By the time Pepukai emerged from the kombi at Highfield, it had just gone half past nine. She was thirty minutes late. Kindness had said she should come at nine or just before. She had followed the directions in the tex message: take kombi to Machipisa, get off at Gwanzura, cross road, walk past Mushandirapamwe Hotel, go left after TM, go past market, saloon (that is how Kindness had spelled it) is next to butcher.

She found the salon with no problems. From the butchery next door came the whirring sound of a saw on bone. Everything about the salon spoke of distressed circumstances, the peeling paint outside, the worn chairs and dirty walls inside, the faded posters for Dark and Lovely and Motions Hair relaxers. This place made her usual hair place in Finsbury Park look like the Aveda in Covent Garden. Then again, none of the Nigerian or Kenyan women at her salon in London would have done her hair in long thin braids that lasted four months and cost only fifty dollars. I they had, it would have cost her five hundred pounds and two days or more, if she was lucky.

There were five women inside. Four were standing talking together in a huddle, while the fifth swept the floor. They could have been a representative sample of the variegated nature of local womanhood. One was large with a big stomach and bottom and skin like caramel, another was her opposite, thin and sallow with long limbs and dark gums, the third was medium-sized in everything, height, breasts, bottom, complexion, while the last was short and slight with delicate hands and bones and skin so light it was translucently yellow.

The one thing they all had in common was their hair. It was dressed in the same weave, a mimicry of Rihanna’s latest style with dark hair tumbling to the shoulder, and reddish hair piled up over one eye so that they had to peer out of the other to look at anything. It was a hairstyle that neutralized features rather than enhancing them; it suited none of them, giving them all the same aged look. Pepukai thought back to the Greek myths she had loved as a child. They looked like the Graeae might have done, had they had one eye each and had there been four of them.

Away from the group of four, the youngest of the women, not a woman at all, Pepukai realised, but a teenage girl of maybe sixteen or seventeen at the most, was sweeping the floor, leaving more hair behind her than she swept before her. Her hair was not in the Rihanna weave of her workmates, but was half done, with her relaxed hair poking out in wisps from one side of her head, while the other half was in newly-plaited braids.

All five looked up as Pepukai entered. She was the only customer. She felt their eyes on her, giving her that uniquely female up and down onceover that took in ever aspect of her appearance and memorized it for future dissection.

“Can we help,” the largest of the women said.

“I am here for Kindness.”

“Kindness?” they exclaimed together. The large, caramel-skinned woman threw a hand to her mouth. The sweeping girl stopped, her hands on her broom, and looked at her open-mouthed.

“Yes, Kindness, I had an appointment with her at eight.”

Almost simultaneously, they turned to the right to look at a hair dressing station above which the name Kindness was written in blue and red glitter. Pepukai’s eye followed theirs. There were bottles and brushes and combs, but no Kindness.

“Kindness is late,” said the large woman.

“I am also late, quite late in fact,” Pepukai said. “How late do you think she will be?”

“No, I mean late late. She is deceased.”

“I am sorry?” said Pepukai.

They did not hear the question in her tone.

“Yes, we are all very sorry,” the black-gummed woman said. “She passed away last night. We are actually waiting to hear what will happen to the body.”

“She has gone to receive her heavenly reward. She is resting now, poor Kindness. May her dear soul rest in peace,” intoned the small slight woman.

All five of them came to her and, one after the other, offered her their hands to shake, as though they were condoling with her. As she shook hands with them, Pepukai did not know what to say. Things were now more than a little awkward. She was sorry, of course, that this woman that she had never met was so suddenly dead, she was about as sorry as she could be at any stranger’s death, but, after all, she had not known Kindness. She had never even talked to her – she had only exchanged a series of texts arranging the appointment.

The truth was that she was feeling slightly panicked at this news. Her flight to Amsterdam was at ten that evening. Her afternoon was to be given to a whirlwind of last minute shopping at Doone Estate and Sam Levy’s and farewells that would see her criss-crossing the city. She had only this morning left to get her hair done, and, according to her sister, the now late lamented Kindness was one of the rare hairdressers in the city who had both the skill and the willingness to do the kind of braids she wanted.

