Harare North

by Brian Chikwava

  The best thing to remove it is maybe the needle and that's what Shingi ask for.

  'My needle is lost inside my suitcase, me I can't find it,' I tell him. I go to the kitchen and take two knives. One belong to Aleck and Tsitsi and is one of them things with clip-point blade. The other, ours, is normal big bread knife.

  I walk back into our room whetting them two knives together and Shingi recoil in drunk horror.

  Easy, boss, everything is under control, me I say and go kak kak kak. I have do this before – I make one clean cut along it splinter with this knife then I spade it out with this.

  Shingi have heap of suspicion on his face.

  Me I have no time to waste with drunk person. If you don't trust my skill then just say so, I tell him.

  I try to cut sharp line along the firewood, and try do it at some angle so that I end up cutting towards it once I get under skin.

  Shingi's skin under his foot is dry and cracked and hard like tortoise shell. So no matter how careful I am, I just can't get past it. I tell him that I now have to put more force because it look like he have tortoise ancestor somewhere in the past. I sit on his leg so that I hold it tight in case he try jump about.

  Now I have his leg tight like vice grip.

  Now admit that you are the one that look inside my suitcase or I push this splinter ten miles inside your foot, me I go kak kak kak into the ceiling.

  Shingi try to jump about but this is vice grip.

  OK OK it's me it's me, he surrender quick.

  Me I was only joking, you coward. But I still remove the splinter for you.

  Things start to go wrong because Shingi can't keep his foot still as I cut into his foot. He thrash about really bad and I am struggling to hold his leg tight with my legs. Then blood start to go everywhere and me I have to stop because I don't want to touch no blood. Shingi have been in prison, and everyone that go to prison always come out with Aids, me I know. I have to let Shingi pull the splinter out with his own fingers.

  Aids also end with crooked letter. That can add bit of the crooked touch to your style if you know that tomorrow you will be gone. Those traitors know that too.

  9

  'Do you really know him?' I ask Shingi but he is just twitching his tail like proud thing and ignore me. I don't say nothing too. He think he know everything about this granite-jawed bitter old Zimbabwean man that work part-time with Aleck. That's the Zimbabwean that now live in Brixton after running away from police back home. He is the one that hook up Shingi and Aleck together and live at Tulse Hill Estate and have very impatient style. One blazing eye and greying stubble; he remind you of many things.

  He also do the asylum style – that's how he get the council flat that he live in because Lambeth Council getting a fair share of Zimbabwean asylum seekers these days. But he have fall out of love with Zimbabwe, don't want to know it no more and don't even want to be known. Last time we visit him our conversation end in funny silence. That's because he is that kind of person that you can buy beer for and say I know you but they will throw back at you some rough mouth like 'You say you know me, has your mother ever cook sadza for me?' He is so rough you can't admit that he don't want to be your friend and you still buy him four more beers hoping that maybe you have make friendship. Still he don't want to know you.

  I know him from home this old man. His flat, that's where Shingi say he is going to spend the day because he is in funny mood since I help him remove that splinter. He is limping about and his eye accuse me of damaging his foot.

  Before Shingi have limp off to the old man, me I step out of the house and off to Paul and Sekai.

  Now I have to make new plan and make peace with Paul and Sekai; you can never trust people that is not your relative in foreign places. Especially with all them these small betrayals going on inside our house. Shingi is worryful, you can see. All them big promises that he have make to his family that he will send them money, they is hanging around his neck, and he don't want news getting back home that he have lose his graft again because that have already happen three times now since he come to London. But I don't get the score why he behave like this to me.

  Sekai is on the phone and old Paul is at the computer, poking keyboard with two fingers like policeman. Paul have disappointed look on his face when he let me in at the door and walk back to the computer saying he just want to finish off something quickly. That's when Sekai leave the phone and jump on me, cross-examining me on why I just leave them without no warning and if I was wanting to burn they house down because I leave petrol behind; what kind of thing is that? Now, you don't let no one talk to you like so if you is not depending on they food no more.

