Harare Review of Books

Congratulations to Jackie Chikambure! She wins a selection of books from Carnelian Heart Publishing.

Here’s One Braid at a Time, with comments from judges following.

I think this is not working: from Jared.

That was the text message that started everything.

Tambu felt the insides of her stomach curl and violently shoot upwards to her mouth. She quickly caught the vomit before it poured out onto her client Mai Grace who squealed when Tambu accidentally yanked some of her hair.

“Ouch girl, watch it! I could get you arrested, tsk,” Mai Grace, a sour, middle-aged woman threatened Tambu. Within seconds, Mai Grace’s graphite phone vibrated, and a bright red hologram alert beamed up into the air. The hologram read:

We detected distress, Mai Grace, should we call the police? YES/NO.

“I am so, so sorry Mai Grace, but the worst thing just – ”

“I don’t care! I could get you arrested.” As Mai Grace said this, she pressed NO on the hologram alert before continuing to say, “Or worse… I could tell your mother what happened.”

This made Tambu momentarily forget about the text from Jared. She gently stroked Mai Grace’s hair and rubbed the spot where she pulled.

“I’m very sorry. Please, don’t tell my mother.”

Mai Grace shrugged, signalling that there was little or nothing that Tambu could do to dissuade her. Tambu’s eyes roamed around the stylish little hair salon. It was one of the few remaining salons in Africa that braided people’s hair using hands. Everywhere else, salons used humanoids and other AI tech because tech was cheaper and faster. But there were a few remaining customers who loved the old ways, and the craftsmanship that came with human hands braiding hair.

Located in Mutare, The Saloon (it was actually called The Saloon) was a small, exclusive and expensive spot, but you would never think that from the outside; that was the charm. It was part of a franchise started in South Africa by one of Tambu’s mother’s relatives; a Malawian woman called Ma G, over 75 years ago in 2019. Yes, it was a mouthful, and Tambu had heard the story so many times over about the women in their family who sacrificed everything to leave a legacy for their children – a legacy for her. Tambu couldn’t mess this up. Her mother had been ill lately, and she’d been slowly handing more responsibility to Tambu with the hopes that she would take over The Saloon one day.

“Mai Grace, you can have 25…” she stopped to study Mai Grace’s stern, stingy-looking face, “I mean, 50% off today. Courtesy of The Saloon.” 50% was a decent discount, this was easily a maid’s monthly salary, Mai Grace had to agree.

“Ah, ndizvozvo. I will tell your mother what a good girl you have been.”

Tambu slumped with relief. Like all the women in her family before her, Tambu had been taught how to do hair, even when doing hair by hand had gone out of fashion. She was brilliant at it, but she was not excited about running The Saloon. It was so much work managing fussy, high-maintenance clientele. If she could quit, she would have, but one, she was afraid of her mother, and two Tambu had no other prospects. After she failed O’Levels 3 times not even her mother’s money could bribe her into a college. Then of course there was the money. The money she earned at The Saloon was triple what any of her friends made at regular office jobs. She also liked the stunning view of the ocean that she got to see every day as she did the client’s hair. She loved the fact that only the who’s who of Zimbabwe had access to the ocean and that was because, in the past, can you believe, Zimbabwe had no oceans! According to what she had learned in school, Zim had been landlocked, then global warming happened, the icecaps melted, and the Indian Ocean coastline wiped out cities called Beira, Mafambisse, and Chimoio in Mozambique and the water reached Mutare so people like Tambu, and wealthy politicians, and the Zim elite could enjoy it too. Thank you, global warming.

Tambu spent the next 3 hours in excruciating silence as she braided Mai Grace. She couldn’t stop thinking about Jared’s text. Maybe she had read it wrong, surely, he was not breaking up with her? How could he? They paired well together. Finally, after what felt like 40 days and 40 nights, Mai Grace’s twisted braids were done, and she was happy. Mai Grace scanned her index finger on the pay-scanner and it beeped twice to acknowledge receipt of payment. Without a thank you, she strode to the elevator and zipped away. Immediately Tambu grabbed her phone to see if there had been any follow-up messages, but there were none. She asked her phone to call Jared, but she didn’t get a dialling tone.

