Ngade ya makhulu ndiyavhudi nahone yoḓala makhaha, mufhoho na mutumbula. Fhedziha hovha hoḓalesa miomva. Na ho makhulu vhovha vhena vhaḓuhulu vhanzhi, ndovha nditshi zwidivha uri ndinne muduhulu ane vhamufunesa. Vhovha vhatshi dzulela u mbidzela nḓuni yavho vhatshi mbudza zwiphiri zwavho zwituku. Fhedziha huna tshiphiri tshevhasi mbudze tshone: uri vha vhibvisa gai miomva yavho.
Grandma’s garden was wonderful, full of sorghum, millet, and cassava.
But best of all were the bananas.
Although Grandma had many grandchildren, I secretly knew that I was her favourite. She invited me often to her house. She also told me little secrets.
But there was one secret she did not share with me: where she ripened bananas.
Ḽinwe duvha ndo vhona mufaro wo vheiwa nnḓa ha nnḓu ya makhulu fhasi haḓuvha. Ndi tshi vhudzisa uri ndiya mini, phindulo yendafhiwa ndiya uri, “ndi mufaro wanga wa vhungome.” Nga tsini ha mufaro hovha huna maṱari a miomva ane makhulu vhakhou a rembulusa nga tshifhinga na tshifhinga. Ndovha ndo mangala. “Matari ndia mini makhulu?” Nda vhudzisa. Phindulo yendai wana ndiya uri, “ndi matari anga a vhongome.”
One day I saw a big straw basket placed in the sun outside Grandma’s house. When I asked what it was for, the only answer I got was, “It’s my magic basket.”
Next to the basket, there were several banana leaves that Grandma turned from time to time. I was curious. “What are the leaves for, Grandma?” I asked. The only answer I got was, “They are my magic leaves.”
Zwovha zwitshi takadza u ṱalela makhulu, miomva, maṱari a miomva na mufaro muhulu. Fhedzi makhulu vhovha vhatshi nthatha nga u rumela kha mme anga. “Makhulu, ndi khou humbela u vhaṱalela vha tshi khou lugiselela…” “Ene ṅwana, khado litsha u sa pfa, kha ite zwine akho vhudzwa zwone.” Nda ṱuwa nga u gidima.
It was so interesting watching Grandma, the bananas, the banana leaves and the big straw basket. But Grandma sent me off to my mother on an errand.
“Grandma, please, let me watch as you prepare…”
“Don’t be stubborn, child, do as you are told,” she insisted. I took off running.
Ndi tshivhuya ndowana makhulu vhodzula nnḓa fhedzi mufaro na miomva zwovha zwisiho. ” Makhulu, mufaro u gai, miomva yoṱhe I gai na…” Fhedzi phindulo yendai wana ndiya uri “Zwi fhethu hanga ha vhungome.” Zwovha zwi khou nyamisa.
When I returned, Grandma was sitting outside but with neither the basket nor the bananas.
“Grandma, where is the basket, where are all the bananas, and where…”
But the only answer I got was, “They are in my magic place.” It was so disappointing!
Nga murahu ha maḓuvha mavhili, makhulu vho rumela uri ndiye u dzhia thonga yavho kamarani ya u eḓela. Nditshi vula muṋango ndo tanganedziwa nga muṋukho wa miomva yo vhibvaho. Nga ngomu kamarani hovha huna mufaro wa makhulu wa vhungome. Wovha vho dzumbiwa nga nguvho ya kale. Ndo mbodi fukula nguvho nda ṋukhedza muṋukho wavhudi wa miomva.
Two days later, Grandma sent me to fetch her walking stick from her bedroom.
As soon as I opened the door, I was welcomed by the strong smell of ripening bananas. In the inner room was grandma’s big magic straw basket. It was well hidden by an old blanket. I lifted it and sniffed that glorious smell.
Ndo tshuwisiwa nga ipfi la mukhule vha tshi huwelela, “ukho ita mini henefho? Kha ṱavhanye na thonga yanga.” Ndo mbodi ṱavhanya ndabva na thonga yavho. “Ukho takadzwa nga mini?” Makhulu vha vhudzisa. Mbudziso yavho ya nyita uri ndi pfesese uri ndovha ndikhodi takadziwa nga uri ndo vhona fhethu havho wa vhungome.
Grandma’s voice startled me when she called, “What are you doing? Hurry up and bring me the stick.”
I hurried out with her walking stick. “What are you smiling about?” Grandma asked.
Her question made me realise that I was still smiling at the discovery of her magic place.
Nga duvha ḽi tevhelaho musi makhulu vho dalela mme anga, ndo mbodi gidimela uya u vhona miomva futhi. Hovha huna minzhi yo vhibvesaho. Nda doba muthihi nda dzumba kha rokho yanga. Nditshi fhedza u tiba nguvho, ndo mbodi gidimela murahu ha nnḓu nda ṱavhanya nḓala muomva. Ndo vha ndikho thoma uḽa muomva wa u ḓifha nga heila nḓila.
The following day when grandma came to visit my mother, I rushed to her house to check the bananas once more.
There was a bunch of very ripe ones. I picked one and hid it in my dress. After covering the basket again, I went behind the house and quickly ate it. It was the sweetest banana I had ever tasted.
Nga ḓuvha ḽi tevhelaho musi makhulu vha ngadeni vhatshi khou ka miroho, ndo mbodi dodomela nda sedza miomva. Hovha ho sala miṱukunyana uri I vhibve yothe. Ndo balelwa uḓi fara nda dzhia miomva miṋa. Nditshi khou dodomela muṋangoni, ndopfa makhulu vhatshi khou hotola nnda. Ndo mboḓi kona u dzumba miomva kha rokho ndavha fhira.
The following day, when grandma was in the garden picking vegetables, I sneaked in and peered at the bananas.
Nearly all were ripe. I couldn’t help taking a bunch of four.
As I tiptoed towards the door, I heard grandma coughing outside. I just managed to hide the bananas under my dress and walked past her.
Duvha ḽi tevhelaho ḽovha ḽi duvha la uya makete. Makhulu vhobuba nga macheloni. Vha dzula vhatshi dzhia miomva yo vhibvaho na mutumbula uri vha rengise makete. Athing dzhaela uvha dalela helo duvha. Fhedzi ndakho balelwa udi bvisa khavho lwa tshifhinga tshilapfu.
The following day was market day. Grandma woke up early. She always took ripe bananas and cassava to sell at the market.
I did not hurry to visit her that day. But I could not avoid her for long.
Nga mathabama a helo duvha ndo mbodi vhidzisa nga mme anga, khotsi anga na makhulu. Ndovha nditshi khou zwidivha uri ndo vhidzelwani. Hovhula vhusiko ndo ganama ndikhodi sola, ndadi vhudza uri thitsha ḓo dovha nda tswela muthu, ukatela makhulu anga na vhabebi vhanga.
Later that evening I was called by my mother and father, and Grandma. I knew why.
That night as I lay down to sleep, I knew I could never steal again, not from grandma, not from my parents, and certainly not from anyone else.
