CHAPTER 2
THE BAR
Soon after leaving the concrete stub. I opened the black and white iron-gate which is at the entrance to our family house. Our family house has a small black and white iron-gate and the bigger brown iron-gate which usually is used by my father, when he drives his car into the homestead. A face brick Dura wall surrounds the homestead marking the parameter of the homestead. My father is a person who likes his privacy and had the Dura wall erected replacing the fence which had stood since the early 60s only to the dismay of my mother who preferred the fence. In my mother’s mind erecting a Dura wall was sending out a message to the neighbours that we wanted to be left alone which was not a good thing for her. It took time for the Dura wall to be put up, because my parents were at constant loggerheads on the issue. It was through the intervention of my elder brother Tinotenda that the Dura wall was erected after explaining to my mother the importance of privacy and how it would also help prevent robbers. Funny enough to note is that since the Dura wall was put up we had suffered two breakings which we had never suffered before the erection of the fence. At the front of the stand a person is greeted by the towering avocado tree which is in close proximity with the gate. This particular avocado tree was more than a just a tree for me. I had an emotional attachment with it. Growing up me and Bongani would always climb the tree and pretend as if we were flying a space shuttle. Ever since we read the short story of the Yuri Gagarin the Russian cosmonaut and Neil Armstrong the American astronaut, the first man in space and the first man to walk on the moon respectively in primary school at Mbizi Primary School. I always wanted to be an astronaut a dream I shared with Bongani. But then reality occurred, we grow up. I realised I was not that great in chemistry or physics which are pre requisites to do pure science subjects at A-Level. Which would form a basis for a person aspiring to be an astronaut. In the end I ended up doing Mathematics, Economics and Business Studies, in place of Economics Bongani did Accounting. Yellow lilies are lined perpendicular to the garage wall. A vegetable garden takes up most of the front space, inside the garden is a well which not only served our family needs but is also used by our neighbours whenever there is no running water on the tap. A small part in the backyard accommodates the maize crop. The residential stands in this area are quite small. As I approached the front door I hear the unmistakeable high toned voice of my mother calling me emanating from the garden. “Tinashe, Tinashe come and take these vegetables.” I walk lackadaisically to the garden as I prepare for one of my mother’s long lectures on how I should not fall for the evils of this world. “Good Evening. I didn’t see you were in the garden.” I said. “Good evening. Were you sitting on that stub all this time?” asked my mother as she handed me the bundle of vegetables. “Yes.” I replied. “Hope you and your friend are planning about your lives wisely, because you know you are grown-ups now. You need to make wise decisions.” said my mother. “We are. It’s only that it’s getting more frustrating staying at home doing nothing.” I replied. “I know but don’t get mixed up in any get rich quick scheme, it’s better to remain poor and remain true to your God than to rob people and forget your religion.” said my mother as she pulled out a weed. “I understand you I promise you I will never get mixed up such business. Is Ruvarashe cooking for us today?” I asked, trying to change the subject matter. “Yes, why do you ask.” replied my mother. “So I have to prepare myself for some half cooked or over cooked food.” I said. “Don’t say that of my daughter, I know her cooking skills are not up to scratch but give her a chance.” “Whoever is going to marry her better be prepared to cook most of the time.” I said as I walked away. That statement left my mother laughing. I wasn’t over exaggerating about my sister’s cooking skills. She just can’t prepare a decent meal. She had her moments when she would cook something truly delicious but most of the time the meat was either burnt or under done to the point that blood would be exuding out. My mother is on a study leave for the rest of the month as she is studying for a Master’s degree in Development Studies from the Women’s University in Africa. She is a primary school teacher. She teaches at Mbizi Primary school here in Highfield. She was my grade 3 teacher. As I opened the door the alluring smell of lavender floor polish applied on the tiles rushed past my nostrils. The front door opened up into the lounge. Directly opposite the front door lay a wooden cupboard and a steel television