Art Piece

Chapter 2: Unexpected entry

As soon as the history teacher had finished dictating notes on the history of precolonial Zimbabwe, outlining the Rudd concession, the Ndebele and Shona states stance on the coming invasion from the white settlers, Tadiwa decide to continue her check on Eliza Mapako. She had been doodling something in her history text book and this had caught his interest. She was an under developed 13 year old girl, with light ebony skin, maroon and black braids, downturned eyes, a small nose, but significantly wide hips for her age. The history lesson was entertaining due to Mrs. Gondoza’s quirks and well timed jokes. However, instead of paying attention, Eliza had distracted herself with idle doodling. With the end of the history lesson, it was now time for break. Most of the pre-determined cliques, due to past association from primary school, left the classroom early, to ensemble for their feast. Tadiwa took this chance to dash towards Eliza and asked to see what she had doodled in her notes. Eliza who had not anticipated being discovered went into a stance of defence, refusing to oblige him. Tadiwa then hinted to her, “I also draw as well, if it’s too much for you, I can show you my work first so that you don’t have to feel shy.” Eliza thought about it, gesticulating like a mute mime and then replied, with a soft and doubtful voice, “Come to the art studio, and then I will show you.” Eliza then dashed off to get to her friends who had already deployed themselves to the school canteen. Tadiwa looked at her in a puzzled manner and said, “An artist should be proud of their creations, even sketches… hmm.” In that instance, Takura showed up and jabbed him with a text book on the buttocks. Tadiwa took this act with much annoyance and smacked him on the back of his head. Tadiwa immediately gave him a gaze of contempt and began to scold him.

“Dude, what the hell man, you never hit someone there. That is a sensitive area. What if I had diarrhoea, I would fallen into an instant release because of that.” he said, annoyed by Takura’s frivolous behaviour.

“Dude you overreact, man, was that smack to the head really necessary… I am gonna kick your ass son, one of these days.” he said, glaring at him as if devising a counterstrike.

“Oh, you think you can take me on, eh? You are a 100years too early before you can do anything to me.” he replied, airing belligerent defiance.

“I will break those fingers and make sure you will never ever draw again, you wanker.” he said, raising his fists.

“I will break your arms so that you will never wank again!” he said, raising his fists.

The remaining boys and girls in the class were confused by the sudden change of the atmosphere and wondered what was going. One boy at the back seat began to shout out, “Fight! Fight! Fight!” Tadiwa began to circle around Takura who seemed to be rotating his gaze to match Tadiwa’s scrutiny. The sudden turbulence attracted external students who came from their classrooms. The hordes of students surrounded them as if acting like human barricades to an exit point. The two were circling endlessly, as if they were more afraid of making the first punch than actually taking a hit. Tadiwa began to say, “I told you that I don’t like being poked, damn it!” Tadiwa went in for a right hook, nearly hitting Takura in the face who shuffled back before any impact on his face could be registered. The attempted punch caused the other students to roar with much energy, anticipating a violent clash. Tadiwa somehow felt encouraged by their chant and went in for another punch. This one connected and landed on Takura’s left torso. Takura felt the jab and instantly reacted with a kick. The kick landed on his thigh, brushing some of the dust under the shoe onto his trousers. The pain Tadiwa felt wasn’t much, but upon realising that his khaki shorts were stained by the shoe print, he berserked as if driven by madness. The boy lunged himself at Takura, tackling him and landing on the floor. Tadiwa began to punch him in the face whilst holding him in position. Takura felt the pang of each clenched fist, to the point where he felt as if his gums had opened to bleed. Takura quickly used his free arms, not to block his face, but dragged Tadiwa by the collar and head butted him on the nose. Tadiwa didn’t anticipate the counter and upon impact, fell at the opposite direction. Takura had gotten the upper hand, but the head butt itself had also left him in a concoction of pain that made him fall to the ground. As each challenger mustered the strength to resume combat, a tall, muscular individual, wearing a grey trousseau, a white shirt, and school blazer similar to the one common for all students, came in and silenced the students. As if Moses had parted the red sea, there was a great scatter of those who had come to watch, leaving only a few witnesses. The prefect had a chiselled oblong frame, dark ebony skin, Morris Chesnutt eyes, and an English cut hair cut. The boys, who had tussled, knew what awaited them, a severe punishment. However, the individual recognised Takura and said, “To think a club member is involved in a fight? Takura, you joined 3 weeks ago but now you want to mess the club’s integrity? Eh… why were you even fighting?” The boys kept quiet, as if speaking was a taboo to them. The individual glared at them, looking annoyed and then sighed, “I was on my way to chair my club meeting and you just had to have this moment, well… you guys are going to have to come with me.” Upon the individual finishing that statement, he told them told hands and to follow him. The individual had a bass, a really manly one that began to intimidate both of them. Tadiwa brushed the dust off his shorts, patched up his roughed appearance until he was told by the individual, “Hey, stop fixing yourself. I want everyone to see you guys for the monkeys you are. Especially you pretty boy, don’t bother cleaning up. Fighting is for thugs, not for students of St. Helena high.” Tadiwa’s efforts were abated, leaving him at a loss of what to do. They held hands, carrying their belongings with their free hand and walked behind the individual. As they left the classroom. They were darted at by onlookers, some starring in utter stupefication and others laughing at them. It was embarrassing and the two began to regret why they had even started to fight. Tadiwa reflected on his poor decision and realised that he overreacted. He began to think why he had behaved like so and attributed it to his lack of sleep. Was it all because he was irritable? In the end, he ended up realising that this wasn’t the best call, especially on the day he was supposed to join the art club.

