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__________ Chapter TWO __________
… IS NOT THE END OF LIFE
“Proverbs 18v20-21: ​From the fruit of a man's mouth his stomach is satisfied; he is satisfied by the yield of his lips. Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruits. ESV2011”

The mountain bike came hurtling down the street at breakneck speed. It was unmistakably evident that the rider had an emergency situation on his hands. Like a lightning bolt on crack, Zozo zapped towards his house.
With a practiced twist of the wrists Zozo deftly maneuvered his bike into the driveway that led to his front veranda.
He glanced nervously backwards and sideways – the coast was clear. A weary smile creased his face as he punched the air with his right hand in mock victory. But like everything in his life, the ‘victory’ was short-lived. As he turned his head to look straight ahead, the sight that greeted his eyes instantly erased the smile off his face. There they were again, right at his doorstep!

The tyres screamed as Zozo brought his ride to a sudden, merciless stop. Throwing his hands in the air in total resignation, he dejectedly proceeded to bang his head against the bike’s handlebars.
Then the giggling started, emanating from the veranda. First it was one isolated half laugh. Then another, followed by another, and another until the whole little crowd of neighborhood kids stationed at Zozo’s front door just burst out in a symphony of incessant laughter.

“Here we go again,” Zozo groaned under his breath, his chubby face betraying the intense emotional feelings of hurt swirling deep inside his spirit. He silently endured the taunts for a few more seconds, and then a thought hit him! With brightened face, he pulled at his bike and made a rapid 180-degree turn in an attempt to make a quick getaway.
But, alas! His body moved faster than his metal-and-rubber contraption. As a result, his attempt at freedom ended in him being firmly sandwiched between the hard cemented drive-way and the bicycle on top of him.

The hard fall precipitated even harder laughing from the group of kids, who were by now swarming all over Zozo like vultures converging on a rotting carcass.
Some were grabbing his ears; others poked his nose, whilst the rest rubbed his balding head. The kids were really enjoying themselves as they chanted: “Big ears, long nose, bald head, natural clown,” over and over again like a tribe of savages about to sacrifice another unfortunate soul to the rain gods.

Zozo tried to fight back, but to no avail. He muttered some threats about reporting the kids to their parents, but the rascals went on undeterred. No amounts of threats - real or imagined - were going to deny them their fun time with Zozo, ‘the unwilling clown’.
You see, this fascination with his ears, head, and nose had been going on for as long as Zozo could remember. Every kid viewed him as the ultimate source of entertainment – the unofficial town ‘clown’. And Zozo just hated it.
Everywhere he went he got the same reaction. His appearance was a great allure for both kids and adults. Of course, the grown-ups (save for a few) were able to control with great difficulty, their spontaneous desire and inclination to laugh at his funny features, or extend an exploring hand.

For Zozo, though, this insatiable fascination with his appearance was a big bother; a source of perpetual embarrassment and ever present shame. His deep sense of shame was only exceeded by his even deeper resentment towards God for being so over-generous when He apportioned him his ears and nose.
These appendages were so oversized that some people were convinced that Zozo had stood in the queue three times when these body features were being dished out at birth.

Zozo’s nose loomed large across his face, conclusively dominating everything in its vicinity. It almost posed a threat to the supply of oxygen for those around him. Unconfirmed reports declared that he used a baby’s napkin to blow his nose with, since the standard handkerchief had proven too small for the task.
Life’s mundane activities such as kissing and whispering in the ear, proved to be challenges of enormous proportions for Zozo. Former participants of the encounters-of-the-worst-kind had complained of black-eyes, bruised chicks and near-broken noses. Just picture this: one moment you are tilting your head towards Zozo to receive a confidential word in the ear, or a friendly ‘holy’ kiss, and the next moment you are speeding to the nearest emergency medical rooms or trauma center to receive face-saving surgery.

As much as Zozo’s nose re-modeled other people’s heads, his ears turned heads everywhere he went. Some people (who shall remain unnamed to protect their identity) were more than convinced that for Zozo to buy a satellite dish was wasteful spending.
They claimed that simply attaching an LNB to one of his ears would usher in digital audio and video entertainment into his home with no problems at all. People both young and old just loved to gaze upon and even tickle these over-sized assets, much to his irritation and chagrin.

The character of the space between Zozo’s ears was the exact opposite of that of his ears and nose. The Powers-that-be had exercised excessive economy as far as the apportionment of hair on his head was concerned. Whether it was a case of acute hair shortage in Heaven at the time of his birth, or simply a malfunctioning of the hair-grafting machine along Heaven’s assembly line, the facts are still not clear up to this day.
What was beyond any hair – I mean to say – air of doubt was the glaring absence of hair coverage on 90-percent of his head. One could be forgiven for assuming that his head was an airport runway, designed for exclusive use by jumbo-jet aircraft.