stand. The wooden cupboard was a gift presented to my mother by my maternal grandmother on her wedding day in 1978. On top of the cupboard were family portraits. One of the pictures is of me with my parents in my graduation gown. There are some memorabilia including an award that was given to my elder brother Tinotenda, for having the best A- level results at St Ignatius College Chishawasha when he scooped 30 points. Tinotenda is what I would refer to as a brainiac, back at St Ignatius he was nicknamed Newton. No normal person is nicknamed Newton. Growing up as children he would make these mechanical apparatus from old disused parts of electrical appliances. When he was fourteen he was awarded the Zimbabwean Award for Science, which is more commonly known as ZAS, for a lawn mower he built which worked solely on solar power. He was offered an undergraduate scholarship. Tinotenda studied for a degree in Bachelors of Science in Aerospace Engineering at Massachusetts Institute of Technology in the United States of America. He currently works as a research engineer for NASA, National Aeronautics Space Administration, (NASA) at the Neil A. Armstrong Flight Research Centre in California. A few months back he had received his PhD from Stanford University. His thesis was titled “A critical look at the four forces of flight.” I downloaded it from the internet and I tried to read it but I could not make head from tail from any of the staff Tinotenda wrote. His thesis was not written in simple layman’s language. I only managed to read three pages after that I saw no reason to try and read things I did not understand. Tinotenda was a bookworm when most children of his age were playing in the streets he would be immersed in some book. We were quite the opposite I hated school I just did it because my parents told me to do so, School for me was just like a Hobson choice, one way or the other I had to go. Some blue coloured sofas which match with the blue painted walls and a dinner table take up most of the floor space. On the walls are two pictures of Jesus and a big banner which reads out Proud Christian Proud to Be a Member of The Anglican Church “With God Everything Is Possible”, my parents are both devout Christians and are members of the Anglican Church to which I am also affiliated to. I am member of Z.A.Y.A, Zimbabwe Anglican Youth Association. I am not really an exemplary Z.A.Y.A member quite contrary I am a drunkard which is pretty much against what we are taught not to be at church. A small table which has a desktop computer on it is situated near the door which, leads to the kitchen the other door in the lounge leads to the passage. A display which has water glasses in it lays directly opposite the door which leads to the kitchen pretty much summoned up the living room which was a bit crammed up and relatively small in size. On entering the kitchen one would instantly note out the difference in the tiles in the lounge, the ones in the lounge were grey in colour whilst the ones in the kitchen were black. There went much additions to the original house built in the 60s except for the tiles which were a recent addition. A white four plate stove, a silver upright Capri fridge, four green kitchen chairs and a wooden kitchen table occupied the floor space. On top of the kitchen counters were a dysfunctional microwave and a reliable 60s toaster which used to belong to my maternal grandmother. The toaster was nicknamed Erica, after the white lady my grandmother worked for as a maid who had given it to her. “What are you preparing for dinner?” I asked “Sadza, vegetables and beef.” replied Ruvarashe. “Mum told me to give you this.” I said as I placed the vegetables on the kitchen sink. “I heard what you said about my cooking.” Ruvarashe said as she placed a pot on the stove. “You have spies now.” “Tinashe, I was in my room and you know my room is near the garden.” “I am still very sceptical about your cooking.” I said “Okay Mister know it all why don’t you cook, then I will see if you are good.” “It’s a piece of cake. Just give me the food items and I will prepare a cuisine that will leave you biting your tongue.” “Okay here is what’s for dinner.” said Ruvarashe as she gave me the beef. In my own opinion I believed only one person could cook better than me and that was my mother. So taking up the challenge was going to be easy for me. To date I hadn’t prepared dinner for the whole family before. I became so interested in cooking when I was staying in Gweru where I lived as a bachelor working there during my attachment period at university. Firstly I prepared the beef boiling it for 2 hours. After which I added some oil and tomatoes to the beef, I heard a knock on the kitchen door. I peeped out on the window and saw it was