The game was interesting. I found Rasta playing a game of chess with Baba VaTata at the backyard of his house. Baba VaTata never made it a secret that he was a better chess player than all of us despite his poor showings many times.
Myself I was not even an amateur, but on a good day I could give a decent chess player a good run for his money.
They hardly noticed me when I arrived. I could see what Rasta was trying to do. He had cornered Baba VaTata’s king even though the latter had not yet realised it. The whole game of chess is about strategy, and making moves well in advance before the final checkmate.
Once he moved the rook, the knight and king of Baba BaTata would be exposed, leaving the king at the mercy of Rasta’s queen.
The king was left with no room to escape. I could see the excitement on Rasta’s beaming face.
Baba VaTata paused his move, as it slowly dawned on him that his King had no protection at all.
“Checkmate,” said Rasta, at the same time clapping his hands together.
“Wait,” said Baba VaTata hopefully.
- Ghetto dances: When love of money goes beyond bounds of sanctity
- Wynn targets medal winning swansong at Troutbeck
- International athletes troop in for Africa Triathlon Cup
- Ghetto dances: The long walk back home and I bumped into Rasta
Keep Reading
“There is no return, it’s a checkmate, “ I said.
Rasta’s game was improving. The game was over, although it was a bitter pill to swallow for Baba VaTata.
“Let’s play another game,” he said.
They played again and he was beaten twice more. Their last game lasted about forty moves each before Rasta closed the game with a sudden checkmate.
While they played, I could not help thinking that even life itself is a game of chess. While we don’t actually see the 8x8 grid board, life is a whole chess game with challenges at each corner, waiting for the ultimate checkmate.
After that we left for Zororo Bar. By this time, the sun was dipping in the western horizon and the sky was yellow above the silhouettes of the houses in the distant horizon.
The bar was already filled with weekend revellers, Fatso was already there, drowning his sorrows. Ever since his heartbreak with his girlfriend, Shamiso, he was not himself. A few days after he met her, he had started talking about marriage and we all thought that at last he was going to settle down. He invested a lot in her, but a few weeks later, she eloped and went to live with a Congolese businessman. The signs were there, Shamiso wanted expensive things, which Fatso could never provide.
The moment Comrade Mobiliser saw us, he hobbled to our table and joined us. "Did you see the news last night,” he quipped. He did not even wait for an answer from any of us.
“The Americans and their Allies are celebrating 80 years D-Day Normandy Landing, “ he said.
“Of course, they still remember their heroes, " I said. I knew where this was getting us.
“Look at me, I am suffering, I have to beg for food and beer and yet like the others, we brought independence to the country,” he said.
“Get him some beer,” said Baba VaTata.
The game of chess they had played before came to my mind. We were all pawns in a game of chess. The hardships of life were unrelenting, trapping many people on a giant 8x8 grid board.
- Onie NdoroX@Onie90396982