t was Friday night and as usual, I was doped. As I totteringly scuffed through the

grass, I recalled the exciting events of the night. What a splash! What a boozing spree!

The clear sky and cool breeze made me feel exhilarated in spirit as I trudged through the

path. The moon was high in the eastern sky and the time was about twenty three hours. I

was heading home to Kabanana from the Barn Motel. Strangely, there were no other

travelers on that route but this did not bother me a wit. I was buried in my own musings

over the evening events. Had not Mabvuto intervened in the scuffle, I would have

thrashed Milandu. He was too boastful. I cursed as I recalled the incident. I walked for

about forty minutes without disruptions, except from the uncourteous mosquitoes which

feasted on my juicy “Kachasu” coated blood. We called the local brew: “Silver liver.”

As I approached home, I stood on an ant hill and gazed. The compound was sparsely lit

because most of the inhabitants were snoring. Only three hundred metres stood between

me and home… but then there was the last thicket to be traversed--the famous Katungu

bush. A thousand stories had been told about the murders on this path. I resolved to brave

through the bush since I was a man! and everybody knew that. Once again, I wanted to

prove my mettle and thus ventured towards the bush, whistling casually and coolly.

Suddenly, a man emerged from a thicket and jumped into my way. He had a big knife

which sparkled in the moon light. “Stop, fat warthog!” he roared. My heart beat shot up

like a rocket as I encountered my foe. “Wha…what d’you want?” I mumbled. “Your life,

sucker!”, the roughian growled fiercely. In a split of a second, he charged like a wounded

buffalo. The man thrust himself towards me, aiming at my heart but I dived out of his

way. He flew past and crashed like a misguided missile. Before he could get up, I took 

my flight, galloping like a Gazelle. As I bolted, another figure attempted to intercept me

but I was too fast to stop instantly, I therefore, lept with all my fibre. It was too late, I

could not tower above the rascal. His dagger dug into my thigh as I impacted his chest.

We both crumbled to the ground and I suspect I broke a number of his ribs. Once on the

ground, my sharp eagle eyes noted that my initial assailant was hot on my trail: I rose up

and scampered like frightened impala.

Arriving home a few minutes later, sweating and panting, I examined the injuries I had

sustained. I had a cut lip, scarred forehead, bruised hands, and a profusely bleeding left

thigh. I sighed with relief, at least I was alive. Never have I used that route again--even

by day light.

It is indeed… the road less travelled…

Billy Sichone