Running in Shurugwi

I went out running this evening

It was later than usual; the sun had set.

Coming over the hill I can see the supper-time fires of this rural farming area.

The evening sounds are gentle.

Small insects pursuing the last light.

Dry pods popping on the trees and children laughing as they play around their straw

and mud homes.

It is near dark, but I can see quite clearly.

The moon, half-full, is rising behind me. To my left is the outline of the hill that is the

backbone of the Shurugwi valley, leading me to the Smelter site.

In the day I know there are purple, red, and pink bougainvillea. At night, though you can’t see them,

their scent is just as distinct. That and jasmine and the blossoming spring trees.

Out of the darkness a shape appears: a young boy.

Hello, I say. He turns his head, Mhoro he replies.

I can see his bright eyes and his teeth as he smiles. I continue running.

He quickens his walk to a jog to accompany me. I can hear from the slapping on the tar that

he is wearing flip-flops, and soon our rhythms are in sync.

We run together for some time.

He is not intrusive.

Subtly he drifts off the road, along a darkened winding path. I only notice his departure by the changing sound of his footsteps as he flip-flops onto grass and earth. I call out to him: have a good evening!

His reply is content and sincere

Ufambe zvakanaka – have a good journey.