Even as these thoughts pressed on her, she did not think that she could be brutal enough to say, effectively, that the death of this unknown woman was a major inconvenience for her, but she need not have worried because the women came to her rescue.

“What did you want done?” said the black-gummed woman.

“Braids,” Pepukai said. “I would like long, thin braids like this.”

On her phone, she showed them her profile picture on Facebook.

“Oh,you are the one who wants the Shabba?”

“The what?”

“Kindness told us that there was someone who had sent a text to say she wanted those Shabba Ranks braids. We could not believe it, they are so old fashioned, why not just get a weave like this?” The black-gummed woman caressed her own hair as she spoke.

“Well, I like my hair done that way.”

“We can do it for you that way if you really want,” said the large woman. “We would have finished off your braids even with Kindness here, she would never have finished alone in one day. It would have been the five of us doing your hair at the same time. It will be eighty dollars, and it will take all of us three hours. Do you have your own extensions?”

This was not the fifty dollars and two hours that Kindness had promised her, but Pepukai did not have the heart to argue. She handed over the extensions she had bought at Daks in Finsbury Park. They settled her into a chair at a station belonging to Matilda, who, Pepukai gathered, was the largest woman. The others introduced themselves. The black-gummed woman was MaiShero. The small, slight one was called Genia, and the medium-sized everything one was Zodwa. As MaiShero combed out Pepukai’s hair to prepare it, the other three separated and prepared the extensions.

Pepukai broke the silence by asking what had happened to Kindness. Even as she asked, she knew what the answer would be. It would be the usual long illness or short illness, the euphemism for an HIV-related disease. Wasn’t it one in four dying, or maybe it was slightly less now that cheap anti-retroviral drugs were everywhere. Kindness, who had gone to receive her heavenly reward, would probably be another death to add to the statistics.

“She was knifed by her boyfriend,” said Matilda.

“Not knifed,” said Genia. “She was shot.”

“That’s right, sorry,” said Matilda, “at first they said she was knifed but it turns out that she was actually shot by her boyfriend.”

“You mean to say by one of her boyfriends,” added Zodwa.

This exchange was so entirely unexpected that the only thing that Pepukai could ask, rather feebly, was, “Where?”

“Northfields,” said Zodwa.

“Northfields?” Pepukai asked.

“You know, Northfields, those flats opposite the sports club where they play cricket when the Australians and South Africans come,” said Zodwa.

MaiShero said, “It is that expensive complex where they pay three thousand dollars a month for rent.”

“Three thousand, who has that sort of money?” asked Matilda.

“Obviously dealers, just the type Kindness would go for,” said MaiShero. “She was killed right there in one of those expensive flats, you know they have lifts that open up to the whole place. She will probably be in that H-Metro paper tomorrow.”

“You mean you go from the lift straight into the flat? You don’t say?” This was Matilda.

“They call them paint house sweets but I don’t know why,” said MaiShero. “They are actually bigger in size than many of those houses in the suburbs, you can have a whole floor just for yourself alone. The only thing you won’t have, being so high, is a yard.”

“You don’t say,” said Matilda.

“Well,” MaiShero continued, “the cleaner came at six this morning, got in the lift, went to this paint house flat, and there she was, Kindness, just lying there, all shot, with bullets and blood everywhere.”

“You mean she was shot with a gun?” Said Pepukai.

“She can hardly have been shot with a cooking spoon now, can she?” retorted MaiShero.

“All the dealers have guns now, all of the ones in Northfields anyway, they need the guns for their deals and, well, you know,” said Genia.

From the doorway came a loud voice, “Ndakapinda busy MaiMwana, but listen, I have no more airtime. No more airtime. I said no more … ende futi Econet.” The voice belonged to a woman in her fifties who wore the blue-cloaked uniform of the Catholic Church, with a white headscarf covering her head. In one hand, she had her phone, and in the other, a roasted maize cob. Her overloaded handbag seemed to drag down her left shoulder.

