NZOU.

A story I wrote about elephants and death and ancestors 4 years ago*

My grandmother who I’m named for had the totem Nzou (elephant) . When my Daddy died, we left Maun at some ungodly hour to head to the crematorium in Lobatse to pick up his ashes. Along the ride, we played the same Tuku album on repeat while the family talked gently. Tuku had this way of weaving parables into his music. Saying so much with just one or two sentences. The music settled my cousin as she drove down the dimly lit road. I remember looking out of the window at the countryside for most of the ride other than my job as DJ trying to reconcile with my new reality. At some point, our car’s headlights showed something traveling alongside us in the bushes. To my disbelief, Elephants. I remember one in stark relief. Big. Grey. Beautiful. Majestic. Dangerous. Galloping along heading the same direction as our car.

We stared in awe, but continued on. Animals sightings like this were rare but not uncommon. This land belongs to all of us of course. I watched the herd until I could see them no more. In our culture we have a practice of escorting or accompanying someone when they left your company. Just to make sure they get to where they are going safely and wish them well. Maybe you walked them to the bus stop, or to the end of the street. But it is something ingrained in our culture. In shona we call it “ku perekedza”. It just now hit me- some 5 years later, that maybe my Grandmother was accompanying me as I crossed the threshold to orphan hood. To being the keeper of our stories. In our culture, you take the totem of your father, much like westerners do with a last name. But according to lore if you have a special interaction with an animal, then it has chosen you. Because of my father, this was not my first time witnessing and being witnessed by elephants in such a profound manner but that is a story for another day.

A few months later the wee tingles of baby fever I had been fighting for a few years racheted up into full pangs. Someone was ready to be here and I could only dawdle for a little bit longer. A year later, I was pregnant with a baby whose name I had known since I was a little girl. The day she was conceived I turned to my partner and told him I was no longer alone. Named for her two grandmothers. 9 months later she arrived. Born with the ice blue eyes and cowlick of her grandfather. My Daddy. As she grew, her father noticed how she would smile at the bookshelf her grandfather’s ashes sat on.

They live on.

*this story was written 4 years ago. I’ve added more detail. Its been 9 years since I had this epiphany. Yesterday also marked 28 years of my mother being gone. I hope I make them both proud.

Rootin Tootingly yours,

Farai