fingers used to be, to ease her pain temporarily.

A long sweater, vest and a boxer short was what l was wearing at the top of the freezing mountain, and to make matters worse, l had to let go of my sweater so my little princess could get some warmth.

Books give us theories and ideas to mediate and ease our lamentations for moments, but therapy doesn’t work in a land full of ghosts and orphans. I screamed, rolled over  and dramatised my pain in every way l could on top of the mountain. Six pieces of me gone, l counted my trembling  fingers as l looked at the dark sky. You see, l didn’t have to be told that my wife, in-laws and three kids were dead, l just knew the very moment the rocks and water struck our house. The terrain of the slope of my in-laws’ area of residence was way worse than where we lived, although their farming lands were quite fertile. It was a vertically bumpy slope that meant if the rocks were ever to fall and the water to flood like it did, they undoubtedly were the most endangered of us all. I spent hours, paranoid, and thinking about why l didn’t veto my family’s decision to go to my in-laws’ fields that particular day or at least follow them to the cyclonic guillotine.

Everything was gone, bridges made from the hardest and heaviest concrete and iron out there were floating like jellybeans in a twenty litre bucket. Signposts of churches, market places, police stations, Bibles, infant shoes, you name it. Everything floated away near the shore, telling different stories of what had happened that previous day. When my princess eventually woke up, she was in pain due to her injuries and crying for me to open the blindfold, but l couldn’t bring myself to do that. Sometimes, rights are overrated my friend, if you love someone unconditionally and you are able to save them from a future of insidious trauma, then don’t think twice about being a temporary villain, but a permanent hero.

You see, hunger has its own tune, a serenade that blurbs a melodious and unpleasantly fowl air of internal need. Sometimes, it comes out as a mere puff or a loud stomach growl but when it comes out  accompanied by a voice that tells you, “dad l am hungry,” then a whole new level has kicked in! After going hungry for a whole day, I begged, tricked and scolded my child, trying to encourage her to soldier on and ignore the hunger but who was l kidding? Every time l tried something new to kill time and shift her focus to something  else, my own stomach betrayed me with an earthquake of a growl! There was no food, no edible insect or fruit to eat, only shrubs and grass.

The very thought of eating human flesh horrified and tormented me to a state of temporal fullness for some hours but the reality was, l had a terribly hungry young child who needed to eat more than l did. I could have always of course, put her out of her misery by twisting her neck, but l could never live with myself! So l did what every soul in need does in times of unbearable pain, l prayed. I prayed to God to take us both and receive us warmly in His arms in heaven for we had truly been failed by this earth but there was no reply, just more hunger and pain! As night began to set again, l folded and tucked my unconscious daughter on a small tree that had comfy and supportive roots that seemed like bed-rests. I wished for the cyclone to come back and finish what it had begun and in my mind, l was ready for it this time.

Finally l gave in and became weak, wobbly and light-headed until l fell to the ground. It was like it had finally happened and we were on the way to a new world but the reality was l had just fainted because of hunger. Embarrassing, isn’t it? I mean who faints just because of a day or two of no food? Well, try it my friend, and pray that you are not on top of a flood covered mountain whilst you do. It was all just a blur until l woke up to people carrying me over to the other side of the mountain l hadn’t got to, and voices saying “he’s alive” and “give more food to the little one!”

Ten! one and a big fat zero! This is the number of the people that survived with us at the mountain of doom and they were the heroes that saved us. Altogether we were fifteen, if l counted the dogs and cats. After all, this was their land now too, the land of barking and hissing to ghosts they used to know and get fed by. I noticed a sketchy trend as l woke up and gathered my strength. We were all in disarray when it came to clothing, but if pity had a price then the look in everyone’s face was epic enough for the highest bidder.  We survived on bananas. Yes, bananas. You see there is a deep level of romance that takes place when you devour a banana. The fruit promises to satisfy your every need with its deliciousness but betrays the laws of attraction when it fills you up with nothing but air! However if you eat them long enough, they begin to honour this agreement and before you know it, you survive with a reserve tank of much needed energy.

As time passed by, l got to know my fellow  survivors, their stories and unfortunately their loss. One of them had  two shops, two wives, two houses and two hundred cows, but guess what, he narrated his ordeal to us having nothing but dry cattle dung that he used to illustrate the size of his vanquished kraal. No one from his house made it. All the kids and wives were swept away. It was like the cyclone had came and left us with a talk show of comparing loss and pain. Miraculously, we had a ninety-two year old lady survivor amongst us. God is great, l thought, everytime l looked at her. It was a mystery how she made to the mountain but what l know was that she was not only special because she had survived. She also had mild amnesia which made her forget some of the trauma and loss from time to time. You could find her in a very heated debate, smiling and talking alone and all you could do was envy her and wish you had some of her gifts, at least the smiling part.

Hours became days and days became nights but still there was no feasible help. The water did not sink speedily into the ground as it normally did, nor did the corpses stop floating. The land was swarming with hordes of flies and bugs that follow the infamous stench of decay. Everything floated and it was up for grabs to anyone that wanted it.  We didn’t know if we were  going to be saved or survive any longer as our water spring that we depended on was slowly running low.

 In groups and alone, we prayed and even did periodic hourly sessions for mourning our lost loved ones but no one came. Everyone was at breaking point and most were beginning to fall ill. I mean how couldn’t we when we were surviving on a contaminated water spring and a tremendously unbalanced diet? When day seven kicked in, only me and three other women were standing but the rest were on stone-cold rock sick beds. The temperatures had reached a level of coldness that felt like electric jolts to the joints everytime you made any movement. It felt like our bodies were shutting down to a new disaster or a cold pandemic. But l say it again, God is good all the time. As we attended to the sick and gathered decayed shrubs to make a fire for everyone to warm up. We noticed everything was just too wet and damp. There was no way to start a fire and besides, we had no lighter or matchsticks to light it up. We were just waiting for a slow, sneezing, dry and cold death but as we held our heads down in grief awaiting our fates, we heard a foreign sound and saw a large beam of light from afar. As it got nearer, we all cried and screamed at the same time. The sight of a helicopter hovering in the sky never looked more promising.

…to be Continued.