“Hesi vasikana,” she greeted as she entered.

“Hesi MbuyaMaTwins,” said Matilda.

“Hesi Mati,” MbuyaMaTwins said. “Kokuita chidhafinya kudaro, kudhafuka kunge uchaputika? Why so fat now, seriously Matilda? Are you pregnant or something?”

As she spoke, she poked at Matilda’s stomach with the pointy end of her maize cob.

“Mukawana nguva mundikwanire, ndinonhumburwa nani Steve zvaarikuSouth?” said Mati. “How could I get pregnant when my husband has been away this long?”

“There are those who are able, it is not just husbands and Steves who can do it.” MbuyaMaTwins gave a coarse, leering laugh that shook her chest and the rosary beads around her neck.

“Besides, I have been on Depo how long now, since my last born, you know, the one who was born legs first,” said Mati.

“Depo?” said Mai Matwins.

“Yes, Depo, the contraceptive, the one you inject.”

“So it is injections that are making you so fat? Better to be pregnant in that case, at least you get something out of the fatness. Ndigezese musoro Mati, I want just a shampoo and set today.”

“Shylet will do that for you. Handiti you know she is now my junior?” said Matilda. “Shylet!”

The sweeping girl came over.

“Do MbuyaMaTwins. But mind, I’ll be watching you.”

Shylet walked with MbuyaMaTwins to the sinks.

“Did you hear about Kindness?” MaiShero said, “She is now late.”

MbuyaMaTwins, who was about to sit down and lower her head into a sink behind her back said, “What do you mean?”

“She was killed by her boyfriend.”

“What are you talking? What are you telling me?”

MbuyaMaTwins forgot that she had been about to sit and remained crouched above the seat in a half squat, her face twisted into a rictus that was almost a caricature of disbelief, the maize cob in her hand stopped just before her mouth.

“How is it that this came to be?”

“She was shot by her boyfriend.”

“What are you telling me? Do you mean the boyfriend who drove a silver Pajero, the junior doctor who worked at Pari?” MbuyaMaTwins said.

“What do you know about her boyfriends, MbuyaMaTwins?”

“Who did she not tell about her boyfriends? Everyone in Highfield, from Egypt to Jerusalem, knows about her boyfriends. She told me about this doctor one when he picked her up after she did my hair just the other week. Hede! I said to myself, what kind of a doctor, even a junior one, would want to marry a saloon girl?”

“Ha, MbuyaMaTwins, are we saloon girls not women also?”

“No Genia, you know what I mean, there are saloon girls and then there are saloon girls. You and Kindness are very different types, she was her own type, that one.”

“Anyway, myself I think this boyfriend is the one who drove a red Mercedes,” said Matilda.

MbuyaMaTwins heaved herself into the chair below with an exclamation and laid her head on the sink. Shylet opened the taps and put a finger under the water to test its temperature as she asked, “Are you talking about the man who bought lunch for us the other day? The one she went with to Victoria Falls? Because that one did not drive a silver Pajero.”

“No, that was someone else. He did not drive a red Mercedes either,” said MaiShero. To Matilda, she said: “Tell your junior to stop interfering in news that does not concern her.”

“You mean she had three going at the same time?” said MbuyaMaTwins. As Shylet ran water over her hair, she continued to chew at her maize cob, almost absentmindedly, her face still frowned in disbelief.

“Kuda zvinhu, Kindness,” said Matilda.

“Makwatuza!” saidMaiShero.

“Makwatikwati,” said Zodwa.

With MbuyaMaTwins’s quizzical prompting, the four women speculated over which of the three boyfriends could have been her killer. It could not be the junior doctor, said MaiShero, because he did not live in Northfields.

“But imagine if he followed her there, Mai Shero,” said Zodwa. “Maybe he found her with another man, what would you do if you were him?”