my father in his green work-suite. My father is a mechanic at Millers Motors or simply MM, where he has being working for the last 25 years. I unhinged the door. My old man has a visible facial scare on his left chick which he said he got when he was fighting off a robber. The incident occurred before he married my mother. I always asked him who got the better of whom. He always said he got the better of the robber. Through his narration he knocked the robber unconscious even though he got a permanent scare. Many people who see me and my father together always exclaim how I am a spitting image of his. “Good evening.” I said “Evening, Tinashe.” replied my father. “I didn’t hear the gate been opened, did you leave the car at work?” I asked as I mixed the meat. “I left it at Sando Garage for some spray painting. It needs some repainting.” He has a 1999 hatchback Opel Astra which he meticulously takes care off. “I knocked on the front door, I even knocked on the window of the front door aren’t there any people in the lounge?” said my father. “Ruru and mum are in there but you know how they get caught up in all of that nonsensical soap opera drama. It’s like there are bewitched and they can’t get their eyes or ears off that stuff.” I replied as I mixed the vegetables with the beef. My sister and my mother where so obsessed with soapies, it’s like if you were to arrive during the time my mother and sister were watching a soap opera, a person could theoretically come into the house steal things from the house without them noticing. “How far is dinner? I could eat for two. I have never seen you cooking.” said my father as her took water out of the fringe. “It will be ready in 15 minutes time tops.” I replied. “Any replies to your job applications yet?” asked my father before gulping a glass of cold water. “I am still waiting.” “Just remain patient, good things come to those who wait, pray and work hard.” said my old man as he entered the lounge. After preparing the relish I cooked the Sadza. “Ruru, prepare the table. Dinner is ready.” I said as I stood leaning on the door frame. Putting on her slippers Ruru said “At least no disturbances.” “What do you mean?” I asked. “I have finished watching Cruel Love and Park Street, so no fuss when I prepare the table. I can do it slowly and neatly.” “Not so slowly, I am hungry I could eat an elephant.” protested my father. My mother and Ruru are not soap opera fans but fanatics there are addicted to them. I for one do not see the interesting thing about them. For me soap operas represent illusory lives were the plot is more or less the same an evil villain who dishes out melancholy and some blameless main actor or actress always at the receiving end and some romantic relationship which can best described as totally dreamlike. The plot of a soap is usually predictable, some rich guy or girl falls in love with guy or girl from the purlieus. They may face difficulties but in the end their love conquers all. In reality I don’t believe there is a thing like true love it’s all about the sex, money and the fame. You see, Zimbabwean girls have eroded my concept of an ideal relationship. I could be wrong about most Zimbabwean girls being materialistic but I don’t think so, because one of the two girls I had once dated left me for a richer guy. Sandra is her name. She is beautiful, she just had all the things I wanted in a girl, the structure the brains where all there. We meet during my first year first semester in varsity she was also doing her first year. She was doing chemical technology. This is how I met her. I was in the library doing some research on an assignment, I was busy scribbling down some points in my note book when I just pooped up my head to try to get to grips with the point I was writing, just right across where I was sitting was this stunning and gorgeous girl with braids adorning Malcom-X kind of eye glasses. Just there and then I decided I would approach her. As customary I did my pre courtship ritual of knuckle cracking, and all knuckles sounded which was a good sign. I wrote down my name and number on a piece of paper, I rolled the piece of paper and threw it towards her. It landed on the textbook she was reading, and I winked at her, and she smiled back. At that moment she opened up the paper. Then afterwards she started writing something on the back part of the paper and she threw it back to me. I instantly opened up the paper, she had written her name and phone number. It was surreal, more like a scene out of a Hollywood chick flick. A week after this I called her and we met up, I choose not to call her immediately because I did not want her to have the impression that I was desperate. It was a tactic a mind game to make her more nervous and to make her more