ISSUE #1

22
Family Affairs
by Kudzai Mhangwa
The evening was beautiful at the Meikles Hotel. One of their private rooms was
elegantly decorated for the Marufu’s cocktail party. It was just past seven o’clock when
Mufaro arrived at the hotel. She made her way down the sea of carpet in the reception to ask
the middle-aged receptionist where the party was being held. He searched on the slow
desktop in front of him, his eyes lighting up when he found the information Mufaro had
requested. She was directed to a room on the first floor.
Mufaro thought of using the elevator but decided not to. She never engaged in lazy
behavior, even while wearing sharply pointed stilettos. The shoes matched the red of her
shirt which was tucked into an African print pencil skirt. She had not got a chance to go
home after work to change, so she had freshened up in the bathroom at work. She rinsed
out her mouth, ran water through her afro and combed out the small particles that had clung
to it. She used a wet wipe to remove her makeup before refreshing it and dabbing Vaseline
on her lips. She had arrived a little after the expected start time.
When she reached the last step of the staircase, she walked quickly, driven by her
paralysing fear of being late. As she walked through the door she was surprised to find the
hall already filled with people. Zimbabweans were usually notoriously late. She was
welcomed by jazzy melodies from across the room. Through the smartly dressed people that
were walking around like motiveless ants, she spotted the band. She walked through the
room slowly, surveying the scene - the kaleidoscopic table filled with food, the large glasses
of bubbling champagne, the colourful dresses and suites that the guests wore. It all seemed
so wasteful to her when just outside the hotel there were people that could not afford a
single meal for themselves or their families. She circled the room looking for her parents, but
with each step, she felt herself getting hungry so she decided to get some food.
She was spoiled for choice. Swedish meatballs, cheese puff tarts, asparagus,
tantalising rosemary ranch chicken skewers, spring rolls and samosas, and deviled eggs.
Mufaro picked up two deviled eggs, placing them on a crisp napkin. Sighting her mother and
father across the room close to the stage where the jazz band was playing, she walked over
and greeted them warmly.
“Hello, Mufaro when did you get here?” asked her mother.
“I arrived a few minutes ago. I got caught up at the office.”
Her father was holding a half empty glass of beer. “The office can wait! We need you
here,” he slurred. He had never been able to hold his liquor.