MaiShero said Kindness had been seen two nights ago in the red Mercedes. But the night before, she had been in the Pajero.

“Maybe,” said MbuyaMaTwins, struck by a charitable thought, “maybe it is the same man. You know these dealers, they all have different cars. Maybe it was the same man, just in different cars.”

“Then,” said MaiShero, “he must have changed his body type too, because I saw the men and they looked different from behind. Maybe they are alike in the front area.”

“Makwatuza!” said Genia.

“Makwatikwati!” said MaiShero.

At that moment, a young man came in through the open door. The wide smile on his face was almost as big as the large box in his arms. “Hesi vana mothers,” he said. “Today I have crisps, doughnuts, maputi, sausages, fish, belts, Afro combs, phone chargers and cellphone covers. I also have a very good traditional herb for period

pain that can also keep wandering husbands close and that’s also good for teething babies and for curing bad luck.”

“Let’s see the fish,” said MaiShero. “Is it fresh, Biggie?”

“It is very fresh. Fresh smoked fish just for you,” said Biggie.

“Biggie you are back with that smelly fish of yours, when will you learn we don’t want it. It’s that Lake Chivero fish that swims in people’s faeces and urine, isn’t it?” This was Zodwa.

“From Kariba straight, mothers,” said Biggie. “This is fresh fish fresh from Lake Kariba. Do I look like I would sell you fish from Chivero?”

“But what is to say that it really is from Kariba?” Zodwa pushed him. “Did you go yourself to catch it yourself with your own two hands Biggie?”

“Mothers, when have I ever sold you something that was not genuinely and really real?”

“Biggie, where do I even start? You once sold us relaxing cream that made the hair even harder after you relaxed it.”

“And there was that soap that he said had glycerin in it but it produced no suds, yaisapupira kana one day,” said Zodwa.

“And what about …”

“Okay, mothers, okay,” said Biggie. “Why can’t you just forget some of these things? Even Jesus made mistakes. But maybe the clients are interested?”

He thrust the box before Pepukai who shook her head.

“Don’t shake your head,” said Matilda, “I am planting the braids now.”

“What about you, MbuyaMaTwins?” said Biggie.

“Undikwanire semari yebhazi iwe,” MaiMaTwins said. “Last time, you sold me those batteries that didn’t run. You still have not given me back my money.”

“What about you Shylet? A smoking girl like you needs something to make you even more smoking. How about some smoked fish for a chimoko?”

Shylet giggled and said “Ah, you also Biggie.”

At Shylet’s giggle, the four women around Pepukai eyed and nudged each other.

“I will take the fish,” said MaiShero. “I am thinking maybe Ba’Shero might like it.”

“If Ba’Shero can eat that fish,” said Zodwa, “then he is a man among men.”

“Biggie,” said MaiShero, “I will give your money tomorrow.”

“Kahwani mothers,” he said. “No problem at all. Any excuse to come back.” He grinned at Shylet as he spoke. She smiled behind her hand. He was about to say more when his phone rang. He answered it on speaker. Into the salon, a tinny voice shouted, “I have no airtime. Ndiri kwaMushayabha …” before the phone cut.

As he pocketed his phone, Biggie said, “NedzaKindness. Someone in the butchery says Kindness was axed by some man?”

“She was shot, not axed,” said Zodwa.

“There was no axe? Are you sure? I heard it was an axe.”

“But even if there were, she is still late, nhai Biggie.”

“So what is going to happen?”

“We are waiting to hear where the mourners are gathered, as soon as we are done with this one, we are off.”

“But mmm that Kindness, well, I shall not say, but mmm, she was special that one.”

“Iwe,” Zodwa rebuked him, “You should concentrate on selling your smelly fish and one-stop herbs, what do you know about Kindness?”

“Sorry mothers, palaters.”

“MaiShero,” Zodwa continued as Biggie left, “how can you buy that smelly fish? You can’t keep it here otherwise we will all end up smelling of fish. You had better ask Matilda’s junior to take it to the butcher next door.”