  'Don't rush to swallow things before you have even chew them proper because you will choke and get us very worryful,' I tell she straight and square. 'The petrol was inside house because me I forget to take it with me; Aleck was coming to pick me in his car but run out of petrol by Stratford station. I was going to bring him the petrol but then he phone saying he have manage to top up.' I spin she head dizzy now.

  She nearly choke on that but suddenly now she have big ginger to point out them things that is not adding up in my story, trying to catch me out, spinning some jazz number and make me feel cheap. But me I'm doing them swanky ninja moves inside my head; ducking, diving and doing cartwheels so she end up clutching thin air. Then she start taking me to task for bad manners because I only tell them by email that I have leave them.

  Paul come to my rescue because now he can see that this has become embarrassing because his wife will try to throttle me if he don't stop she.

  Sekai get ready for night shift and she leave without saying goodbye to me.

  'There is mail for you in the kitchen,' Paul tell soon after Sekai have bang the door on the way out. It's one letter from my uncle. When I leave home, he had promise that he will help organise umbuyiso ceremony for Mother. Now he say he is not sure if it's useful for him to start organising anything because people in the village where Mother is buried have already been telled that they have to prepare to be resettled any time.

  'This village, Mother's family have been there since 1947 when they was moved from fertile land in Mazoe because the land have been given as reward to some British Second World War veteran. Now they have to move again?'

  Paul nothing to say to me about this.

  'Soon Mother's grave maybe end up being dig up by some machine, get wash away by rain and she bones come out in the open and get bleached by sun just like bones of dead bird and no one is going to care.'

  When I tell Paul about what happen when I try to find hotel where Saudi princes give fat tips, he nearly fall off his chair laughing. Now I have to stop talking about this because people think that I am dunderhead. But when I leave me and Paul is still talking in civilised way.

  I say sorry for how I leave them last time.

  'You know anything about Uncle Nhamo?' That's what Paul ask as he walk me to Tube station. I don't know where this question come from or if this is trick question or what. Uncle Nhamo kill himself when I am still the size of teaspoon. Everything that I have hear about him is funny because everyone going hush hush. People say he have the winds.

  'Yes I know about Uncle Nhamo.' I don't want Paul to start accuse me of not knowing family members like them young people do these days. He's old-fashioned in that kind of thing even though he is not old.

  He kick some stone on the pavement in that way like, OK, let's leave that one alone. It's funny behaviour by Paul. And me I don't want to talk about this Uncle Nhamo dead guy.

  'What will happen to all them family graves in Mother's village and why is Uncle doing nothing?'

  But Paul say nothing. Even Uncle Nhamo is buried in Mother's village.

  When the past always tower over you like a mother of children of darkness, all you can do is hide under she skirt. There you see them years hanging in great big folds of skin and when you pop your head out of under the skirt you don't tell no one what you have see
because that is where you come from. You tell them and people will treat you funny. Especially civilian people. You don't tell no one about the past or you frighten them. Me I don't say even one word about the past to anyone inside our house. Things is still funny in here. Shingi have just send chunk of his savings to family back home. The Western Union form is there on our bed.

  I have buy sausages, do you want?

  Shingi just lie in bed quiet and don't say nothing to me but only shake his head with funny grin on his face; one of them grins that stay on the face even if the owner of the face have stop smiling two months ago. Maybe it's because there is still no lead to follow regarding graft.

  We need to clean our house. We have to sweep the floors because they is full of dirt and it's hard to think straight inside this house, Shingi say now. You need to clean the inside of your head, I don't say.

  It's morning, everyone have go to graft, Tsitsi have go to hang out at hair salon and it's only me and Shingi in this house and I'm still reasoning what kind of plan to make now.

