At first, the two young hunters dismissed it as a harmless fire, fading away. In the scorching heat, with warm stale air hovering above their heads, they did not anticipate any danger. That was a grave miscalculation, and their boyish inexperience of veld fires would lead to their tragic deaths.

Fatso and Vasco, who were brothers, had woken up early that Friday morning. They were assured of a good catch of mice, since they felt confident of their traps. In the village of Nenguwo, in Marondera, Zimbabwe, with the gripping drought, no one was spared the luxury of staying at home. Hunger, the uninvited visitor, had driven villagers from their homes to venture into the hinterland in search of food. Homes were deserted.

The two young boys knew that their guardians had left early, before the break of dawn, to collect wild fruits deep in the forest. They were competing with baboons and other wild animals, so it was a struggle for survival. The old men, with small axes, knobkerries, and bows and arrows, had also taken to the deep forest, hunting for bushbucks, antelopes, the occasional hare, and the big kudu. The two young boys, conscious of hunger, were by sunrise already swallowed up by the tall grass of the veld.

“Today is my day, I used peanut butter bait in my traps”, said Fatso, with a mocking and giggling expression on his worn out face that looked older than his years. Fatso and Vasco had learnt the skill of trapping mice from their late father. The old man had loved roasted mice, but the tiny kids had hated the queer and strange smell of these veld rodents; it irritated their nostrils and made them sneeze and cry. The old man would laugh and urge them to blow the fire.

Meanwhile, in the veld, Vasco did not respond to Fatso’s remark. He had used crushed grain and was in doubt whether he would find any mice in his traps. It was amazing how the young boys knew where to find their traps in the tall grass, and lay claim to the success that came from their ability to trap and catch mice.

As the early morning sun climbed and got hotter, suddenly a mist developed in the veld. The young boys felt their eyes itch. “Perhaps the winds are blowing westwards today,” said Vasco. “I expect there was a fire yesterday, and we can smell the old smoke drifting across”. Oblivious to danger, they carried on looking for their traps.

“But, it can’t be, it can’t be smoke in the wind, my nose is running now,” protested Fatso. They had collected ten mice from their traps, but now, because of what they had thought was mist, they could hardly see the traps. Just as they had once blown the fire for their father, the wind had now blown the smouldering embers into flames, and the fire was reborn.

The veld fire had enveloped them and they were now caught between two areas of flame. As well as the smoke, they could hear the roar of the flames as they caught the dry, brittle grass. At last realizing the danger, the two young boys started to run, and soon they were sweating in the intense heat. They were trapped just as surely as the mice they had caught.

Panicking, they headed for the trees. “Quick, hold my hand, Vasco”, shouted Fatso, pulling his younger brother by the hand. Vasco dropped the plastic box of mice. With the veld fire only some hundred metres away, the young boys dropped their clothes as they climbed further up the tree, hanging precariously on to the top branches.

Soon the flames were licking the base of the stunted tree in which they sought refuge. Vasco cried and shouted wildly for help, but so intense were the flames that nobody would have been able to hear his young voice. The fire came in a sweeping rage like a flood. It was terrifying and cruel. When they could no longer breathe for the smoke, their two innocent bodies fell to the ground where they were consumed to ashes in a matter of minutes.

It was four days later that the burned corpses of the young boys were found in the veld after a manhunt. These tragic deaths would haunt the villagers for a long time.