“Shylet,” MaiShero called.

The junior had finished washing MbuyaMaTwins’ hair, setting it in rollers and had settled the client under the hairdryer. She abandoned her chair near the sink where she had been plaiting her own hair and came over.

“Take this to the butcher. I will pick it up when I go home.”

The girl shuffled out.

“I bet you she won’t come back in a hurry,” said Genia. “You saw how she was with that Biggie. She has been making eyes at that butcher boy too, next door.”

Making her voice louder to be heard over the sound of the dryer, MbuyaMaTwins boomed, “You mean that pimply boy who looks like he has not had a shower since nineteen gochanhembe?”

“Ah,” said Matilda. “She would even go with a hwindi this one, she is not fussy. She will drop her pants at the sight of a coke. These are some of the Kindnesses in the making.”

“Makwatuza!” said MaShero.

“Makwatikwati,” laughed Zodwa.

“Kuda zvinhu,” said Genia.

Shylet returned as they laughed and Matilda immediately turned the conversation. “Imagine. People like Biggie, of all people, are now commenting on Kindness, can you imagine?”

“Who did not know about Kindness?” said Genia.

“Even in Engineering, even in Five Pounds, they know about Kindness,” said MbuyaMaTwins.

They looked up at the sound of a sleek, silver car pulling up to park outside. The woman who emerged from the driver’s seat wore a dark grey suit, elegant heels and sunglasses. Her cropped hair framed her face. As she entered, she pushed up her glasses.

They looked at her in silence.

In a low, pleasant voice, she said, “Afternoon ladies, I am looking for Judith.”

“Judith went to China two weeks back,” said Zodwa.

“Oh yes, she did say she may be going,” the woman said. “When is she back, do you know, because I have been trying to reach her.”

“She comes back Thursday.”

“Oh, thank you, I will call her then.”

“Is there anything we can do?” MaiShero asked.

“No, that’s fine,” she said with a smile. “I have to take one of my children to play in a tennis tournament this afternoon. I could have stayed if it was not for that, so I will just wait for Judith.”

“Thank you ladies,” she said.

Several eyes followed her to the door and to her car. Even before she had driven off, MbuyaMaTwins was asking, “And who is this tennis tournament one?”

She had poked her head from under the dryer, and was trying to scratch her scalp with the rollers on her head. Shylet jumped to attend to her and reset the rollers.

“That is one of Judith’s clients, you know Judith goes out more and more these days, she is making herself exclusive to a few clients,” said MaiShero. “She goes to their homes, they don’t have to come here.”

“Hoo,” said MbuyaMaTwins, “is that why she was looking at us like we were something under her shoe? Because she is a special tennis one who gets her hair done at home?”

“I thought she was nice,” said Shylet as she shifted the rollers.

“Nice chiiko, you should talk what you know about,” said MaiShero.

“Did you see that car?” said MbuyaMaTwins. “How did she buy it? With money from where? Do you think such money is clean? There must be something behind it. Harare yabatabata vasikana.”

“Vanobatabata!” said Mai Shero. “You read that story about that small house in Borrowdale, sleeping with that mad man. This is exactly the sort of thing women like that do, you think it is money from just working?”

“Ah,” said MbuyaMaTwins, “are you saying that woman is a small house?”

“She isn’t any man’s kept mistress,” said Shylet. “Judith said she has a very good job, she runs a big bank in town. She is not a small house.”

“Exactly what I mean,” said MbuyaMaTwins. “You would not believe the things that go on in banks. My own husband once wanted to take a job in a bank. I said to him, and this is what I said, no thank you, I said to him. I know those bank women. I would rather we suffered, yes, I would rather eat plain vegetables, even cooked with no cooking oil than have you work with women like that. Even up to now, he is not working.”

“She probably got into the bank through being a small house,” said MaiShero.

“She is a widow,” said Shylet. “Her husband died in a car accident three years back.”

