“No, no, no! That’s not right,” Zorah exclaimed. “What’s wrong?” asked the boy. “Is it the colour?”

“No, it’s not the colour,” an exasperated Zorah pitched his front hoofs on the ground. “You have painted zig-zag lines. Zebras don’t have zig-zag lines!”

“Oh!” the boy smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I was thinking about the minister who is going to visit our village today,” he said as he wiped off the paint to add another coat.

“Now?” the boy readjusted the mirror in front of Zorah.

For a moment Zorah was silent.

“It’s… it’s perfect.” Zorah finally said. He couldn’t help but admire how wonderful he looked with the stripes.

“You look great,” said the boy.

“You really think this will work?” Zorah asked in a small voice.

“You bet! Now, run along!” the boy gave Zorah an encouraging smile.

Zorah’s legs felt like noodles as he walked towards all the other zebras. He moved slowly, and cautiously, not knowing what would happen next.

“Who’s the new fella’?” one of them asked.

“His fur is so black!” exclaimed another.

“And his stripes are so white!” a third voice chimed in.

“Come on! You can share our grass.”

Zorah’s shaking legs eased a little and his head rose a little higher. As he joined the herd, everyone cheered and tried talking to him. Zorah could hardly contain his excitement. He loved how differently everyone was treating him. These were the same zebras who used to make fun of him for not having stripes.

Though he had grown three months old, he was still all black. Not a single white line had appeared on his black skin! The zebras used to say mean things about him. But now everything had changed!

Zorah was enjoying all the attention when the clouds roared and rain began to pour. Zorah didn’t like rains. He started to look for some shelter. However, he soon realised that everyone was staring down at his hoofs. He heard one zebra snicker. When he looked down, he saw white chalky water collecting around his feet. Zorah froze.

“Well, well, well! Look who’s here!” said one Zebra.

“What happened, Zorah? Your stripes got washed away with the rain? Ha-ha!” another voice said.

“Thought you could fool us all?” asked a third zebra. “Shouldn’t have used such a cheap paint, buddy!”

“Hey, Zorah! You know who else doesn’t have stripes? Donkeys! Zorah is a donkey!”

As the zebras chanted these words, no one noticed two tears quietly slide down Zorah’s nose.

“I will never be a zebra,” thought Zorah with a broken heart.

“There he is!” Zorah’s gloomy thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice. “Thank goodness for the rain, Zorah. Otherwise I would have never found you!” the village boy was saying as he gasped to catch his breath.

But the boy was not alone. There was a tall man in a white suit standing beside him.

“Zorah! Oh, Zorah!” exclaimed the tall man as he knelt on the ground besides Zorah. “You are so big now! But just as beautiful as you were as a child. Just as beautiful!” he playfully patted Zorah’s head.

“Come on, my boy. Let’s go back now,” said the tall man as he got up to leave. But seeing that Zorah was not following him, he said, “Well, come on now. What’s the matter?”

The village boy cleared his throat, “This is the minister I had told you about earlier, Zorah. He wanted to meet you.”

“Oh, of course!” said the tall man. “Of course, you don’t remember me. You were just a tiny baby when my servant lost you!”

“It was all my fault. I should have been more careful,” he continued. “I searched for you everywhere in the city. And now, when I had lost all hope of finding you, today this young boy mentioned seeing you in the village and how I had hoped it was you!”

Zorah was stunned. All the other zebras were staring in disbelief.

“Sir, sorry, um, minister sir,” said one of the zebras. “What are you going to do with a zebra like Zorah? He doesn’t even have stripes!”

“A zebra? No, no!” the tall man threw his head back and gave out a hearty laugh. “Zorah is not a zebra.” Then he turned to Zorah and put his arm on his back, “Zorah… you’re a horse!”

Zorah could hardly believe what he was hearing. “A horse? I’m a horse?”

“Yes, a horse. And what a fine horse you are! One of the finest horses in the world!” the tall man declared with pride.

“Wait till you are all grown up! You will be as fast as your father. He used to win every race.”

“Wow! You’re going to be famous, Zorah!” teased the village boy.

“I’m a horse!” Zorah exclaimed.

As he trotted behind the tall man and the village boy, he heard one zebra sigh, “I wish I was like Zorah. I wish I also didn’t have stripes…”

Zorah smiled and shook his head. Never again would he wish that he had stripes!

Published in Dawn, Young World, November 28th, 2020