CHAPTER 5
WENERA
It was almost a month since the untimely death of my father. I had gone to a couple of interviews since then but nothing had come up. I was sitting in Bongani’s room as we discussed the different alternatives we could take to make ends meant. We never really followed up on the cougar business we had earlier to do, because we just decided it wasn’t worth it. We saw that we were going to be some play thing or puppet of some lonely lady and most of this rich older women have issues with men. In their mind set they believe man are too controlling and as result if you end in a relationship with them you end up been a door mat, they just step over you and there is nothing you can do. There are the breadwinners. Another factor was that it was just not feasible, what if were to fall in love with an older women, because sometimes there is more to it than the physical contact. Just imagine myself coming with this rich, older lady to my mum and I will be like “Mum, this is my girlfriend, and I intend to marry her.” That would surely send my mother to her grave. The other thing which made us rethink the cougar alternative as a way to economically emancipate ourselves was the issue of diseases. Surely with all of this in mind we decided not to become ben 10s “Tinashe, I have finally decided to go down South.” said Bongani. “Do you know how dangerous it is in S.A” I said. “The bigger the risk the bigger the reward. I have a cousin of mine who I will be staying with as I look for work” “So you are ready to take the route.” I said whilst I rubbed my nose. “I am more ready more than the word ready. Do you have a passport?” “Yes. Why do you ask?” I said. “You can come with me, I could ask my cousin if he could stay at his house” replied Bongani. “If you could twist his arm, maybe I could change my stanza about S.A.” “We have to try.” said Bongani. “I feel like I won’t make it. I will remain like this. I don’t feel like trying.” I said as I became emotional. “Remember that saying. Giving up on your goal because of one setback is like slashing your other three tires because you got one flat.” “But, Bongani I have faced more than one setback.” “We just have to keep trying until we make it my dear friend.” If my trip to South Africa was going to happen then it would be de-javu. My paternal grandfather had once made the trip down to South Africa over 4 decades ago. He worked in Wenera the name given by Zimbabweans to South Africa. He worked in the gold mines as a miner. He left whilst my father was still a young boy attending primary school in Chivi. The money my grandfather used to buy the house in Highfield was from the salaries he received in the mines. I do not know if my journey down South is going to yield anything. “You could just become a Ben 10 if you don’t want to go to S.A.” said Bongani. “Are you, still in contact with Chido?” I asked, trying to change the conversation. “Yes, yesterday she asked if I could give her some mathematics textbooks.” replied Bongani. “So in the slave zone” I said before continuing “She is re writing mathematics.” “Yes, she is supplementing O-Level mathematics.” said Bongani as he opened the window. I sighed “A-aaaaaargh. Some fresh air.” as I took a pause before saying “I hope you won’t date Chido. What I saw in my dream, that girl is a witch.” I said. “I don’t think I will be involved with her romantically, I will keep her as a friend, because I thought I could match her standards but after engaging with her in some deep conversation I saw that she is high maintenance.” replied Bongani. “It’s best I discuss with my mother about the S.A trip. I could use the money I received from my father’s pension for transport and other costs.” I said. I had received my portion of my father’s pension after it had been partitioned between me, my mother, Ruru and my nephews Louisa and Leroy as per my father’s wishes in his will. I left soon after the arrival of Mr Nkosi from work. I told my mother about my plans to go to South Africa which as expected were meant with some objections. My mother thought going to South Africa was dangerous and she feared for my life but I reassured that nothing would happen to me even if something occurred to me it was worth taking the risk. After reaching a compromise with my mother I waited for the response from Bongani, if his cousin was cool with me staying with them. I wasn’t seeing Bongani as frequent as I used to because of the distance as I no longer lived in Highfield. Two days after we had discussed about going down south I received a call from Bongani. In which he told me his cousin had given him the green light and I could stay with them in Johannesburg. We bought two tickets at Road-port in Harare where buses going to South Africa are boarded. We sat in the luxury blue Chinese made U-Tong bus as we prepared to take the trip down south. Time would tell if the pastures where greener on the other side. Bongani was going to reconnect with his maternal roots I was taking the same trip taken by my paternal grandfather almost half a century ago. We talked whilst