There was a silence until MaiShero said, “Well, some of these widows, you would never believe they are widows. There was this funeral I went to last week, at the church of BaShero‘s cousin brother and can you believe the widow wasn’t even covered in a wrapper cloth or headscarf or anything, she wore a smart dress, kashiftso, and it was not even black-black but blue-black. She had high heels on can you imagine, high heels at a grave site just like that woman, and sunglasses too, just like that one.”

“Achitoti akatopfeka sorry?” said MbuyaMaTwins. She was back in the dryer, her face aghast with shock at what she was hearing. “What sort of mourning outfit do you call that?”

“It was like she was going to a wedding, she even had make up on, and a black hat.”

“There will be something there,” said MbuyaMaTwins. “Mark my words. Before the year is out, you will have heard something.”

“Ah,” said Matilda, “it would not surprise me at all.”

A sharp-eyed woman in a TM Supermarket cashier’s uniform entered, bringing with her the strong smell of the orange she was peeling and eating. Her ™ name tag indicated that her name was Plaxedes. As she greeted the others, she approached Pepukai to admire the now almost completed braids. Pepukai could smell the orange on her hands as Plaxedes gathered up the plaits to examine them closer.

“This is nice girls, this is nice,” Plaxedes said “Maybe I should have this next time, what do you think?”

Without stopping for breath, she said to Pepukai, “Is your hair natural?”

She pulled at the little of Pepukai’s hair that still remained to be braided. Again, Pepukai was hit by the smell of oranges.

Pepukai said, “Yes, it is, it is natural.”

“Hoo. Ende futi makazochena. What perfume are you wearing?”

“I think it’s called Jardin Sur Nil,” said Pepukai. She was now being suffocated by the oranges smell.

“Jadan chii?”

“Jardin Sur Nil,” said Pepukai. The smell of oranges was threatening to overpower her.

“What language is that?” asked Plaxedes.

“Erm, French, I think.”

“Hoo, saka munototaura French?”

“Not really, no,” Pepukai said “I don’t speak French.”

“It smells expensive. It must be expensive. Is it expensive? How much is it? Where do you live?”

“NdeveLondon ava,” said Genia, with proprietary ownership.

“London! Zvenyu! But why is your skin so dark? You don‘t look at all like you live in London. When do you go back?”

“My flight is tonight,” said Pepukai. “I leave at ten tonight.”

“Zvenyu”’ said Plaxedes. “My sister went there only seven months, she was in London but not London exactly, she was in Men Chester, do you know
it, and she was almost as light as a Coloured when she returned. She was deported. Do you have a white man? But you don’t look like the ngoma kurira mbira dzenharira type, that’s what white men like in Africans, women who just look rough so.”

“Stop going on about white men,” said MaiShero. “Have you not heard about Kindness?”

“Kindness?”

“Kindness is late. She has passed away.”

“Haa?”

In her surprise, Plaxedes pulled at Pepukai’s hair.

Pepukai winced, but the other woman did not notice.

Plaxedes pointed to Kindness’s empty station. “Do you mean this Kindness, this one right here?”

“That Kindness,” MbuyaMaTwins called out from under the dryer.

“Uyu Kindness wekuzvinzwa uyu, who walked like her feet did not touch the ground and talked like she was chewing water?’“said Plaxedes.

“That very one,” said MaiShero.

“That Kindness?”

“That Kindness.”

“How?”

“She was shot by her boyfriend.”

“She was shot by her boyfriend?”

“She was shot by her boyfriend.”

“But that one had so many boyfriends!”

“That is just what we were saying,” said Matilda.

“She wanted to be upper class, that one, and she thought the way to be upper class was to go out with an upper class man, now look at her.”

“Ii, I should let my sister know,” said Plaxedes.

For Pepukai‘s benefit, she added, “That‘s the one who was deported from Men Chester, but she is quite well up now. She lives in Ashdorn.”