“George, George, Georgina!” Tambu screamed at her best friend who was napping in the storage room. George’s eyes snapped awake, frightened that he had been caught sleeping on the job only to find out, it was just a panicked Tambu. He stretched his long arms and legs out, after what had been a great nap. He loved his job as the barber because he was hardly busy but got paid a full salary regardless. He spent most of his time voraciously reading, gossiping with Tambu, or developing his dating app for closeted gay men, like himself.

“I told you not to call me Georgina, not in public. I’m George,” he grumbled.

Tambu rolled her eyes, “George, a blind cat could tell you are not a straight man. It’s got nothing to do with me calling you Georgina.”

George crossed his arms over his chest, “One day, I tell you, Zimbabwe will change its laws and…”

“Yes, yes,” Tambu hurried him, she had heard this speech many times before. She thrust her phone into his hands, and he peered at it.

“What do you think this means?”

“Jared is saying something isn’t working?”

“Yes! He is breaking up with me George!” Tambu threw herself against the wall and started crying. She felt all the anguish she had held in all afternoon surge out of her.

“But were you guys even pre-paired?” he asked.

“What? What do you mean George, of course we were. He spends almost every day with me.”

“Well, I do too.”

“No, I work with you, I mean at my house.”

“Yes, I do that too.”

Tambu growled. She closed the salon door and dimmed the windows so that it looked pitch black if you tried to peek in from the outside.

“What are you doing, it’s not closing time yet. Don’t you have a client jetting in from Bulawayo?”

“Yes, I will message them to come early morning. It will be fine,” she was trying to convince herself more than she was telling him. She looked at the message again, it was staring at her, unchanging: this is not working.

“George, I’ve got to fix this…I turn 25 in less than a month.”

George shook his head and creased his face, but begrudgingly agreed, “I know.”

He walked over to the drink-synthesiser and printed two alcoholic drinks, one beer for her and one strawberry daiquiri for himself. Tambu grabbed the beer, and swung around in the chair, feverishly thinking about what she was going to do about Jared.

“Have you tried calling him?” George asked, sipping his drink through a straw. It was a rhetorical question, but Tambu jumped off her chair.

“That’s it, I’ve got it.”

“Wait, I was kidding, I thought you’d obviously already tried to call him,” he was stunned.

“No, gosh,” Tambu irritably waved him away. George was more of a distraction than helpful. “I am going to see a n’yanga.”

“A what?”

“A witch doctor. I’ve read that they can tell fortunes, win back lost lovers etc. Surely, they can give me some potion or something that can help get Jared back. The adverts are everywhere, haven’t you seen them?”

“I mean, yeah, I have seen those stickers but really? This is what you want to try?”

“What other choice do I have?”

George could think of many other options, but he knew that even if he disapproved, once Tambu was on to something, there was no changing her mind.

“So where do we find these witch doctors? Do you just look them up online?”

“Don’t be silly. I doubt they are online. But I know if we go to the CBD we will probably find a light post or taxi stop with the poster, quick, drink up and let’s go.”

If Mutare CBD was hectic during the day, it was almost a bustling nightmare at 4 pm when everyone was trying to get home. It didn’t matter if you were in a hovercraft above ground, or on foot, everyone was swarmed the area, bumping into each other, bustling to their destinations. George marvelled at the way Tambu weaved through the throngs of people and how comfortable she was in a place like this. That was the thing about Tambu, she came from money, but she easily fit into both worlds, and you would never think of her as an outsider in either.

“Here we go! It says Dr H Mazvita, look at the list of things she can do: she can help you get your business back on track, win the lottery, get you pregnant, help with abortion, and enlarge your penis, hey George you should check her out…” Tambu teased. George scoffed. She continued reading, “…and ah here it is, she can help you get your lost lover back.”

