memoirsfromzimbawee

The moment were entered the dust road, I held my breath. Soon we were in the narrow road leading into the thick forest. We negotiated through a bumpy road with protruding stones and rock outcrops. Our pickup track jaked from side to side, and the irritating impact of tyres crashing on small rough stones seemed endless. My uncle held on to his steering wheel with measured concentration, his face serious as beads of sweat flowing freely down his face right through the nose. His t-shirt was soaked and I could feel the smell of his sweat in the hot African sun. He labored on with every ounce of his energy. “These roads are treacherous, and the District Development Fund are not doing anything to maintain these feeder roads” he complained, cursing inwardly. “But do not worry, we will reach the farm today”, he reassured me, though with a hint of resignation. We were on our way to his farm, and he was determined to ensure that I would admire his new farm. The remainder of the journey was very long and we did not talk. It was round mid-day that I suddenly realized as I observed the sudden change in vegetation that we were now closer to arriving at our destination. As a turned my head at him, I saw beams of smile and that was enough to tell me that were now a matter of few kilometers away.