susceptible to my advances. And that’s how we started dating until one day I received a message from her saying that she needed time out, and that she wasn’t in the correct frame of mind to be in a relationship. She told me she was suffering from a nervous breakdown and needed time alone. I tried all I could to alter her mind but it was over. I was left heart broken. Then two weeks after Sandra had dumped me I received the shock of my life. There I was with Bongani as we strolled past the car park. A black Range Rover Sport with black tainted glasses and mag wheels whooshes past us and parks in a vacant place just in front of where we are. The driver a guy who is casually dressed in blue jeans, whom I estimate to be my age walks over to the front passenger side and opens up the door, after which a girl dressed in a seductively looking yellow miniskirt which is showing much of her thighs, this is the type of miniskirt that if one were to bend down you could easily see her undergarment. She had flip-flops with big oval dark sunglasses. She disembarks from the car with the guy who was driving the car holding her left hand. The guy hugs the girl and the girl reacts by giving the guy a passionate and lengthy French kiss. As Bongani and I walk closer to the Range Rover Sport it dawns to me that the girl is not just any other girl but it is Sandra. I learnt first-hand that sometimes reality seems more like fiction, and that sometimes it’s easier to believe in fiction than it is to believe in the truth. If anyone had told me that Sandra had left me for a richer a guy I would had laughed them off, because until this point I never viewed Sandra as a materialistic girl. Sandra had this innocence about her. University had changed her, whilst we were dating she never wore anything which was below her knees or did she wear anything that showed her cleavage. I did not forbid her to wear such clothes, but it was part of her upbringing. She told me she was not a fan of short things which showed a greater part of her flesh. She was no longer that innocent girl I fell head over heels for. I had this nostalgic feelings when I saw Sandra’s dressing, it reminded me of the thigh vendors at the shopping centre in Highfield. At first glance it seems like a mirage but the closer I get to her the more I realise it is no illusion. I was shell shocked. It was like I had seen a phantom. As the car pulled out of the car park I was confronted eye to eye with the figure of Sandra. As if everything was normal she waved at me and greeted me. I was so much in shock I could not even open my mouth, Bongani had to pitch me in the hand. To think that I had lost my virginity to her was just unbearable I was prepared to marry her, I had been deceived, and all this time I thought she was marriage material. She had left me for a richer guy and there was never a nervous breakdown it was rather a financial breakdown. Maybe I have just being with wrong type of girls that’s why I find soap operas portrayal of true love as a fantasy, a fairy-tale of sorts. And above all soap operas are never ending what’s the use of watching a soap opera which has been running for more than 10 years, for me it will be just a waste of time. Lowering the tray Ruru said. “I hate to admit it but your cooking was good.” “I hope you learnt a thing or two from the greatest chef in the world” I said boastfully. “I really enjoyed your cooking too” said my mother. “Me too.” said my father. “Thank you very much.” I said as wiped my hands dry with dish towel. “Let me go and sleep I am very tired.” said my father as he stood up. Lowering her glasses my mother said “Ruru don’t forget to clean the dishes before you go to your room and Tinashe if you are going out remember to lock the door and the gate. Let me also go and sleep.” A few moments after finishing eating I phoned Bongani to notify him that I was going to the bar. Like my mother had instructed me I made sure that I locked the gate and the back door. I didn’t want a thief entering the house at my invitation. By the time I arrived at the gate Bongani was standing outside. “Are we using the shorter way or the longer way?” I asked as I put my hood on. “The shorter way.” replied Bongani as he outstretched his arms. “In that case let us take our weapons.” I said as I pulled two wooden cricket bats underneath the drainage canal. The longer way to, the shopping centre, were Club Zero Bar is located, is via the road, whilst the shorter way which we also called the bundu road is via the maize fields. Whenever we use the bundu road at night we walk with our bats because many people are mugged during the night along this path. Especially during this time robbers use the maize plants as cover. Mukute Street is clear as daylight as tower-lights