Ruben Kapimbi

My name is Delilah.

First, an ear-splitting boom shook our circlet hut. The blast triggered the woody milk-jug to spill over my legs. 

Then, I waved away grey-winged insects dipping their sponging mouths in the buttery milk.

“That’s a gunshot,” I said. 

Strangely, Nana scolded me for splashing the sour milk. 

Another bang rocked our ring-shaped hut, peeling off the plastered cow dung. Instantly, I spotted a Schutztrupper between the y-shaped branches. 

“Let’s run,” I said, patting granny’s arms. 

Then, a trooper blew up a yapping mongrel. This time, a straying bullet rattled our rusty water tank. 

“Pull me up,” Nana said, stretching her folding-skin hands. 

I tightened my fists towards Nana. 

Instantly, I earwigged her snapping knees. 

“My knee hurts,” she said, rubbing her twitching rock-like knee. 

“Run,” I said. 

“Isn’t this splitting seed pods?” she asked, as we paused under a sun-bleached tree. 

Suddenly, a bursting spiky seed-ball dropped on Nana’s head. 

“I’ll not leave you,” I said, crisscrossing my finger on my hairline. 

Then, I punched a kiss on Nana’s hollow cheeks. 

“I’m too old,” she said, wiping her lips on my hands. 

Thereafter, I clasped her crumpled hands as the wind waved her bead-trimmed dress. Her chest hummed and she wiped sweat drips from her lined neck. 

Then, we crawled behind stem-less grey-green trees. 

“Watch your steps,” I said, spotting that she had slipped on a shell-like stone. 

“I’ve twisted my ankle,” she said, picturing me her puffed-up ankle. 

Finally, we skidded into the dark bottomless holes. 

“We’re safe,” she said, pointing to her stabbing chest. 

Afterwards, I wiped sticky spiders’ threads from my eyes. 

“How deep can we go?” I asked, tiptoeing on a knife-edged rock. 

That moonlight, I tracked a snake’s trail. Soon granny flashed a burning stick at a wingless creature tumbling along the rocks. 

That sun-up, I spotted an eight-eyed spider on granny’s shoulder. I ripped a light-grey stone and crushed the giant spider. 

“I’m thirsty,” I said, squeezing the bitter water from the fleshy leaves. 

“Go down the stony rungs,” she said. 

Instantly, I spotted water dripping from the rocks. I slurped the salty water but stepped on a white-greyish snake. 

Straightaway, I pelleted rough-edged rocks on the serpent’s three-cornered head. 

Later, I cooked the white-flesh meat. 

For years, we squashed python’s biltong and Nana stitched a snakeskin skirt to mark my menarche.    

* Ruben Kapimbi hails from Okangeama in Otjituuo. He is a fifth-generation offspring of the genocide. This story is historical fiction.