“Kana uine kwekuenda muzukuru, enda. Muno
muZimbabwe hamuna chirimo.”
The golden candle light threw shadows
on the careworn face of the cobbler, his soft words punctuated by the hammering
sound he was producing from fixing the tips of my shoes. Winter was here and I
needed to wear my boots and I had taken them to the dreadlocked cobbler to be
sorted out. He had said the words so softly I didn’t know if I had heard them
or imagined them. This had been the general sentiment; everyone was trying to
leave Zimbabwe. Staying behind was proving harder by day.
I do not know what made my eyes
smart; the cobbler’s words or the thick smoke holding the entire neighborhood
in its grip. I swallowed my sobs away and in a collected voice, asked the
cobbler for his phone number; I needed to pay for the tips using Ecocash and I
needed to do it before my battery had died. We had not had electricity the
whole day.
With my mended boots in a plastic
bag, we walked away from the dim shack to an Ecocash stall to look for cash for
the next day’s transport fare. Their cash out percentage was good, 17 percent,
compared to the 23 and 25 percent charged in town. But they had no cash. The
next stall did not have cash either and the one next to the noisy pub had
already closed. We resorted to going into the small grocery shack and change
the last 100 rand we had into RTGS. We knew the rate had gone above 40 but the
shopkeeper offered us 35. We took it. We were desperate.
My niece and I huddled together as
the bitter cold June wind bit into our skin as we left the surprisingly busy
shopping area. We played a game of counting the cars that were in the long
winding queue that started at Zuva service station well into the dusty ghetto
streets. We gave up, there were many cars, and it was too cold. And there was
no electricity so we were going back home to find our sadza cold.
It was a Sunday evening. We had to
find a way to sort out school uniforms and work clothes so that they would not
be too creased to wear the next morning incase power did not come back. My
niece wanted help with quadratic equations; she knew I was always ready to help
with homework. Education was the key right? On this evening I however found
myself looking back to the years and effort spent in school. What did I have to
show for it? I was well into my thirties and still going round in circles. I
blinked back tears as my niece huddled closer, seeking warmth and solace from
me. I must have said something silly to make her laugh. I could not break down
in front of the children, we were their pillar.
As we walked on, there was the
cutting sound of a siren and a loud cheer. Power was back. My niece and I
grinned at each other, I whistled. We could at least get home and charge
phones, make a hot cup of tea and iron uniforms and work clothes. I needed my
phone charged to check my emails and see if there was any good news for my
applications for scholarships and other crazy things people apply for in
desperation. I also needed to check social media, to see if there was anything
going on out there to offer us some respite.
When we went past the community
borehole, there was still a long queue of people waiting to fetch water, in the
dark. The chatter going on in the queue centered on how gas was now at 13 RTGS
per kilogram.
We got home. To bright lights. And
the meter flickering red. We were almost out of electricity units. I put my
phone on the charger and opened my Ecocash app. After trying for a couple of
times, I managed to purchase electricity, but the token did not come. I tried,
for a long time, slumped against the cold wall, on the linoleum floor, to view
the token but it did not work out.
I was exhausted. I needed to sleep. I
said a prayer that the power wouldn’t go till our phones were at least charged.
And that today I would at least get some sleep not turn and toss then waking up
in a pool of sweat, panicking about what the future held for me and my children
in this place that felt like God had left a long time ago.
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