  Shingi expect me to go get the broom and start the cleaning. Time stop suddenly. Outside, the city rattle on as usual: doors slamming on faces of people that is mau-mauing for graft, rail tracks red hot from big punishment by them trains, jet planes criss-crossing sky and all. If I had good sense of hearing maybe I even hear cars on the M25 going round and round London. Outside our door, on the lamp post, that stubborn spider is maybe again trying to hang his web across lamp post and the hedge. Inside this house no one go to get broom from the kitchen.

  I decide to escape all this and look around Brixton for those graft that you find stuck on window of newsagent and small shop. But when all you see everywhere is 'massage therapist', 'room in flat' and that kind of thing, you can't keep walking on. So me I think I should just relax; if God want to give you graft it will come.

  I go check out the salon where Tsitsi is spend all this time selling she baby with MaiMusindo and them other women.

  The salon is inside Market Row mall, opposite Elser Cafe. I coil myself at the corner, close to some tramp who have them soldier's eyes. He is drowning his chips in ketchup.

  In the evening when I tell Tsitsi about that I was at Elser Cafe, she don't like it because she think I'm following she.

  'You! Stop following people,' she shout and start to talk about how following people is breaking the law in this country.

  When I tell she about it, it was just the two of us in the kitchen. I have then go to join Farayi and Aleck thinking that the conversation have finish but she follow me to our room so she can tell me that stalking people is big crime offence. Me I ignore she and try to talk to Aleck and Farayi because it is about 8pm and I have not see Shingi since morning.

  Farayi and Aleck is not worried about Shingi.

  Them clocks hit 11pm and Shingi is still nowhere to be seen.

  In the morning Aleck now start going on like big headmaster telling us how Shingi is not able to take the pressure of Harare North. I want to tell him to be careful how he talk because he have to remember not to get over familiar with Shingi and me because it is not like we have spend our childhood herding cattle with him. I give him one powerful look that is full of skill and he get it.

  Farayi, he don't want to get involved in all this so he eat his breakfast hard.

  When Aleck and Farayi leave for work, I go to kitchen and make myself porridge. I try to eat it alone in our room. Porridge refuse to go down.

  Shingi, I know he will never spend even one night at the old man's place at Tulse Hill Estate, the old man that ran away from Zimbabwe. That old man not going to let that happen. I don't want Shingi to end up becoming one of them people we read about in the papers being found floating with broken umbrellas and dead ducks in River Thames.

  I abandon the porridge. Upstairs Tsitsi have wake up for second time. She normally get wake up by baby some crazy hour in the morning to feed him and then she sleep again. I leave the house because I am not in mood to tune into she talk and songs today.

  I have run out of cigarettes and the money to buy them, so before I leave house me I look inside the pockets of Shingi's jacket that is hanging on the nail on the wall and find only seventy-three pence.

  I find Tim's Fish Bar. It is this small likkle thing in Stockwell, fifteen minutes' walk from our house and on its glass front Tim have write Thank Cod For Tim!. That's where they have graft; one of them 'apply within' things. People that love them fish and chips always coming to this place. Tim is short and well fed, chinless scooter-riding wonder that have barrel stomach that is very taut in familiar way. He also like dog racing. He read the Sun newspaper when things is not busy. He is assist by Ricardo, who come from Portugal. But he don't hire me on the first day because he think he can find someone that speak English better than me.

  'Can you speak English?' he ask with them arms folded on counter on top of his newspaper.

  'Yes.' I also know history and woodwork.

  He just want someone that can talk English and is not workshy. Tim want to know if I have work permit. I tell him I leave it home and he nod with small smile on his face, and say that he want someone that can do the floor cleaning and all other things because him and Ricardo get swamped. I should come back in few days' time. I also have to be sure I can do the working hours, Tim say, and I write these hours inside my head: 11am to 5.30pm Monday to Friday, or 5.30pm to 11pm Monday to Friday.

  I go back home and after three days, Shingi is back into our house from nowhere.