“Tambu, we haven’t even established that you and Jared are pre-paired, let alone a lover…”

Tambu ignored his scepticism. He watched her take the number down and dial it. George tried to listen to what she was saying but she turned away from him while pacing up and down in the middle of the path. He desperately wished he could get out of the CBD, he hated it there. Not because it was a poor, crowded, public area, but because of the way everyone stared at him. Finally, Tambu was done with her call, and she came back looking deflated.

“What did the good Dr say?”

“Good news is she can help me. She can create mushonga that will get Jared to stay with me, at least for a month, which is all I need.”

“That’s great! Why do you look upset?”

“I can’t afford it. It’s a lot of money just to see her. I could sell my car and hover to work…”

“What would your mother say?”

“I could clean out all my accounts, but again, if my mother found out she would kill me. Georgi, could you help me with the money?”

He snorted in laughter, “Tambu, your car costs more than my entire house and all the belongings inside. You know I would help you if I could. I think, you just need to talk to Jared and straighten this out. First of all, find out how he feels, and – ”

“I’ve got it!” Tambu shrieked and clasped her hands on George’s cheeks. “I am going to steal the money.”

“What?”

“George, it’s simple. I have samples of rich people’s hair all over the salon…”

George cringed at the word sample and was suspicious of the direction this conversation was taking.

“I’ll look through the bin for thrown away braids, which will have hair follicles, i.e DNA, I’ll take it to Spiffy to do that weird stuff he does, find out which DNA belongs to the richest client, and get a fingerprint copy, go to their house, steal something expensive and pay Dr Mavita. I mean, they are so rich, they won’t even notice.”

Tambu grabbed George’s hand and soon they were in a taxi, on the way back to the salon. It was such a contrast coming from the loudness of the streets of CBD, past Christmas Pass to the quiet of the coast, where the water lapped against the sands below.

“Tambu, I love you dearly, but this is madness.”

“I don’t want to hear your doubts right now,” she sternly ordered as she dashed out of the taxi, to the elevator and into the salon. She pulled out the bins and threw the contents onto the floor. The women who came to the salon never undid their own braids, so the bin was filled with various discarded braids, some had hair remnants from her clients. Tambu sat on the floor and slowly, she took one braid at a time, separating them into a pile next to her feet.

“So, let me get this straight. You are going to collect hair samples from these braids, test them to find out who they belong to, find out who is the richest, illegally generate their DNA into a fingerprint copy, go to their house and steal something, sell it on the black market, get the money to pay a witch doctor, who will then give you a potion, to get back a guy you are not sure actually wants to pair with you because he sent you a text that said ‘this is not working?’”

Tambu nodded and added another braid to her pile.

“Okay then, I’ll help.” George placed himself next to his bestfriend and he too started sorting through the braids. The two worked in silence and the pile grew. The higher it got, the heavier Tambu’s heart felt.

“I turn 25 in a few days; I can’t be paired off to someone I don’t know. I just can’t do it George.”

“I know T, I know. I’m sorry. When I was forced to pair with Naomi, it was probably the saddest day of my life, and for her too.”

“It’s such a stupid rule. I know it’s a government mandate, and I know things will never change, but I hate that we all must be paired off to someone for the rest of our lives just so we have to procreate.”

“People used to pair for romantic love you know. They called it marriage.” George announced.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, when I was looking up all the gay rights you hate me yapping on about, I read about when people used to pair for romantic love. As in, it was not government-mandated just because you turned 25.”

“How did that work?”

“Well, you had to actually like the person you were with for starters. They talk about feeling extra happy when you are with the person, you like to do everything together, by choice, you decide who you run the house, and you work as a team. Sometimes they got married and didn’t procreate and that was okay.”

“That sounds heavenly and made up. Then what happened?”

“I’m not sure, but here is my theory. Society lives in extremes. Centuries ago, it was a patriotic society and men ruled over women.”

