Africa is Beautiful

Smith, a Westerner, sat enthralled and stunned on a felled Kachere, a stone’s throw away from the village ground. He listened to mesmerizing traditional songs by some gorgeous girls. The songs were authentic, seasoned with skilful hand-claps and hollow strumming drumbeat. The throbbing tom-toms vibrated under skilful and powerful hands of energetic young men.

“Africa is beautiful,” he earnestly admitted, completely disbelieving the beauty he saw.

He desirably watched the girls’ stunning faces glow in the evening sunshine with salmon-colored effulgence. Their seductive succulent breasts bobbed captivatingly in accordance with the engrossing rhythm of the songs and effervescent drumbeat. Involuntarily his legs moved. They patterned the alluring beat as he felt the rhythm move powerfully in his veins.

Still gripped, he reluctantly switched his stare from the intriguing dancing to the charming Shire valley a distant away. He watched in marvel the Shire River gigantically meandering; its waters, in the late evening sun, dazzlingly sparkling like pieces of diamond. He later just sat spellbound and watched an evening fiesta as the pinked ball of the sun sank slowly and dramatically beyond distant hazy hills.

‘This can’t be,’ still stunned, he thought. In his country, Smith knew Africa as the land of blatant misery. The news that made rounds was of tribal wars, famine, drought, and all sorts of wretchedness. There was scarcely anything positive like what he saw.

He had feared visiting Africa for its ‘misery’ several times. It was only after managing to ‘wrestle’ some positive information among the myriad negative reports that he had dared to travel. However, what he now witnessed was the opposite. Starting from the uncompromising hospitality accorded to him by people he met for the first time, through the peace he saw prevalent in the communities, to the beautiful scenery he now witnessed, it was just exceptional.

When the absorbing dancing was over, Smith, yearningly, watched Nyamiti, daughter of his host, stroll seductively towards him.

Even this girl is just beautiful. Smith observed. She has sexy eyes and kissable lips on a stunning face.

Even her body, mesmerizing; talk of her hips, bum and legs they are all gripping. Smith continued to survey Nyamiti now in front of him because of the narrowness of the trail they had used as they ambled to the interior of the village.

Smith then grudgingly switched his stare to the surrounding. It was evenly splendour: indigenous sumptuous forests swayed in the evening cool zephyr wafting gently. He watched tropical birds jovially croon madrigals as they hopped magnificently from one swaying luscious branch to another of the upper branches and hanging tropical foliage.

When they arrived in the village, more grandeur welcomed him: fires glowed at each compound, beautifying the nightfall. Evening thrilling and relaxing drumbeat started to pulsate. Moreover, talk of the supper he later took; it was naturally very yummy and tasty, not some chemical contaminated genetically modified provisions rampant in his country.

He retired to bed late in the night after watching breathtaking traditional dances like Utse under bright moonlight. That was after listening to sensational folklores told by skilful master-story tellers by firesides.

In bed, Smith could not help it but ponder why Africa is unfairly tainted land of misery.

‘One or two problems might be there, but there are many beautiful things about Africa now I understand are calculatingly ignored,’ he thought, ‘The West has its fair share of problems. Talk of rampant divorce, homosexuality, suicides, child-molestation, obesity, pornography, immorality, abortions, they are all there.’ He felt some anger rise in his heart for the injustice. ‘If these very same problems were in Africa, I believe they’d have been systematically blown out of proportion’, he pondered and pondered until he slept.

When he woke up the following morning, he was more mesmerised as soothing drumbeat welcomed him. He got out and watched the orange sun majestically pulsate above eastern verdure foggy hills.

Later that morning when he was in a train, leaving to the other enthralling places like striking Lake Malawi and Chengwe’s Hole at Ku Chawe Inn on Zomba Mountain, the locals had told him about, he again watched in amazement the greenery hills, and falls of streams flowing sparklingly and beautifully from hilltops.

“Africa is beautiful,” he sighed peacefully, feeling his other part remaining in Nyachikadza village.