  'Why should Aleck and Farayi worry about someone who have relatives in east of London?' That's what Tsitsi say to me as I wash them cold hands in warm water in kitchen sink.

  I don't ask Shingi no questions because I don't want him to feel like I'm playing big brother or something on account this might cause clash of feelings and volumes of bad air. If he have decide to visit his relatives, then fine.

  I tell Shingi the big story about Tim and his fish bar but he think that I am spinning him one fat old jazz number, I can see in his eyes. He get up from his bed and go to kitchen without no word. Me I follow him. Now he dash around cupboard to cupboard opening door and drawers as if looking for something, giving me them one-word sentences – Hmmm. Good. OK. Shuwa – while I am flapping about in the air following his movements in the kitchen.

  No . . . now y . . . you will start looking after yourself; that's good because I have no more ginger for looking after some baby that have beard, he say.

  Me I go and sit down on my suitcase and light my cigarette.

  Shingi have bring with him some beefsteak that he buy on his way home. He cook some portion only for himself and eat all by himself. Me I just smoke cigarette. He make small talk with Farayi eating and sitting on his bed and I know he have talk about me to his relatives and they have throw some funny mouth around and try to propaganda him against me. That's because he find it hard to save money to send home. All my fault.

  Now Aleck come in and start to make fun of Shingi, asking if Shingi is finding pressure of living in Harare North too much because maybe the winds is howling inside him. This thing start as one small joke and even if Shingi not laughing about it, everyone in the house laughing. Then Aleck don't want to drop it and now no one is laughing because it feel funny. One time you is going kak kak kak while someone is being make fun of, and you don't notice the change; suddenly no one laughing any more and all they is doing is just feeling funny and walking out of the room.

  'That is not funny,' I tell Aleck straight and square.

  When Aleck is gone, Shingi say I can have the last piece of his meat on his plate. But me I don't eat no leftovers. I'm principled man.

  'How do you pronounce your name?' Tim ask as he flip through Shingi's passport.

  'Shingirirayi.'

  'I'm not going to be able to pronounce that.'

  'Shingi. Just say Shingi.'

  Shingi only let me use his passport and National Insurance number because he want to prove me wrong and show that
I can't get graft. But now it's evening and we is all sitting and going yari yari yari about my new graft. Shingi have now start talking more because he also feel good that he let me use his papers to get the graft and now talk as if all this is because of him. Tsitsi is happy for me too. And Farayi, eating soup, is also happy for me. Then Aleck, who have just arrive from work, march into the room to hear what the excite is all about. When I tell him the news he only say, 'Hmmm.' There is small trace of big reasoning on his face. He lean against the door, look at Shingi and start to crack his jokes again, asking if original native and his winds able to take pressure of London.

  Farayi pretend he finish his soup and walk away to kitchen. Tsitsi also leave saying she want to go upstairs to put baby to sleep. Shingi just lying in bed with that blank face of some Chipinge cow that have been given away as bride price; he still don't know how to stop people bullying him. Me I decide I don't want to live this funny moment so I disappear too because the last time I stand for Shingi all I get is leftover piece of meat.

  10

  You see me stepping down them pavements from graft with hands in my pockets and you think you know me? You see me walking from the corner shop with blue plastic bag slung over my shoulder carrying butter, bread, tin of baked beans or sausages and you give me the talking eye that demand your Mars bar? You lick ice cream, I bite mine and you laugh because you think you know my arse better than your mother's petticoat? That's my style that. But that don't matter today because today is not day for styles. Today I have to cry. Today I cry for everything that have happen and everything that have not happen. Today I cry to Mother. I don't know how to cry for she when she leave, Mother. Today I cry because the river of pain have run through our hut sweeping everything with it. Today I cry because the month has end, my patience is now starting to pay. £515 in my pocket; 515 termites in my pocket. Shingi, everything is forgiven.