light up the road. “Let us be vigilant” said Bongani as we entered the bundu road. “You are right.” I said as I clasped the cricket bat strongly. “I hope you didn’t forget you identification card.” I said. “I have it.” replied Bongani as he showed me his wallet. At night we have to travel with our identification cards because if our paths cross with the police officers patrolling the area and you fail to present your national identification card you would be arrested for loitering. “Crimes committed in the high density suburb are loitering and public drinking whilst in the low density areas embezzlement and misappropriation of funds.” said Bongani as we walked to the bar. “Misappropriation just want to make it less criminal. Stealing is stealing.” Bongani and I walked along the stone and pebble strewn foot path in the maize field. The maize field was pitch-black and we had to use a torch. The maize crops were just above our shoulders. We arrived at the shopping centre unscarred. The shopping centre is beaming with revellers. By the time we arrive at the shopping centre it is 9.20 pm and all the shops are closed except for the 5 bars. The shopping centre has a pavement which covers its entire floor area but the night club we are going to has no pavement it is a recent addition to the shopping centre, having been opened two and half years ago. Some of the revellers are braaing, others are soliciting for sex from thigh vendors or simply the ladies of the night who are scantly, dressed and other revellers are simply enjoying their beer. Under the cover of the moonlight we traverse through the brothel alley a nickname given to a dingy alley which leads to Club Zero. The alley has an unsavoury smell produced by the decomposing leftover food, most of which is disposed by a fast food outlet at the shopping centre. Disused condoms are littered all over the alley. It is a notoriously infamous place known for sexual activities which occur there in the wee hours of the night. Most recently a guy and a prostitute were arrested for indecent behaviour after police officers patrolling the shopping centre found them in an uncompromising position in the alley. We enter the door which leads into Club Zero we climb the stairs as we make our way to the top were Club Zero is located. On entering Club Zero one is immediately greeted by the deafening sound produced by the speakers which are a few meters from the entrance. Circulating disco lights illuminate the club. Like outside there is also presence of thigh vendors who are entertaining the patrons. To say there are dressed is a complete lie. Tiny items not worth to be called clothes cover their private regions. I buy two pints of Zambezi lager. Bongani and I go to sit on the balcony. A place we knew we wouldn’t be disturbed by the ladies of the night. As we sit down a ruckus erupts at the entrance to the bar. A light skinned tall and bulky guy wearing a tight fitting muscle top is at the centre of the havoc. One would be forgiven for thinking that the tall guy has stolen the muscle top from a toddler. Whilst a diminutive guy in stature is threatening to break a pint he is holding in his right hand on the head of the tall guy. That’s when I realise that the short guy is Jerry. It is like a modern re-enactment of Jack squaring off with the Giant. The tall guy swings his pumpkin sized fist towards Jerry who instinctively dodges the blow, if which had connected would have been lights out for Jerry. Without hesitation Jerry slams the bottle on the tall guy’s head. The sound produced by the breaking pint of bottle steals everyone’s attention in the bar. It is like a small firecracker has been lit on. Blood oozes out of the tall guy’s head as he staggers to his feet before falling down heavily on to the floor like a sack of bricks. Jerry runs out of the bar fearing that he might have killed the tall guy. People are hot on his heels. The friends of the tall guy help him to his feet before they escort him to the hospital. The tall guy and Jerry were fighting over the services of certain lady of the night, in which the former was alleging only he could lay claim to her since he was a regular customer of the lady whilst the latter was saying he had already paid her services in advance. “Men will always fight for women.” said Bongani. “I will never fight for any person of the fairer sex.” “Size is not really a factor in fights.” said Bongani as he prepared to drink the beer. “Jerry used an unfair advantage he had a weapon, without that he would have been beaten to a pulp.” I said. Putting his bottle down on the table Bongani said “I agree with you on that sentiment, the playing ground wasn’t level at all.” “Tell me were you able to speak with Chido?” I questioned. “Clock- work orange as they