Beyond Blindness and Darkness
Firmly, I clenched the empty soda bottle like a drunken patron ready to attack anyone who dared infringe his personal space in a raucous beer hall brawl. A monotonous tinkle echoed through the darkness as I gently clink a one-dollar coin to the bottle. I was convinced the chiming erected an impenetrable defensive fortress around me like the majestic Great Zimbabwe ruins engraved on the coin. Gripped with fear, my eyes darted back and forth scanning through the vicious darkness that enveloped me. I was not afraid of the darkness, but the evil that prowls in dark places, the thieves that sprawl in dark alleys taking away a teenagers dream lunchbox, the ghoulish witches and wizards that survive on the innocent blood of helpless kids and monsters with seven snakeheads ready to pounce on me. Please, forgive my weird imaginations; I was only 13 years old. In my small town, it was every kid of my age's dream to visit the big city. Harare was what Disneyland is to every American kid. Harare, affectionately called the Sunshine City, was the happiest place on earth. I had been to Harare twice as an infant and as a toddler. Unfortunately, that never counted for bragging rights. Fortunately, during my first year in high school, I went to Harare to participate in math Olympiad. I was elated. I was on my way to the Sunshine City, I would see the sun shining over the big city, and I would have solid reasons to brag. With three other students from my school, we went to the competition, and performed badly. It seems the sun set on us. The questions were difficult; they snuffed the light out of my head. My first time tackling math Olympiad was like learning to ride a bike blindfold or taking an algebra exam blindfold. I could not understand the question, let alone solving the problems. I had a mental eclipse.
It came as a great relief when my high school teacher announced it was time to go back home. The sun set on the Sunshine City. I mean, literary. Darkness caught up with us when we were more than one hundred miles from home and with a bus to catch. Fortunately, we caught the last bus to Karoi. I remember little about the journey back home, but when we arrived in Karoi and my teacher gave me the one- dollar coin and the empty soda bottle. These were great gifts, I sure could have bought one or two things with the cash from the deposit on the bottle and the one-dollar, but what I needed was someone to escort me home. Before you blame my teacher for neglig