Tambu chuckled and shook her head, “No way!”

“Yes, women didn’t have rights to vote, there was no equal pay, women were expected to stay home and just have babies. So, women fought back and there was the rise of feminism, which sought to balance the scale. And it was good for a while, independent womanhood was celebrated because they realised they didn’t need a man. But then, the movement got further down the spectrum. If you were a woman who showed a reliance on your husband, you were seen as backward or weak. So many women decided to not get married anymore. I mean, I am sure it was more nuanced than that, but that’s the cliff notes version. Hence, the society we have now, notice how everyone in power is a woman?”

Tambu nodded.

Having only women in charge was the norm. It’s how her world had always been, so she had never questioned it. “Is that why we have the masculism movement now, men trying to get equality…that’s history repeating itself?”

“Yes, exactly. So, without people getting together for love, women stopped having babies, and then the government stepped in to say everyone must be paired off by 25 to procreate, and here we are. You stressing about Jared, not wanting to pair with you.”

Tambu sighed looking at the braids around her feet, “this is crazy isn’t it?”

George nodded.

“If Jared doesn’t want to be paired with me, that’s okay. Many women before me have been paired with strangers and they are perfectly content in life. I had just hoped, I dunno, to be paired with someone I actually enjoyed spending time with. Maybe that’s the romantic love you are talking about?”

The salon door suddenly swung open and a rugged guy, with blue jeans, a white shirt, and startling blue eyes stepped in. “Hey, what’s this I hear about me not pairing with you?”

“Jared! Hi. What are you doing here?”

“Did you just say you don’t want to be paired with me?” his eyes searched Tambu’s.

“I do. But you said, ‘This is not working’.”

Jared chuckled, “I was talking about my phone! I sent so many messages that were not going through. I was trying to tell you I would be out of comms all day while I got it fixed.”

Tambu froze.

“So, we are still good to be paired together?”

“Of course, I want to be paired with you. It makes logical and biological sense, but to be honest. I’m a little excited about it too… I don’t know why.” Tambu smiled as relief enveloped her. She looked at George and they both burst into a knowing laughter.

“I’ll lock up the salon, why don’t you two go ahead and catch up? Please don’t forget to invite me to your Pairing ceremony, I have a feeling this one will be special.”

Tambu hugged George goodbye and she and Jared ambled to the door. Bravely, for the first time, she took his hand in hers. “You’ll never believe the day I’ve had, but first, let me tell you about something I just learned called romantic love…”

Judges’ comments

Zola Ndlovu

Loved it! and the twist at the end!

Oghenechovwe Donald Ekpeki

One Braid at a Time had a lot of heart and happiness and laughter while painting a serious and interesting picture and stories with very enjoyable characters.

Dr Peter Maurits

This well-crafted story excels in both style and structure. Drawing heavily from the familiar estrangement strategy of the Science Fiction genre, its plot is anchored in the trope of ‘the misunderstanding.’ A prosperous hairdresser mistakenly believes that their partner – not primarily a lover, but rather to ensure reproduction – is ending their relationship, unaware that it’s due to a malfunctioning phone. The narrative intriguingly envisions the automation of the commonplace act of braiding, reserving hand braiding for the affluent.

Despite the constraints of limited space, the story manages to convey a significant depth without overwhelming the reader. However, the reliance on both estrangement and the misunderstanding trope lends the narrative a somewhat predictable quality.

Sista Zai Zanda

• Your story must be set in a recognisable place in Zimbabwe, 50 years or more from now. 

I love the reference to climate change and the ocean, holographic technology and AI/machine braiding and the matriarchal society. The Saloon setting is believably Zimbabwean along with references to location.

• Your main protagonist(s) must be Zimbabwean.

I enjoyed reading this character, particularly the twist with regards to pairing before twenty-five. A believable storyline with a futuristic twist. 

• Your story must contain speculative fiction elements. Feel free to imagine as wildly as possible.

I love the references to all the norms of technology but my favourite is the hairdressing technology.