At the sound of the rolling drumbeat
her legs go ever so slightly
shaking the gourd rattles secured above her ankles
in a controlled shuffling step
cha-cha-cha cha-cha-cha cha-cha-cha
slow staccato of the steam locomotive
pulling out of Fort Victoria station western bound
she is transported through the bushes
green expanses of pasture dotted with grazing cattle
to the land of sweet wild berries, butterflies
and the motley coloured wild shrubbery

her body in a synchronised union with the beat
short sisal fringe skirt bears witness
as the music gains momentum
she advances, hips swaying and pumping
chachacha chachacha chachacha
stomping, slight flapping of curved arms
wings of a hawk taking to the air
she soars loosing herself in the thick of things
the baritone sound of the kudu horn
intensifies the urgency blowing a cloud of dust
visibility limited, but she needs no sight
she dances with a relocated heart

the sound reaches crescendo evoking bitter memories
of the aged miller’s long beard she had to stroke
she hides her soul in the rhythm
glass eyed look of one near trance
chachacha chachacha chachacha chachacha
flawless moves auto-pilot engaged
her heels barely touching the ground
she wanders to the wintry hazy blue hills of Bikita
where a lonely mother’s heart pines
for the child she once held, swinging far too high
slipping further and further away
put to flight by the whip of the evil cultural gnome

the pulse slows down to a gradual halt
the dust settles, the dancers recede
“Foreign bodies in my eyes” she sniffs
her eyes and nose giving the dance arena
a well deserved sprinkle before the next dance