The road is rugged and worn out, with mounds of dirt jutting out in some sections and flat, characterless brown clay in the next. I have learnt to navigate the road, it's familiar and yet I have never been able to reach my destination, it's always a cacophony of varied complications. Last time, I got a flat tyre, no, not the ones where the air slowly ebbs out of the wheel and u see other motorists flagging you down to yell, “Sister vhiri!!!!”. No, I WISH it were that kind. It was the kind where I had refused to listen to the stakeholders in my life, my mechanic, the friendly guy by the corner who hot patches my tyres, my brother, and my friend who helped me change the flat tyre before. I believed I knew what I was doing, surely “snow” tyres adapt? They change? I was warned, snow tyres keep their characteristics, they do not work well in this climate. They will ultimately ever be just that, snow tyres. A leopard never changes its spots. Alas, I was adamant, surely the tyres could fare in the relatively warm temperatures, I MEAN, it’s not THAT hot. All I wanted was for the tyres to be reliable and sturdy, I did not require them to be shiny and dazzling, nor was I asking for tipper-size level tyres. I believed they could hold me up and propel me forward when I needed them to.
And for a while I drove, three whole months, gleefully going up and down the now familiar road, wheezing past the mounds that were now committed to memory, switching on the hazards when I needed to and having the time of our lives, or so I thought.
One day, the tyres burst, violently, and as fate would inevitably have it, the 2 FRONT tyres, both of them at the same time. So great was the echo of their rupture, it rocked through my very core, reverberating, in a frequency only I could hear, an all too familiar frequency. I held on for dear life. The only problem was, this time I hadn’t EXPECTED the tyres to burst, and so I plummeted down the steep road, the axle of my car digging deep furrows into the soil, furrows that would be hard to cover up, the sheer force with which I had hit the ground was disastrous. I remembered all my well-wishers as I hurtled down the road, the crinkly smile of the guy by the corner, the resigned “It's okay Thuli,” of my mechanic when I had insisted I knew better. They were right, the snow tyres were, after all, exactly that, snow tyres.
I shove my consciousness out of my reveries, I drag my feet, shuffling along the isolated road, a lone soul, ready to end it all. In all the other instances, the many times the road had failed me - the road, the tyres, contributory or meddled together as one, we will never know. In all the times the snow tyres had failed me, I still had hope, faith that surely if they can work in England, what’s a little tour of the African savannah. And so, in each instance I boarded the road up, a menacing sign at its opening, “DO NOT ENTER!”, I guess deep inside, I waited for them. To be hot patched or to change the rims, to be held up together with twine or rubber or whatever meant I would, come hell or high water, use them again.
I had thought maybe this time I would walk, baby steps I called them, the remnants of the tyres strapped to my feet in a sandal style fondly referred to as “manyatera”. My last attempt at joining us together, these tyres I had so much hope in. I thought maybe if I showed up? They would too.
The wind billows up clouds of dust, the heat beating down hard on my feet and face. The shoes are heavy now, they are hot to the touch. I stare towards the fenced meadow in the distance, paddocks, with a patch of green grass to their left and the sign “Take a break why don’t you.” The white wicker chairs look inviting, I know it is time. This time, no one needs to caution me or warn me. I don’t even need to board up the road anymore. I am at peace. The deafening silence is broken only by the sparrow perched on the leafy trees in the distance. There is nothing left for me here, there is nothing left to say. I unclasp the remnants of the tyres that have held me in bondage for years, and walk away, there is nothing left to say.
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