say hook line and sinker, I saw where you and the other guys were failing you lacked a game plan.” “What game-plan?” “Chido is that kind of girl that is very much into the high life. So I simply swept her off her feet with my charm. I clearly stated to her that I just wanted to be friends with her.” said Bongani as he lifted his bottle. “Charm sounds more like harm, either ways you have taken the cowards way out you didn’t not state you true mission.” “Listen here my friend, my plan is to first become friends with Chido and then with time win her over.” “In my experience the ghetto never wins over the suburban love. Dream on you will never get her.” I said as I cracked my knuckles. “Only fools can doubt my courtship abilities. Watch the space.” said Bongani. “Only time will tell if I am fool.” I replied before taking a sip of the cool beer. “Enough about Chido, I have something I want to tell you. I saw this programme on TV about cougars and ben tens” said Bongani. “So you were watching cartoons.” I said looking more and more interested in the subject matter. “You got it all wrong, not ben ten the cartoon. It’s a term used to describe a younger guy who is dating an older lady.” “That’s like a male prostitute” I injected. “No it’s not. A male prostitute is called a gigolo.” “But you are getting paid for having sex with someone.” “Not really it’s more than that. You see this older women are lonely so the relationship will be more than physical. You will be like filling that emotional void in her.” “Bongani, my dear friend you could be up to something good.” “You are catching my drift now.” “But where can we find these cougars. I am sick and tired of having to wait for hand outs from my parents.” “See, Tinashe there are places where we can find these type of ladies.” “For example, where?” “Classy food outlets, up market bars.” “But where will we find the money to buy food or even alcohol in such a place. Mind you beer is three times as much in such places.” “Worry not. We will find a plan.” As we about to go dipper with our discussion a croaky and familiar voice sounded “Gents.” “A-argh Joe.” Bongani and I uttered simultaneously looking surprised. Joe was shortened form for Joseph, He once resided in our street but is now living in Gunhill at the house his older sister had built for her parents. His sister is an internationally acclaimed human rights lawyer who is currently working for the United Nations High Commission for Refugees and is currently working in Taiwan. Although Joe was my junior at school and was 5 streams behind, we became best friends because we protected him from bullies when he arrived at Elis Robins. There is a lot of bullying especially at boys only schools. In some instances a junior has to pay a protection allowance to a senior to protect him from bullying but with Joe we took him under our wings as seniors without any protection allowance. We were both borders at Elis Robins. Joe was under our protection at school, whilst we were at Elis Robins Joe was immune to fagging, No one dared to lay a hand on the headboy’s younger brother. Bongani was the headboy during our last year at Elis Robins, and Joe was more of our younger brother. “I knew I would find you lot here.” said Joe as he sat down stretching his rather unusual long hands. Being a headboy at a boy’s only school has its perks, since I was Bongani’s right hand man I would also enjoy the benefits, like not queuing up in the dining hall, having bigger food rations than the other students. “How is everyone back home?” questioned Bongani. “Everyone is fine.” replied Joe. Removing my hood I asked “What do we owe this visit.” “I want to invite you to a house warming party. There will be a barbeque and free drinks. Party starts at 12 noon sharp.” replied Joe as he handed us two invitational cards which were blue. I couldn’t clearly make out what was written on the card because of the poor lighting on the balcony. “What is a barbeque?” I asked. “A barbeque is a braai.” replied Joe. “So I can see suburban life has changed your vocabulary.” I said. Joe bought 7 rounds of beer in that time we walked down memory lane, as we spoke of our escapades and we also discussed about our difficulties to find work. In our conversation it came out that Joe was going to attend tertiary education in New Zealand. He had taken a gap year after finishing high school. After consuming 9 pints of beer which I didn’t normally do because of financial reasons. I, Bongani and Joe left the bar, after which Joe escorted us home in a red 5 series BMW which belonged to his father. We arrived home way past midnight whilst everyone was fast asleep. I unclothed and remained with my boxer short and I quietly crept into the blankets where I was soon in the hands of Morpheus.