At school Nonzame struggled to focus on the faces of her students; they blurred and morphed before her. She took deep breaths, hoping to settle her sight. But their faces would not stop shifting.

“Miss not well?” one student asked.

“I will be fine,” she said. “Only tired.”

Another student clucked, then said, “My granny says bad things often come when the three suns appear as one. Maybe Miss should go home?”

Students murmured in agreement and began sharing rumours and myths of old. Nonzame knew she should rein them in, make these young minds understand that these stories were nothing more than superstitions and folk tales. She should turn their attention back to their set work. But with her womb empty, she could not find the energy to take control.

When the Head of the school rang her large brass bell, Nonzame found herself inert. As the students scattered into the glare of the three joined suns, one remained. Nonzame squinted at the indistinct face, willing her ears to pull a name to the child’s tongue, but she could not place the young soul.

“Miss,” the voice said, “may I walk you home? My mama won’t be home for two more hours. I have time.”

The word ‘no’ hovered in Nonzame’s heart, but would not reach her lips. Like a ghost, she was led by the hand of her student down the road to their farm.

Lukaya spotted them from their house’s porch and wheeled himself towards them. Nonzame felt relief as his face came into focus and remained that way. After he thanked the child, he pulled his wife into his lap and rolled them home.

As they crossed the threshold, Nonzame was startled at the smell of stew. “My husband, you cooked?”

Lukaya softly chuckled. Nonzame liked the way her head moved with the vibrations of his chest. “No, my wife, I did not. The midwife brought it; said it would be good for you to eat.”

Nonzame pushed herself off her husband’s lap and went over to the stove. The beet stew simmered, full of onions, yams, and meat. As she stirred the thick, reddish meal, the broth began to swirl out of sync with her long wooden spoon. The herbs and spices rose to the top, twisting and turning in dark peppered lines.

She gasped, dropping the spoon, as the outline of a baby’s face formed.

She ran from the room, leaving Lukaya stupefied. He let her be, and rolled out of the house to check on the workers’ progress. The golden-hoofed zebra were being sorted, the yearlings separated from their mothers and the colts. As the young bleated, their mothers cried, and the stallions kept away in the far fields blew smoky breath from their nostrils, snorting their fury as they stamped and paced.

Lukaya had long ago hardened his heart to this yearly task. Nonzame’s teaching salary was modest and could not support them both, let alone a family. These zebra were their true livelihood, their security. But in the late afternoon he found himself looking away, gazing towards the three suns, now heading for the horizon. At the moment, they appeared as one mighty orb. But over the course of the next week they’d begin to pull away, until they were, once again, three distinct spheres of light.

Good riddance he thought, as the horizon swallowed them down.

 ***

Tell us: What do you think is wrong with Nonzame’s eyesight?