DIFFERENCES: A Short Story & Film by Lawson Chiwara

Differences 

Lawson Chiwara 

The lunchtime bell unleashed a flood of students on-

to the dusty school grounds. Shaky sat under the man-

go tree, his notebook open, pen scratching half-formed poems—dreams of brilliance that always fell short. His

frayed socks peeked out from his worn trousers, a quiet

reminder of his family’s struggles.

Then she appeared.

Natasha. Braids flawless, uniform crisp, eyes scanning the crowd like a queen. She spotted Shaky, and his

heart thudded louder than the chatter around him.

She sauntered over, smirking. “I’m hungry,” she said,

her tone casual but expectant.

Shaky’s mind raced. This was his moment—the

hero’s chance to shine, to win her approval. But his pock-

ets were empty, his lunch a single slice of bread he’d already eaten.

Words stuck in his throat. Then, stupidly, he blurted,

“Me too.”

Silence.

Natasha’s smirk faded to irritation. She shook her

head and walked away, her steps slow, deliberate, de-

signed to sting.

Jimmy appeared, biting into a sandwich. He

watched Natasha vanish into the crowd and grinned.

“Smooth, mufesi wangu.”

Shaky groaned, burying his face in his notebook.

One day, he’d write the perfect response. Today was not

that day.

***

The classroom hummed as Mr. Moyo scrawled Macbeth

Act 3 on the board. Shaky leaned forward—this was his

turf, where words never failed him.

“What’s the significance of Banquo’s ghost?” Mr.

Moyo asked.

Shaky’s hand shot up. “It’s Macbeth’s guilt made

flesh. He sees Banquo because his hands are stained,

even if no one else knows.”

The room stilled. Mr. Moyo nodded. “Excellent, Sibanda.”

Natasha, two rows ahead, turned, her eyes gleaming

with mischief. At break, she slid beside him, her perfume

sharp. “You’re brilliant,” she cooed. “Bet you could do

my Literature assignment in ten minutes.”

Shaky’s chest tightened. Her attention was intoxicating, but something stirred—memories of the mango

tree, her sharp exit, Jimmy’s laughter. He thought of

Macbeth, undone by reckless ambition.

He leaned back, voice cool. “I could do it.”

Natasha smiled, tilting her head. “I know you could.”

“But what’s the fun in that?” Shaky said, smirking. “I

want you to learn.”

Natasha blinked, caught off guard, then

laughed—short, incredulous. “Bho- that’s fine. Be difficult.”

She walked away, but Jimmy plopped down, munching bread. “Shaky saying no? You’re rewriting history, mufesi wangu.”

Shaky grinned, flipping open his notebook. Maybe he was finally stepping into his own story.

***

The boys sprawled on the football grounds, the afternoon sun stretching their shadows. A scuffed plastic ball

lay nearby, battered from endless lunch break matches.

Jimmy traced patterns in the dirt. “Some people

shouldn’t be allowed near an English exam.”

Shaky raised an eyebrow. “Like who?”

Jimmy grinned. “Asked Chido if she knew ‘reiterated.’ She said, ‘What does it mean?’ So I told her, ‘It

means repeating something.’ She looked me dead in the

eye and said, ‘Why didn’t you just say repeating?’”

“Mufesi wangu, who even says ‘reiterated’ in real

life? You wanna flex English or what?” Brian who was also listening laughed.

Shaky burst out laughing. “She proved your point.”

Jimmy smirked. “You call it testing. I call it entertainment.”

Shaky shook his head, still chuckling. Loyalty was

easy here, under the sun, with a friend who knew him better than anyone.

***

The football grounds were quiet after school. Jimmy leaned against the goalpost, shirt untucked. Natasha stood before him, arms crossed, her smirk sharp.

“Come on, Jimmy,” she said, voice low, sweet. “Just a

little favor. Urikukwata here?”

Jimmy shifted. “What kind?”

She stepped closer, her perfume dizzying. “Home-

work help. And maybe... a little something extra.”

Jimmy swallowed. Rumors about Natasha—her charm, her games—weren’t just talk. Her eyes held him,

daring him to say no.

“Shaky doesn’t have to know,” she added, her tone honeyed. Shaky’s voice echoed in Jimmy’s head: “Mufesi wangu, loyalty is everything.” But Natasha’s gaze was relentless, her attention a drug.

“Fine,” he muttered. “What do you need?”

Natasha’s smile widened. “Good boy.”

***

The morning sun glared across the cracked concrete of

the assembly point. Students stood in neat rows, uni-

forms crisp—except Shaky’s. His frayed socks betrayed

him, a silent mark of his family’s struggles.

Mr. Moyo’s voice boomed. “Routine search! Bags

open, pockets empty!”

Prefects moved down the rows, hands quick. Shaky clutched his notebook, heart pounding—not from guilt,

but dread.

“Sibanda!”

He stepped forward, notebook trembling.

“Shoes off!”

He hesitated. Murmurs spread. 

“Look at his socks!” someone whispered.

“Does he even own new ones?” another sneered.

His cheeks burned as he slipped off his shoes, revealing the torn fabric. Laughter erupted, cruel and sharp.

“Enough!” Mr. Moyo barked, silencing the crowd.

Shaky bent to put his shoes back on, catching

Natasha’s gaze—not mocking, but curious.

Jimmy leaned over. “Forget them, mufesi wangu.

They’re bored.”

Shaky straightened, notebook tight in his grip. Later, whispers shifted: “They found mbanje—weed—in

Brian’s bag.”

Jimmy nudged him. “Torn socks aren’t the worst secret, huh?”

