Snake In The House



Kumbirai Viola Mbavarira

 
Copyright © 2026 by Kumbirai Viola Mbavarira



 Photo by Marathekedar93 at Wikipedia Commons.
Photo by Marathekedar93 at Wikipedia Commons.

Fear sent cold fingers squeezing through my stomach. I glanced to my left and beheld it—a giant, hideous creature, moving with a liquid stealth as it prepared to strike.

That’s me: sweet, sure, but with a cunning streak. Stubborn as a goat, always chasing change in my own peculiar way. I’d refused to go to church that morning, planting myself defiantly beside the old tyre in the yard. Then… boom. A cobra decided it wanted to play kissy with my leg.

Why me? A slender, skinny thing, all wide eyes and sharp angles. I simply stood, silenced, held in a bubble of frozen time. In that suspended breath, I felt not just fear, but a stark choice: be paralyzed, or be redeemed by a sudden, unseen force. Instinct. How I jumped, I’ll never know—only that it was blindingly fast.

Adrenaline is a force to be reckoned with.

I bolted into the house, slammed the door, threw the lock. Heck, I realized a second later. Snakes climb walls. I was left as a girl smart enough to lock a door, yet too innocent to see the holes in my own logic. Perhaps I wanted to be a guardian of safety without possessing a guardian’s fierce heart.

Then I saw “them”—moving. Inside.

One after another. One was draped over the French door like a macabre valance. Another slithered along the lounge window sill.

You’d think God was sending me a message. And then I saw my mother at the gate, in her red uniform, walking blithely past the very tyre that had hosted the cobra.

“Mummy, don’t!” I shrieked, the terror in my voice so raw it was a physical thing.

She started, then her face clouded. “Hephy, don’t start with your screaming.”

“But there’s a snake! There!” I jabbed a frantic finger toward the tyre’ hollow centre.

Nothing. It had vanished. Just as her scolding look solidified, her own eyes caught the sinuous movement at the window I was shouting from.

I thought she was toying with me. But she snatched up a heavy yard brush, dashed forward, and struck—not once, but in seven swift, brutal arcs, like Moses parting the Red Sea. In that moment, I understood my stupidity. A mother does not joke about serpents. She’d always taught me to put God first, and my refusal had led here—to a correction delivered not with words, but with venom and scale.

Before she even reached the house, Mum spotted another cobra—a baby this time—coiling near the steps. I wanted to save her, to help, but fear nailed me to the floor once more! I just stood, a statue of shame, as she showed me her bravery again. How does a woman who can’t fix a leaky tap become a serpent-slayer? The answer is simple, and it’s a tune I finally understood: love. A love larger than fear.

The lesson was etched in scales and adrenaline: a mother is as fierce as a lion. And yes, my mum rocks.

After that, ‘Missy Me’ went to church weekly (I swear). But I forgot to tell you about the other time—the secret I still carry. My little brother was just a baby then, so don’t you dare tell him. I’m guilty of choosing myself over him, though I love him fiercely.

I was heading to a friend’s with my siblings, my sweet brother cradled in my arms. As we passed a neighbor’s gate, snakes seemed to boil up from the very earth, surrounding us. I spun—only to face a pair of snarling dogs blocking our retreat. Fear, pure and electric, shot through me. My friends gasped, shocked by what I did next. Yes, I almost—almost, I say—dropped the baby to save my own skin. It was instinct, horribly misplaced, a disturbing choice my body made before my mind could catch up.

Fortunately, my sister was there. She was like Miriam, watching over her siblings from the periphery. In a flash, she snatched my brother from my faltering arms and dashed to the side. It’s embarrassing how fear can hollow out the good in us, leaving only stupid, insolent panic. My ‘doctor of the heart’ says it was adrenaline misfiring, a bomb of panic in my veins.

I don’t know how she did it. One moment I was like Joseph’s brothers, ready to abandon my charge (though my motive was fear, not jealousy), the next she was a blur of action. She made a beeline for a street bench, deposited our brother in safe hands, then turned back with a gas lighter, clicking it aloft to distract the snarling dogs. I saw her then as a moonlight karate girl, quiet and deadly, taking her chance to be like Mum.

The dogs slunk away. The snakes? We were saved by a gentleman who heard my brother’s cries. I was a fool to think I could be the kind of girl who drops a baby on the roadside to outrun a creature that can’t even speak. I’ve never told a soul—except you, reader. So please, don’t tell my brother. He might not like it. (Chuckles. I’m not Chuck the serial killer doll. I’m just Hephy, a girl who makes terrible mistakes, too.)

I took these serpentine lessons and forged them into a mantra for when pressure mounts. Breathe in. And out. Good girls can make catastrophic choices. I am still learning to find my calm in the storm. But here lies proof that learning can happen:

Seven years later, I was in the house. Another snake. At first, I thought it was a fallen leaf, so I leaned in for a closer look. There it was, a brown coil nestled in the flowers. I’d almost touched it.

Instinct surged again—but this time, my mind was clear. I saw my brother, asleep on the sofa. I saw the animal, our enemy. And this time, I was brave. Brave enough to take a mop and crush the head of the enemy. For love.

Love is my strength. Love is my language. And if you ever need a reason to keep fighting, to face your own snakes, find a family like mine. They teach you how to be brave, even when—especially when—you start out afraid.


Kumbirai Viola Mbavarira is a lady who loves to play around with words and narrate stories that teach. All her life, she has desired to use her words to share some tales that help children grow in wisdom. Being of African descent, she hopes her stories will reach a global audience. She's lives in Zimbabwe and is a chemical engineer still figuring life out!

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