At Desk In Room, Shumba Shaba Lodge (Matopos, Zimdabawe)
Night
"If there is a God, you are, in a sense, alone with Him."
I don't think I know what darkness was until I arrived here. Or a
silence for that matter – the way that the cicada's and crickets sing
electric, incessantly talking until they become the silence, like the
indubitable repetition of the ocean waves. It's all quite extreme. All
of it quite wonderful I suppose.
Romance, for me, is right here and right now, sitting in a rock formed
makeshift all glass windowed lodge, on the edge of a tumultuously
rocky cliff, at a wooded desk, by the very literal light of a
flickering candle. All darkness and her dominion and all serenity and
his tranquility win.
I brought Dad here to Denis' home – a former lodge called Shumba Shaba
out in the Mataopos area bush south of Bulawayo – because I had
visited here on a prior trip and the majesty of it has yet to escape
my conscious grasp. I'll bring Andrew and Patrick here as well when
they arrive. And when I am honest, while this place is wonderfully
peaceful and relaxing, the reason I brought Dad here is purely for the
sunrise. Granted, it is a bit of a trip to see one sunrise; but when
Dad sees these morning colors in a few hours time every pot hole bump
on the dirt road, the tedious 25 mph trip, will all be paid in full.
Soon, the light will break over the mountains and we will see the
first sign of color through our private glass huts which point due
east, with each moment the sun blasting fuller and fuller. I cannot
wait.
In the meantime, there are other wonders to fulfill our attention. We
arrive at the lodge and Denis' wife Sandy and daughter Kayla are here
to greet us. Quickly they move us to the top of the rocky hill to
watch the sunset in the west over trees and mountains. And here we get
to know Kayla.
At 3, she has the personality of what I would imagine a talking
butterfly would have – flapping its wings, moving through air
seamlessly and quite softly, harming no one, just creating beauty. She
is playful and light and funny, and she loves her mommy and daddy.
We all sit down on the rock and focus west. I sit behind Kayla, and
she turns around, having just met me, and asks me what my favorite
color is. I think for a second, and I turn her head back west and say,
"that." She quickly turns her head back and says that hers is pink.
We have a nice dinner with Denis conversing in mostly about Zimbabwean
history and then later walk outside into the blackness. I've never
known so many stars in the sky. I'm fascinated to see these
alternative southern hemisphere celestial bodies. I'm in reverence to
the dozens of new lights in Orion's frame, or the Milky Way to thick
and full for the first time, or Venus pure and white hugging the
horizon line. Denis says that it is actually a cloudy night and that
this is nothing to marvel at. I beg to differ.
It's hard to stand with head cocked back glancing upwards towards the
sparkling blanket and not see someone like God looking back. There
have been days in my life when I have tried. There has been a year in
fact when I attempted this. To no avail of course. He twinkles with
the pointers of the Southern Cross, and he shows off with Ursa Major,
and the soft night wind blows and he breathes on my shoulders.
A shooting star rushes past. I think to myself, I've seen a countless
number of shooting stars in my life. That's pretty cool. I'm
surprised, because I often here a fellow onlooker say that they have
never seen but one. Maybe I'm just lucky. Or maybe there is just too
much light pollution. Or maybe we just need to look up more.
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