Put together, Zozo’s features were perfect ingredients for a comedy act. Here was a man who was funny without trying to be funny; one who inspired an instant chuckle and invited a smile to your face. With a face like that Zozo didn’t need to crack a joke, to make people laugh!
Now this in itself was not a disaster. The real tragedy was that, these natural gifts, which were a well-spring of amusement for others, were a source of frustration and deepening low-esteem for the owner Zozo.

As time went by, this frustration had progressed unabated to anger, resentment and bitterness, finally settling down as plain old loathing deep within his soul. Add to all this, the loss of a wife and daughter much loved, and you get an emotional concoction potent enough to bring about a case of full-blown depression.

Zozo lay on the hard surface as the little infidels kept up their game. The situation seemed so hopelessly out of control, when all of a sudden a sharp feminine voice attacked the atmosphere, ripping apart the thick blanket of the children’s taunts and laughs.
All at once, as if responding to the hand of an invisible choir conductor, the kids went quiet. They just stood there frozen, horror written all over their faces.
Still on his back, Zozo slowly turned his head in the direction of the children’s fear-stricken eyes. As his eyes focused on the object of the little ones’ terror, they narrowed at first then opened real wide like blown up balloons ready to pop-up any moment. He just stared and stared.

“Are you alright?” a sweet female voice crooned in enquiry.

“Well … eh … uh … I mean … ah … umm … I … I …,” Zozo stuttered and stammered as his vocabulary suddenly evaporated.
“Yes … yes …”
He finally managed to construct two words as the pretty young lady beamed an enchanting smile and extended a slender arm, so soft and supple from years of beauty treatments.

Zozo’s heart was once again beating fast as he gazed at the angelic form towering above him.
After a slight hesitation, he slid his hand into hers, as she encouraged him with a slight raise of her immaculately chiseled eyebrows, perfectly arched over two beautiful, brown moist-filled eyes.
As soon as he was safely on his feet, the lady shifted her attention to the gang of junior hooligans, who were busy shaking in their boots. With a stern face that was struggling to remain calm and dignified, she hissed, “And what do you think you are doing?”

No one volunteered to reply. So she tried again.

“I asked you a question. What kind of crude behaviour is this?”
Her venom-laden words snaked through the crowd of little ones looking for a victim to ensnare, but found no would-be casualties. Her slightly-tearing eyes moved from one panic-gripped face to another, as the tension soared.

“We… we…we… didn’t mean any harm, ma’am … we…were… were just playing with our friend … we … we … are … so sorry, ma’am,” one courageous youthful soul finally found his vocal chords.

“You had better be – all of you … this is extremely irresponsible behaviour!” The young lady paused to take a deep breath. (Was it Zozo’s huge nose, with its heavy appetite for air suffocating her; or just the effects of anger boiling inside her?)

“We shall finish this conversation at school tomorrow. Now, be gone!”

That was the instruction the terror-stricken kids were itching to hear. In one mad rush they were all gone; a classic case of ‘now you see us, now you don’t’.

“Uh … eh … I mean … uh,” Zozo frantically searched for his dictionary in vain.
“No. No, don’t mention it, it’s a pleasure. My name is Maindi. I’m your new neighbor. I must apologize on behalf of the children. They are my students from the school downtown. You see, I’m the new F&N teacher there …”

Zozo squeezed his bushy eyebrows in subtle confusion.
“Oh,” Maindi laughed, “F&N stands for ‘Food and Nutrition’. I teach students how to bake and cook – you know, mixing ingredients … that sort of thing. The kids were out of line. They are getting too big for their noses … oh, I didn’t mean … what I meant is they were way over their heads … oops, sorry … please forgive them, they are still wet behind the ears … oh, no …”

“Okay, okay; I get the picture,” Zozo huffed as he dusted himself up.
“What happened?” Maindi wanted to know.
“It’s nothing!” His voice was a bit too loud and inhospitable, so he added more softly, looking down and busying his hands: “Just forget about it … happens every time.”

“But why …”

“I said ‘forget it’, woman… I don’t need your pity,” like a wounded bull Zozo suddenly exploded. The reaction was a product of embarrassment at being caught in an awkward position, and having to be rescued by a woman.
Taken aback by this unexpected show of hostility, Maindi tried to exonerate herself by saying, “I’m sorry for poking my nose into your business … hhuuhh …”

Zozo gave her a real wild look before turning away to pick his bike, after which he headed for his front door. He hastily forced it open and once inside, threw it shut with an ear-popping bang which rocked Maindi’s slender frame.
She just stood there, mild shook gripping her body. She could now hear soft sobs coming from inside the house. The mellifluous crying slowly graduated into high-pitched groans of an injured human soul tormented beyond the point of endurance. Eyes filled with tears, Maindi approached the door and gave it a soft hesitant knock.