Shaky smirked, but his mind raced. The assembly

point exposed everyone’s cracks. That night, he wrote in

his notebook: Shame burns, but it doesn’t define you.

***

Monday morning buzzed with chaos—students dodging

the bell, prefects barking, the tuck shop packed with

Zapnax chips and Freezit drinks. Shaky spotted Jimmy

near the football grounds, shoulders hunched, face

blank.

“Mufesi wangu,” Shaky called, jogging over, notebook under his arm. “Where were you this weekend? I

called ten times!”

Jimmy shrugged, eyes averted. “Busy.”

“Busy doing what?”

Jimmy’s fingers twitched. “Masinhi angu- Just...

stuff.”

Shaky’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t do ‘stuff.’ You play football, eat bread, complain about homework. What’s going on?”

Jimmy sighed, barely audible. “Leave it, man.”

Shaky stepped back. His best friend—the one who always had his back—was slipping away. Across the

courtyard, Natasha leaned against the wall, smirking.

***

The sun dipped low, painting the football grounds gold.

The plastic ball lay forgotten, scuffed and still. Shaky’s

fists clenched as he marched toward Jimmy, who stood near the goalpost, laughing with Natasha.

Brian’s words burned: “Saw them at the shopping

center, mufesi wangu. Cozy as hell.”

“You were with her?” Shaky’s voice sliced the

evening air.

Jimmy froze. “Mufesi wangu, relax—”

“Relax?” Shaky laughed, bitter. “You ghosted me, and Brian says you’re playing sidekick to her?”

Natasha folded her arms, smirking. “Didn’t know you had a leash on your boy, Shakespeare.”

Shaky ignored her, eyes on Jimmy. “Tell me it’s not

true.”

Jimmy’s gaze dropped.

“You folded?” Shaky’s voice cracked. “Like Macbeth, chasing a crown—her attention—and selling out loyalty

for what? Mafesi haaparadzaniswe nekudya bota!” Boys don’t break over borrowed sadza.

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Natasha tilt-

ed her head. “You think everything’s about you, huh?”

Before Shaky could reply, Brian’s voice rang out. “Yo,

Jimmy! Heard Natasha gave you a little souvenir over the

weekend! Hope the clinic treated you nice!”

Silence crashed over the grounds. Jimmy paled.

Natasha’s smirk faltered.

“Shut up, Brian!” Jimmy snapped, but whispers spread—vicious, unstoppable.

Shaky exhaled. “This isn’t just loyalty anymore.”

Jimmy met his eyes, regret thick. “I messed up.”

Shaky nodded, voice low. “Yeah. You did.”

***

Sports day roared with chaos—students shouting bets, football in full swing. Brian, nursing his mbanje stash,

had spread the “souvenir” rumor out of jealousy, craving

Natasha’s attention. His luck ran out when dropouts

from the ghetto demanded his liquor. A punch to his stomach, screams, and teachers swarmed. Brian, drunk

and dazed, was hauled to the administration block.

Jimmy found Shaky near the mango tree. “Mufesi wangu, I messed up.”

Shaky sighed. “You fix loyalty by proving it.”

Jimmy hesitated, then pulled something from his bag—a pair of new socks. “Got these for you. No more assembly point nonsense.”

Shaky stared, then took them, a small smile breaking

through. “You’re learning.”

Across the field, Natasha leaned against the wall,

watching. Shaky walked over. “Natasha, I need you to know something.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I never wanted you,” Shaky said, voice steady. “I wanted the differences you brought—your confidence, your world. But I’m good with mine now.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, but she had no comeback.

She turned away, braids swaying, her silence louder than any retort.

Under the mango tree, Shaky opened his notebook.

The words came easier now—not perfect, but his own.

He titled it Under the Mango Tree and wrote:

Beneath this mango shade, I scribble scars,

Words like sadza crumbs, scattered, never whole.

My socks betray me, frayed as dreams deferred,

Yet shame’s a ghost, like Banquo, cold, untrue.

Natasha’s braids, they gleam like Zapnax foil,

Her world a crown I chased, but never mine.

Mufesi wangu, you sold our bond for crumbs,

Borrowed bhero, a debt that broke the line.

Mafesi haaparadzaniswe nekudya bota!

Loyalty’s no debt—it’s choice, it’s fire.

I am not her, nor you, nor cracked concrete,

But differences stitched in ink, my own desire.

The bell will ring, the grounds will fade to dust,

Yet here, my pen carves truths no ghost can hush.

The bell rang, but he kept writing, Banquo’s ghost finally at rest.

GLOSSARY

Bhero: Plain bread, a common snack for students.

Freezit: A popular Zimbabwean frozen drink, simi-

lar to a slushie.

Mbanje: Shona slang for marijuana, often referred to

as weed.

Mafesi haaparadzaniswe nekudya bota!: Shona

proverb meaning “Boys don’t break over borrowed

food,” emphasizing loyalty among friends.

Mufesi wangu: Shona term meaning “my friend,”

used affectionately among peers.

Sadza: A staple Zimbabwean dish made from maize

meal, similar to polenta.

Urikukwata here?: Shona phrase meaning “Are you

scared?” or “Are you hesitating?” used to challenge

someone.

Zapnax: A popular Zimbabwean brand of flavored

potato chips.

END

CAST YOUR VOTE

Team Shaky: Loyalty matters more than new socks.

Team Jimmy: "Mufesi" makes mistakes, but he tried to fix it.  

Team Natasha: She was just being a "Queen"

Type your team name in the comments below!