Into her phone, she said, “Hello. Hello, Kuku. Ipa mhamha phone. Ipa mha … Hello, MaiKuku? … Ende futi! Iwe, you won’t believe it. Kindness is late. … Kindness! … Kindness mhani iwe, wekunokuFiyo. … The hairdresser. … Don’t you remember Kindness? … You met her that time at the Food Court at Eastgate, remember? …We had gone to watch that film, what was it called? Rabbit, Habit something, the one about those creatures who look like tokoloshis but act like normal people even though they are not actual people. Yes. Hobbit. That’s the one. We
had gone to watch Hobbit. And she was walking in front of us and I said to you, MaiKuku, I said, I know that bottom. … Yes. …. Yes. …. Very big. … Chivhindikiti so …. Yes. … That’s the one. She wore a tight red trouser and a white blouse. …. Yes. … Hanzi she died. … Shot. … I said shot. … Yes, shot. …Yes…..Shot with a gun…. Ufunge. …Yes…. Some boyfriend. … I don‘t know, mira ndivhunze .”

She turned to Matilda, “Where did this happen?”

“Northfields, in town,” said Matilda.

Plaxedes turned back to her phone. “Northfields. … Northfields. In town. I said North … Ah, I have run out of airtime.”

“Inga ihorror,” she said. “But I have to go. My break is over but I will be back in an hour to find out more. If you are not finished with the braids, I will even come and help.”

Pepukai breathed at last.

Plaxedes‘s phone rang as she left, and they could hear her say, “Northfields. … Northfields. … Yes. … She was shot at Northfields.”

As soon as she was out of hearing, MaiShero said, “Is there a bigger gossip than that Plaxedes?”

“You know, don’t you,” said Zodwa, “that her husband’s sister and aunt actually beat her up once because of her gossiping?”

“She is not the type that you can tell anything,” said MbuyaMaTwins.

As she talked, MbuyaMaTwins moved from under the dryer to a dressing station. Shylet stood behind her to unroll her hair from the curlers and style her hair. MbuyaMaTwins admired her reflection in the mirror. Pepukai thought the wash and set made her neck and head look like a very small mushroom on a particularly bulbous stalk. As Shylet sprayed liberal doses of a particularly smelly moisturiser over the finished hair, Pepukai tried not to cough.

“Ende machena zvekwaMaiChenai chaizvo,” said MaiShero. “That looks so nice.”

“Ndachenaka?” said MbuyaMaTwins. She preened in the mirror as she turned her head, the tips of her spread out fingers lightly tapping her new hairstyle. “We have a function at church. This time, bambo vekwangu will have to come, I won‘t hear any more of his excuses. What sort of golf is it that is played at all hours?”

The women nudged each other. MbuyaMaTwins, unseeing, continued to admire herself in the mirror. They all looked up as a voice came from the door.

“T’ookumbirawo rubatsiro vanhu vaMwari. T’ookumbirawo rubatsiro vanhu vaJehovah.”

It was a blind beggar who was led by a small boy of no more than seven or eight years of age. The man wore tattered blue overalls while the boy wore a shirt and shorts that belonged to two different school uniforms. They were both barefoot.

Matilda said, “Does anyone have a dollar?”

MbuyaMaTwins rummaged through her overstuffed bag. Pepukai opened her purse. Genia let go of Pepukai’s hair so that she could dig into her trouser pockets, MaiShero and Zodwa went to their stations to get their handbags. As the boy went from woman to woman collecting money, the old man dropped to his knees in thanksgiving, raised his voice in blessing and clapped his hands in gratitude.

“Mwari wenyu vakukomborerei, vakukomborerei, vakukomborerei.”

They left the salon.

MbuyaMaTwins took twenty-two dollars from her bag and handed it to Matilda. “I will give you an extra two dollars for a drink,” she said.

“Thanks MbuyaMaTwins,” said Matilda. “Shylet!”

Shylet‘s face brightened.

“Go and give this to Plaxedes at TM. I owe her thirty for the relaxer. Tell her the rest is coming.”

Shylet‘s shoulders drooped as she walked out.