As they followed the individual, they passed the school library and arrived at a 2 story building, which had the first floor as just normal classrooms, but had the top floor as a studio. Upon climbing the stairs, the two realised that they weren’t going to the dreadful lair of the prefect study, a domain where delinquent students were punished and dealt with by the body of prefects. Manual labour was one of the punishments, sometimes involving a session that felt like gym practice, but one involving doing planks for several minutes, squats with chairs topped with satchels on top and many acts that are more inhumane. It was said that a boy who experienced manual labour throughout the entirety of a year would come back as a man, a behemoth of a brute. However, the two of them didn’t wish to undergo such humiliation and physical labour, but considering the individual had decided to take them to the art studio instead of the prefect study, many questions began to pang Tadiwa’s mind.

The individual opened the door to the first studio and brought the two of them in. Upon entering, there were many paintings, illustrations and cut outs that were placed on the walls. Some of the works dated back to the 1980s with 30% of them being portraits, 40% being still life works and the rest, being various types of pieces ranging from sculptures to dresses. There were inclined desks at the centre of the studio that looked aged and wooden stools that had been occupied by students of all various forms. These students who were a mixed bunch of girls and boys, all looked at these two, puzzled by what their art club president had brought them. Tadiwa remembered Eliza, and saw her looking at him, covering her mouth as if embarrassed on his behalf. The individual began to speak and said, “It seems like everyone has gathered here, except for some of the club execs. Hmm… well, Mr. Hananias will convene later into the meeting. As you know there is a teachers’ meeting, so when passing the auditorium, do not cause a ruckus. Are we clear?” As soon as he said this, the entire club members answered, “Yes sir.” Some of the girls were even blushing at the presence of this individual. He was tall, a bit husky with broad shoulders, and he was the art president. As he initialized formal rapport in the studio, the rest of the club execs showed up. The vice president, club secretary, club treasurer and club PR, as well as the rest of the 6th form art students showed up. They looked all well dressed with their special uniform, which was reserved for seniors who were A’ level students. The club execs had special seats that they sat on, made of cashmere, and also this represented the difference of status among the club members. Tadiwa was gawked at by those who had just entered, and was observed like unwanted anomaly. The other execs began to ask the club president, “Hey Tendai, why is the new member and this kid we don’t know sitting on the floor?” The club president known as Tendai then answered, “Well, they were fighting, plus I wish to make them do some cleaning up. I mean, idiots who do not know the time and place to fight must be exploited.” Tadiwa was annoyed by the fact that Tendai was identifying him as an i***t and played scenarios in his head, which involved him harming him. Takura, however, remained calm and accepted his fate. Once the execs were satisfied by Tendai’s answer, they filled their seats and received various prefixes and titles of greeting from the rest of the students. They were celebrities in their small community of artists and seemed prestigious. As soon as everyone had settled, the president began to speak.

“Greetings to you all, old and new art club members. I am Sir Tendai Munatsi, the art club president. The art club is a creative centre to hone one’s skills, to make friends with fellow artists and to do well in our art as a hobby or as a profession. For those who don’t know, the painting of the American ambassador on the wall is one of my works. You may take a look at it and tell me what you think?”

All the students, darted at the painting in question, but only the new and younger club members praised and exalted his work. Tendai had made use of a mixture of pastels, acrylics, and pencils. The ambassador’s portrait was framed with a painted wooden boarder and clean glass ceil. The ambassador had a round face, small ears, white moustache, spongy chin, oiled pulled back grey hair, and a blue suit. Tendai had used pastels and pencils mostly on the suit: the tie was pastel, the clothing folds underneath his tie and the shoes were mostly executed by a light touch of shading with the pencil. The wonders really worked when he applied acrylic to get the whitish pink skin tone of the man. Tendai had mixed and mashed together the use of strong pinks and light tan colours. The background of the portrait was blurred, but had a yellowish light colour, which then acted as a background highlight to the man. Despite the distance from where Tadiwa could see it, he could still identify the portrait. In Tadiwa’s eyes, it was merely at the level of his 8year old art, which was still beyond the level expected from that age. At that moment, he grinned at the thought of the art club president being proud of his examination level art. As if compelled by an irresistible urge to laugh, he chuckled. Takura looked at his fellow friend in arms and held his eyes wide open in shock. Tendai and the rest of the execs were disturbed by this sudden behaviour, but before they could address him, the door to the studio opened. Mr. Hananias, accompanied by Rudo, were carrying boxes full of art supplies. Everyone in the art club rose and greeted the head of the art department. Upon entering, Rudo greeted Tadiwa but wondered why he looked dishevelled and also why he was seated on the floor. Disregarding this entirely, she quickly got Mr. Hananias’ attention and said, “Mr. Hananias, that boy over there sitting on the floor, is the artist behind the website link you received.” Mr. Hananias who had seemed more intent on offloading the supplies halted for a bit and raised his eye brows. He averted his attention, darted at the boy, and then looked at Rudo again. He then asked in his hoarse voice, “You mean this lad over here? The one called Tadiwa Kaunda. The devianart artist?” Rudo pointed at him to abate any confusion and smiled, reassuring him that it was Tadiwa and not Takura she meant. Tadiwa noticed the teacher’s interest and said, “Sir, I am the Tadiwa Kaunda you are talking about.” The teacher quickly left the boxes on the shelf and devoted all his attention to the boy. Tadiwa was given a hand by Mr. Hananias and got off from his seat. The club execs and the rest of the club members were surprised by the effort Mr. Hananias was giving the boy. Mr. Hananias was not concerned with the circumstances that had brought in this boy to the studio but seemed rather ecstatic to see the man behind the art. Upon lifting him, Mr. Hananias closed in on him, as if to hug and whispered into his ear, “How can a young man such as yourself be this talent?”