the bus travelled but by the time we reached Masvingo we were both fast asleep. As the bus grinded to a halt we realised we had reached Beitbridge border post the most southerly border post in Zimbabwe. “Wake up Bongani we are at the border.” “Another 400 or so kilometres to cover.” said Bongani in a sleepy tone. We went through the immigration process which was moving at snail’s pace we had to go through immigration at the Zimbabwean side after which we had to through immigration on the South African side. It was a long process taking into account that Beitbridge is this busiest port of entry both on the South African and Zimbabwean side. We finally finished the process and were now officially in South Africa, passing through those towns I had heard from cross boarder travellers back home like the towns of Musina and Polokwane. Not in my distant thoughts did I ever think I would make the journey to South Africa. As the bus cruised along the N1 highway one of the busiest roads in South Africa, I could see the glittering lights of the sky scrapers which lay in the midst. We were a stone throw away from Igoli as the locals call it, loosely translated to the place of gold, or simply as Jo-burg the name used by most Zimbabweans. I didn’t know if I was going to make it in the big metropolis of Johannesburg the financial hub not only of South Africa but of Africa. Jo-burg is twice as big as Harare. I am going to try to make it in Jo-burg a city with one of the biggest margins between rich and poor, some of its rich people walking about the pavements and streets of Sandton and some of its less privileged inking out a living in the notoriously infamous area of Hilbrow. We disembarked from the Pioneer U-tong bus and we were greeted with a short and slim light skinned fella dressed in a faded blue skinny jean and a plain white t-shirt. This fella is Bongani’s cousin Dumisani. Dumisani is the son of the elder brother of Bongani’s mother. This isn’t Bongani’s first time in South Africa he came here regularly for holidays and has a good understanding with Dumisani who is of the same age. Dumisani and Bongani hugged each other and greeted each other in Sotho. Bongani could fluently speak Sotho as a result of his trips here and also his mother who also spoke with him in Sotho back home in Zimbabwe, he could also speak Ndebele a thing his father made sure he did. “Long time.” said Bongani. “Almost 2 years since I last saw you. I believe this is your friend Tinashe.” said Dumisani as he took some of the bags Bongani was holding. “Yes” replied Bongani. “Welcome to South Africa.” said Dumisani as he put down one of the bags he was holding before he extended his right hand to me. “Thank you.” I said as I gave him a firm handshake. “I have parked my car there, so we can make away there.” said Dumisani as he took the lead. The bus terminus was a hype of activity and also heard stories of unsuspecting Zimbabweans who had been victims of the many pickpockets who roamed around the terminus. We had arrived in Johannesburg after almost 14 hours on the road, a great chunk of that time was spent at Beitbridge border post. As we embarked into the Volkswagen GTI, I noticed a guy wearing a hat stubbing another guy in full view of the people before running away from the scene. The culprit was apprehended by two guys who were able to dislodge him of his knife. I became so afraid I wanted to return on the next bus going to Zimbabwe. At the same time as the stabber was caught there was a scuffle as people were inflicting a, would be pickpocket with an unforgiving session of instant mob justice. The pickpocket was covering his head as he lay down blood gashing all over his body as people shouted “Tsotsi, Tsotsi” clambering him with bare hands and anything they could lay their hands on. It was quite obvious that if the people kept beating the alleged pickpocket, he would die sooner than later. As we listened to the radio as the car made its way on the freeway a conversation based on the scenes which occurred at the terminus erupted. “That was a good hiding that guy got.” said Dumisani. “I am not a believer in mob justice. Personally I think it’s barbaric and so uncivilized.” said Bongani. “I think it’s the best way to deal with criminals like that guy.” I said as I chipped into the conversation with my own point of view. “Totally agree with you Tinashe. I believe it’s of no use reporting a person to the police. That same person will be arrested and few months he is back wreaking havoc.” said Dumisani as he lowered the radio volume. “What if the mob kills a person worse off if that person is killed for a trivial item like a pack of bubble gums, Is that justice.” said Bongani. “It is justice for me, because it will teach anyone attempting to steal that’s it is a bad idea.” said Dumisani. The conversation wedged on and on as it was two against one. We arrived at an apartment block where the electric gate opened up automatically. Dumisani lived in Killarney in the suburb of Rosebank. The, apartment block a modern 5 story building. We had to climb the