Mini - gorgeous who wears nothing save for pristine brown skin and dances all day long on what i deliberately call my 'haute couture dashboard' pulled a facsimile of the famous Foxy Brown deep-it low and twirl-it-till-it soaks dance move from the 2001 Oh Yeah smash single as we took a turn to the left. The sheeny 'colansi' road hastily gave away to a loose surface road. The AC now in full blast whizzed through the dashboard gills like carbon-dixode exiting the strained nostrils of an Olympic marathoner approaching the 42km mark. The murrum was so fine it went up in a cloud of dust behind us like an eerie halo we couldn't shake off. Some portions of the ill-maintained road were creased in multiple corrugations. Negotiating 45 degree bends at 60km/hr, the sedan's under-steer gave me the rusty feeling country roads treat nouveau riche city dwellers with each festive season when they flock these parts with their larger than life attitudes. Close to the Nyamununka crater with its famed rotten-egg signature smell, we hit a couple of potholes and the automobile fish-tailed. The children smugly sit belted in their seats behind me exclaimed in a frenzy of unbridled excitement. Gorgeous flew me a lady bird smile and intimated the need for us to stop and commune with the great wild outdoors for a break. I jammed my leg on the pedal and my brembo's pressed hard against the disks as I steered to the road side, the six speed transmission circling back in absolute acquiescence. We stepped out....
From where we stood, the crater lake was so vast and up till now so minuscule in contrast with the far stretching wooded grasslands. Only a pair of warthogs gingerly wallowed on the muddy beach(in the spirit of the festive season-so am misled to imagine). Somewhere beyond the tree line, an elephant trumpeted,another one joined in. The wind carried the beastly serenade over the open savanna plains to us.. ..We turned around and walked back to our car, visceral somber calls of the wild beckoning us to venture deeper into unfamiliar realms. Not a word was said. Not a beat was missed and yet the primal urge to return to our wild roots seemed to have fleetingly been carried away in the crisp wind that ran through the shrubs with a rustle like a set of boisterous fingers through nappy hair.
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