Gule Wamkulu - The Big Dance

When Smart opened our thatch-covered gate and Michael drove up the driveway, we were at home in Lusaka.

A barrage of sticky, muddy, scratched little hands pushed and shoved each other to bestow on me a welcoming handshake.

“You go, go home now,” Smart told them and they ran, fast as little legs could carry them, away.

In bare feet at the gate of their house--fronting ours on the kitchen side...was Smart’s wife, Maggi.  A doe-like child’s face, her tall, slim body had on a closely wrapped yellow, black and long, dramatic cotton textile exposing seed bangle ankle bracelets.  Two year old, Anna, was draped in a shawl on her back and five year old Elizabeth, in blue cotton tied at her shoulders and ending mid-calf, held onto her mother’s wrap around.  When Smart introduced me, Maggi put her right hand on her heart, curtsied and said “Allo”; the silent Elizabeth bowed.

“My family only speak Nyanja,” Smart explained.  “I learn to speak, to read and to write English at the missionary school.  I have twenty-four years; my wife she have twenty-one years.  This be our house.” He pointed to what looked like a garage.

“It looks small for your family, Smart.”

“It a plenty big house for us, madam.”

 Floppy ears alert, black and tan moving to the rhythm of a swishing tail, Chui pressed his nose against the kitchen door as Michael was about to unlock it for Smart to bring our things in from the van.  When I opened the door for Chui to follow, Michael said

“Don’t let him in.”

“Why?”

“His job is to stay outdoors and guard the house.”

The two of us sat on the front step holding hands and watching Chui chase a lizard in the thick bushes of marguerite bordering the driveway while Smart emptied the van. 

“Does he bark?”  I asked, and laughed.

“His name means leopard in Swahili.”  Michael’s mood was serious.

Mid-week Todd’s photo did appear on the back page of The Times of Zambia with a heading that suggested he might have “taken off.”

TAKEN OFF!             

Todd’s disappearance occurred at a most inopportune time.   Grocery shelves were stocked--bars cleaned, hours shortened, a ceasefire declared.  At tremendous expense and hard work Zambia was dressed for the grand occasion of the Queen’s visit. 

The disappearance of a White American University Librarian!  Please!

Michael, Hans, Rich, Rose, Todd’s Friend, the Historian, and a half dozen additional University faculty & staff, plus Mounti, stormed the Pro-Vice Chancellor’s office.  Looking forward to Stateside leave--Todd had left his paid airline ticket and flight schedule with Michael--and to life among the living, Michael, the explosive one in this room of many, made a show of himself putting down the “take off” notion before berating UNZA’s scanty advance that meant Todd (Michael knew...Pro Vice-Chancellor had also to know--hitchhiking was in Todd’s character) was forced to hitchhike.

Every day since that encounter which didn’t go very far, Michael badgered the police. 

Michael and Todd’s depth of attachment ran deep as the Irish Sea.  No one could make Michael laugh the way Todd could make him laugh, excepting me--sometimes.  Mind games!  Each trying to outwit the other in everything from history, art, literature, philosophy, POLITICS!

Freedom fighter? Thief?  Wrong word?   Questioned all our minds.

Chitunga’s devilish tongue was telling anyone who would listen that Michael dug a deep hole--buried Todd!

Todd understood the white m