stairs since the elevator was currently undergoing repairs. Dumisani told us the repair work which had started in the morning was halted a few minutes into the job, after a squabble between the owners of the building and the company contracted to do the repairs over payment issues. The climb was made more tiring because we had luggage. “Welcome to my humble quarters.” said Dumisani as he opened the door. Nothing seemed humble about the place which was beaming with modern accessories. A set of black leather sofas was at the centre of the sunken lounge which had an adjoining dining room. A huge plasma Sony 42 inch high definition television set was mounted on to the walls, in front of the television set was a striking and beautiful wooden cupboard with glass doors which had a decoder and a Sony home theatre with two tall speakers positioned on either side of the cupboard. Inside the glass doors were pictures of Dumisani, an old radio and eight bottles of premium wine including a 750ml bottle of Johnnie-Walker Red Label. The house had a suited carpet which covered all the rooms in exception to the kitchen, the bathroom and toilet which had tiles. Dumisani turned on the air conditioning system. A cool air started to circulate around the room. The dining room had a dining table which had 8 sets of red dining chairs “Bongani you can come with me to the bedroom we will share the room and Tinashe you can sleep in the patio I tried to make it a conducive, place for sleeping. There is a sleeping bag in there.” said Dumisani. The flat was a one bed roomed and had an enclosed patio. “Thanks for letting me stay here.” I said. “You are welcome. If you up to it I can take you to some hot and happening night spots here in Rosebank.” said Dumisani. “I am a bit tired, but a drink or two won’t hate.” said Bongani. “I would love to see the spots.” I said. “Okay, you can freshen up if you want, the bathroom is on the first door to your right.” said Dumisani. Bongani had a quick shower after which I also showered. We left for the Design district a popular recreational place in Rosebank. Dumisani took us to a popular up market bar called the Hush bar and lounge. It had a huge sign written HUSH imprinted on to the walls. The bar was a slick and sophisticated bar. It was the first time I was in an up-market bar it was a far cry from my favourite hideout Club Zero back home. The counter tops in the bar were made from top of the range wood it had this glistering look. The bartenders were well dressed. Youths were dancing to some electro house music. All of the ladies were elegantly dressed and had high heels. A big number of the ladies had tight fitting and short clothes. On entering the bar for the first time one would assume that it was a must for all the ladies to hold a glass in their hands, since most the ladies had wine glasses. A white lady most probably in her early twenties dressed in a very short, dress, which left nothing out of the imagination and matching pink nude pumps and a pink top which showed a great part of her breasts. Half of her hair was dyed red and the other part ginger. She had earrings right round her right ear and also had a piercing on her tongue, nose and belly bottom. What was most striking about her was her body art. Her left hand resembled a scale of a python with tattoos all over it whilst on her left thigh she had a huge butterfly shaped tattoo and on her right thigh she had a bow and arrow tattoo. Some people back home do have tattoos but it was the first time I had ever seen live and direct a person with so much body art. The lights illuminated an almost reddish light. The tempo and the vibe was something that I hadn’t experienced before. A coloured disc jockey who had small fashionable headphones was sampling the mostly electro house songs on a virtual turntable. The sound produced by the speakers wasn’t deafening nor was it too low to hear but it was audible enough to be heard. The sound was a notch perfect. “Bartender, A martini.” said Dumisani as he took a pause. “What would you like?” asked Dumisani. “I will stick to the lagers, give me a Hansa Pilsener.” replied Bongani. “What about you Tinashe?” asked Dumisani. “A Pilsener will do.” I replied. “Okay, one martini and two extra cold Hansa Pilsners.” said Dumisani. I watch with great amazement as one of the, bartender’s threw an aluminium bottle shaker behind his head and catches it with ease as he concocts a cocktail. I have never been a fan of cocktails or wines I prefer the lagers. We sat on the cushy and comfy chairs as we enjoyed our drinks. “This is a great place.” I said. “Yes. It’s a great place to sit, drink and unwind on a wearisome day.” said Dumisani. Through our conversations we had as we drank I could see that Dumisani was an open minded and laid back guy. We had 3 rounds of drinks before we left the bar and returned home. After placing the sleeping bag I slept like a log. I don’t know if it was the ghastly event of watching a person been stabbed or the nightlife of Rosebank that had made forget to contact my mother on the safe trip I had.