My brother always had an affinity for pada. Huge square and rectangular boxes, crudely drawn into our driveway dirt, with the October sun beating on our backs. He was always meticulous about picking out the winning stone. It had to be curved just right, flat enough to be propelled further than my measly pickings could ever hope to go. More often than not his stone fell within the parameters of his desired box. He would balance precariously on one foot, hobbling and skipping along until he would yell out, both feet firmly planted in the ground,” Chikoko chikoko, kusvotesa vasina!!!” Ah! The envy I would feel! Barely minutes into the game, the tears would well, filling up my circular orbs as I squinted my eyes and experienced the pain of losing, I would seek solace in my mother’s skirts as she laughed and comforted me like only a mother could.
You see my mother was a firm believer of the mantra, “your friends are your books and your brother!” It was almost unheard of in our household that you could go out to play in the street. The few times which we would hazard to do so, our ears would always be on high alert, to pick out the screeching sound of my parents’ old Peugeot 504 as they turned the corner. The scurrying must have been a sight to behold! Sprinting across the tarred road, skinning elbows and scraping knees, in an effort to make sure my mother’s attentive eyes did not spot anyone of us amongst the group of playing children.
One of my most glorious moments was the rare occasion we were allowed to host a soccer game on our front lawn. Having caught on that we escaped in her absence, it was thought best to allow us to host our friends instead. So, we piled up brown irregularly moulded bricks, mounting one atop the other, acting as makeshift goal posts. Being a bit of a tomboy, I was the only girl on both teams. Towards the end of the afternoon, shy of the point when the sunset would signal the end of the game, Tinashe, my brother’s friend passed me the ball. I was immediately accosted by 2 defenders from the other team. I remember Tinashe yelling, “dzosa, dzosa!!” (bring it back). Alas the scoring gods were on my side that day because I slid the ball in-between the first accoster’s feet just as it slid into the makeshift gate. Perseverance, you glorious virtue, I was not at all prepared for the thunderous celebration that followed after. Their girly rookie footballer had scored a spectacular goal.
I remember those days fondly, carefree, cavalier days, where my biggest problems were making sure I washed my feet at the end of the day. They created bonds that stand to this day. I learnt many a lesson on those playgrounds, sportsmanship, how to handle losing, gracious celebration and perhaps most of all, the priceless power of camaraderie.
loved it😄😄