“Right, girls,” said MbuyaMaTwins, “I have to go, but before I do we need to pray.” Without further prompting, the women melted from Pepukai to gather around MbuyaMaTwins in the middle of the salon, their heads bowed. Unsure of what to do, Pepukai joined them.

MbuyaMaTwins face became twisted with effort.

“Bless Lord everyone in this salon, Lord, and especially this daughter who is taking a flight today. Send her journey mercies, dear Lord. Do not put evil thoughts in the mind of the pilot, Lord, let the pilot land the plane with no incident, let him not crash it deliberately.”

“Amen,” said Genia.

“We ask you to receive into your loving arms our sister Kindness, take her into your glory, Mwari Baba to you she has come to rest Lord, Ndimi Mwari Baba Vemasimba, Mwari Baba munogona, Mwari munogona kani, Mwari Baba munogona!”

“Amen,” the women chorused.

“We ask you to guide us today in everything we do, so that all that we do may be to honour your holy name,”

“Amen,” said Genia.

“This we ask in Jesus‘s name. Muzita raBaba, nereMwanakomana, nere Mweya Musande. Amen.”

“Amen.”

MbuyaMaTwins crossed herself and kissed her rosary. She picked up her bag off the floor, stuffed her white headscarf into its capacious depths and with a radiant smile said to Pepukai, “Wofamba mushe dhali, travel well”, and to the others, “Ndiyoyo vasikana, see you next week.”

“Mati,” said MaiShero as soon as the client was out of hearing. “Isn‘t that woman supposed to be a Roman Catholic?”

“You know she is,” said Matilda, “You saw what she is wearing, so why do you ask?”

“Because she prays like a Pentecostal, that‘s why,” said MaiShero.

Shylet piped up from the sink. “She apparently wants to set up her own church. A women‘s ministry.”

“That is a smart move,” said Genia. “There is so much money to be made in these new churches.”

“And she will need all the prayers she can get with that husband of hers,” said MaiShero. “He is the busiest unemployed man in the city.”

“And he is never alone either,” laughed Genia.

“Makwatuza,” said Matilda.

“Makwatikwati,” echoed Zodwa.

“Kuda zvinhu!” said Mai Shero.

They laughed and clapped their hands to each other.

It took a little more talk of Kindness and another hour before Pepukai was done. The braids fell beautifully and lightly from her head, in hundreds of long thin ropes that were perfectly even. The last thing was to soak the ends in hot water to seal them and make sure that the did not unravel. Genia held up a mirror to the one before her so that Pepukai could see the back of her head.

The women beamed as they admired their handiwork.

“You are so right,” Matilda said, “this is very old- fashioned but it really suits your face.”

“Perfection sipo yekuwizira chaiy,” said MaiShero.

“Maoresa nhunzi yegreen,” agreed Genia.

Shylet approached, shaking the can of the stinky spray. Pepukai held up her hands as if to ward off evil. “It‘s really okay, thank you, Shylet,” she said. “I do not need the spray, I will do that later.”

She paid the eighty dollars that Matilda had requested, and gave her an extra twenty. “This is my chema for Kindness,” she said. “I hope it all goes well.” As she spoke, Matilda‘s phone buzzed out a new message.

“It‘s from the cousin sister of Kindness. She has no airtime, but she says we have to come now,” said Matilda.

“The mourners are gathering at their house in Warren Park.”

“Is it okay if I just wait here for my hair to dry a bit?” Pepukai asked.

It was fine, Matilda said, Shylet would stay to lock up. They said their goodbyes and bustled out. Pepukai continued to hear their voices until they turned the corner past the butcher‘s. In thirty minutes, her hair was dry enough for her to leave. The last Pepukai saw of the salon was Shylet sitting at Kindness‘s station, plaiting the rest of her hair.

That night, on her flight to Amsterdam, Pepukai chose the chicken over the fish. Nor did she eat any of the orange segments in her fruit salad, choosing to eat, instead, the grapes and cubed melons and the delicate slivers of apple.