“Go away,” a strained voice cried beyond the thick wooden stopper.
“Just go away … (sob)… I don’t want to …(sob)… see … (sob)… you again …(sob)… you are all …(sob)… the … same …(sob)… everybody hates me … (sob)… hehe … (sob)… hehe … (sob)… ”

“But that’s not true,” Maindi gently corrected him. “There – ”

“I said go away, lady … just leave … me … alone …”

“I just want to help. That’s all”

“No, you can’t. Nobody can … (sob)… you think … you can … help … me?”

“Of course, I can …” Maindi answered eagerly, but Zozo cut her off roughly: “Well, then … give me a decent nose … and … and a new set of … normal ears. Can you? Huh? Huh? How … how about ah … ah … making my hair grow all over my … head? And while you are at it… why not remodel the lousy shape of my head… Huh? How about that, oh mighty one … can you do that for me? Can you?!?”

“I can’t do any of those things,” Maindi’s voice was very still, calm and composed, but full of empathy and understanding, “but –”
“But, but! What? What?” Zozo demanded to know before calming down and confiding, “You know, my priority in life was to raise enough money to go for plastic surgery and turn this ugly beast into a …a handsome prince … There’s just one thing I don’t understand, you know… actually I wonder what my wife and child see in me …”

“She sees more than you are seeing, Zozo. You are looking at your individual parts, but she sees the total you – the sum of your parts, the total package. You see, being a Food and Nutrition teacher has taught me a great deal about life. Consider diverse ingredients like salt, sugar, margarine, eggs, milk, flour, baking powder, yeast, cooking oil, etc. Taken individually, most of these are nasty, sour, bitter, smelly, and oily … only a few are sweet and agreeable to the taste. But when mixed together – and subjected to intense heat, they combine to produce a nutritious, beautiful tasty cake that smells great and sweetens life.”
She paused a little, giving time for this piece of wisdom to find a home in Zozo’s spirit.
“Believe me Zozo, if you allow the pressure of perseverance and the heat of determination to mix your ears, nose, and bald head with your other gifts, talents and the right attitude, you’ll discover your purpose in life and recover your self esteem. You’ll entertain people by making them laugh with you, instead of laughing at you. Their taunts will be replaced by a new love and respect for you. You see, people see you as you see yourself.

“You will become a person who brings sweetness into people’s lives by the way you look and respond to what life throws at you. If people fling lemons at you, turn them into lemonade. If someone tosses tomatoes, make tomato-juice or puree out of it. Turn your mess into a message; and your ordinary into extra-ordinary. The strange thing is that everybody hates something about themselves; which incidentally is admired by others. And they admire what other people hate about themselves.
"Everyone is trying to become like the other person. Whilst a dark-skinned person is trying to lighten their skin, a light-skinned one is busy tanning their skin to look darker. One with curly hair straightens it, yet the other with straight hair curls theirs up. That is why there is no ugly person on Earth. God does not create junk.

"In the Book of Isaiah, He says you are wonderfully and fearfully made! In the Book of Ephesians He calls you His masterpiece. In Book of Psalms He says you are a god. If you fail to see yourself the way God sees you, you’ll never be satisfied with who you are!
“If someone doesn’t like your nose, ears, or baldness, I can assure you there are many more who find them interesting features. Your wife and kid are prime examples. You’ll never be liked by everybody, so stop trying to please everyone – just concentrate on those who appreciate who you are.
So, instead of ridiculing and trying to change your God-given features, embrace them to your advantage as you make a difference in people’s lives.”

Zozo didn’t answer for a long time as he weighed Maindi’s words. Finally he asked, “You really think so?”

“I know so,” Maindi responded with confidence.
“Now, wait a minute!’ Zozo seemed not convinced after all. “You are just saying these things to make me feel better, aren’t you …?”

“No, no – I really mean …”

“Oh, just shut up, woman,” Zozo’s wiring had snapped and some connecting nerves were hanging dangerously loose now. “Now, please go away. I mean it! Enough of this Dr. Phil stuff, you hear!”

Rapidly moving footsteps approached the door from the inside and Maindi jumped back with a scream. As suddenly as they had started, the footsteps stopped. A sharp ‘click’ of the lock confirmed that the door was being bolted from the inside.
Instinctively, Maindi knew it was time to leave. She uttered a weak “I’m sorry,” and quickly made her way down the driveway, casting nervous backward glances with every step she took.

As for Zozo, a civil war was raging within him and the bad guys were wining. Big time! What he didn’t yet realized was that how you view and think of yourself is how other people see and treat you. ‘Other people see you through your own eyes.’

Ask the 10 Hebrew spies in Book of Numbers!
© Danisile Prinsloo Chivaura