She is sitting under her mango tree.
An empty plate and a half-finished cup of tea.
Her hazy sight gazed on the wall while a flock of flies ravage on the wet spot of spilt tea.
I extend my hand for a formal greeting but my presence is absent in her wondering mind.
"Hello granny"
My hand shakes her fragile body while her muscles quake like a shaked *** of half cooked sadza.
" ooh muzukuru Phidza!"
She responds in an almost dried up voice.
I smile though I know that is my brother's name.
She has been forgetting things and now my name is one of them.
"Your mother is right behind you isn't she?"
She asks the usual question.
"No granny but she will be home for Christmas."
I give her the same answer as on yesterday's visit.

Her offsprings had flown to the diaspora for greener pastures.
Leaving her under the custody of maids with neither any of her blood nor seed around.
"The baobab is falling, worms are devouring it from within." She whispers.
I clinch my hands around her in an emotional hug.
These were the hands that spanked me for taking my pants for the bathroom.
And a soft kiss on the fore head reminding me for all that beating for truancy.
So I smile as I am getting lost in the dense forest of my childhood episodes.