Gumbeze wiped sweat from his brow. His body felt hot and sticky. To imagine that one had to toil in order to put food on the table made him feel embarrassed. Anyway, why worry, that was fate. For three months he had gone without pay at the security firm so he decided to quit the risky job and find alternative survival strategies.

A stocky man with boxer-like arms, Gumbeze felt confident when it came to taking on physically challenging tasks. He had been staring at the big log for thirty minutes now. He felt great. It had taken him two solid days to bring the tall gum tree down to the ground. Despite having blisters on both hands it was a warm relief to sit on the log. Surveying the tree with his brown rolling eyes, he nodded his head in satisfaction. Yes, his estimate was accurate; indeed he would raise a substantial amount from the firewood for the survival of his wife and three kids throughout the entire month. The sun was hot now. Once again he inhaled the shamrock cigarette smoke, coughed and nearly choked himself. He felt cool. An ant crawled along the branch; he observed it lazily with the corner of his left eye. If only this tiny creature knew how he had toiled, silly little creature, he thought to himself. Suddenly he leapt from the log and fell awkwardly, hurting himself. Fear had driven him to act swiftly. He had thought of a black mamba that had missed him previously by a few inches, and he could tell from the venom he later wiped off that that was close. One bite would have been fatal. It was later on, when relaxing, that he realized that two little silly mice were frolicking and chasing each other around. In the dry grass they thrived. He licked his dry lips, for the taste of roasted mice with salt made him salivate.

Gumbeze took his axe, the handle of which was now hot. Gripping it firmly, he resumed chopping the branches into firewood. This was his only survival strategy. The main road was not that far, some two kilometers away. The hot sun burnt his shoulders and sweat flowed down his spine. Time and again he would pull grass to wipe sweat from his hands. In the silent forest, the echoing sound of his heavy axe piercing through the fresh skin of the gum tree irritated him. He did not like the sound, it was risky. Rangers would discover him and it spelt doom for his effort and all would be in vain. Some time back, Gumbeze had hatched the idea of going back to his rural home to start a vegetable garden project. On second thoughts he wondered how he would survive. Barren land, displaced communities and lack of business at the Growth Point were stark realities of how the countryside offered no hope. Rural-urban migration had affected the countryside, it was now a life of toil, and in this state of affairs he was ready to face any odds. Alone and lost in his own world, Gumbeze visualized his wife. Chido was a carefree woman of Malawian origin, with a Nyanja dialect, and thinking of her sweet smile made him grin to himself. She had given him three kids, two boys and a girl. The eldest one, a boy, Maxwell, had promising strength, for he loved to hit hard kids of his age.

After another three hours of toil, his firewood was ready. He tied one bunch. He knew that the following day that bunch alone would raise a reasonable amount. This was Gumbeze, lonely and determined to ensure his family lived and survived as he toiled in the hot sun. What a life, a life of toil.