Harare North

by Brian Chikwava

  'Farayi, ndeyipi?' I say.

  'Ah, nothing.' Farayi put on this ask-me-ask-me style on his face.

  So why let the bum jump jump all over like that?

  'H . . . how is the ho-homeboys and homegirls in Luton?' Shingi jump in.

  'Tight tight; they is staring at fire; living rough.'

  'What's the news?'

  'Now, the serious news . . .' Farayi sigh with big grin on his face. He have now lie down on his bed and his legs is kicking with excite like he is trying to swim. 'You promise not to tell anyone, please?'

  'No nooooooo!'

  Farayi is trying to make us promise all sorts of silly things and we is getting tired of this when he spit it out.

  'I meet someone who know Aleck. He says he is not shop manager like he tell us.'

  'What then?'

  'Eh, that I can't tell.'

  'Y . . . you m . . . might as well have not tell us nothing.'

  Your psalm-singing buttocks have nothing to say.

  Farayi kick his legs on his pillow with more fire. Shingi get up like he is going to toilet and have no more ginger for this.

  'OK, now shhhh.' Farayi put his finger on his lips.

  'Yes?'

  'They say Aleck actually work as BBC in Croydon.'

  'Kak kak kak kak,' Shingi let rip as dive onto the bed and bury his face into our pillows.

  'Aleck picking old people's kaka off beds and then coming here walking around like he is district administrator coming every time to collect tax money even when we have nothing. Harare North is funny place; you put them Mars bars inside pockets of people that is proper citizens and you also have to put Mars bars inside pocket of some BBC while you is struggling to get back home in time. Things that is visited upon us in Harare North . . .'

  We laugh throughout the night until our ribs is sore, and Farayi now open up and start talking about this guy that know Aleck because they was working together in Croydon. He leave because they was being exploit because they don't have work permit.

  14

  Sekai go to Zimbabwe yesterday, that's what Paul say. She brother have throw himself down from eighth-floor balcony and dead.

  'Have you read the news about what is happening at your Mother's village?' he ask.

  'I don't want to hear no more of this propaganda. I have read everything and I know what to believe.' I hang up on his arse.

  Just because Sekai has go away, me I don't go paparapapara panicking like chicken or civilian person.

  Shingi come from salad-picking and make big cry about how the work is killing him and how he hate having to get up at 4.30 in the morning every day. Aleck panic thinking that now Shingi want to stop graft, and he demand that we pay all the rent for the month ahead.

  Someone is going to make fearful leaps inside this house as I turn him into one bar of soap. Me I'm not touching my savings now.

  Saturday morning. We is going kak kak kak kak into our pillows again. This is funny. None of us have ever take holiday to reason proper and put Aleck and this house under microscope. Truth has always been inside the hole. Now it have come crawling out into the open without us ever looking for it.

  He have spin us this jazz number before about how the house owner ask him to look after it because they go travelling but we have never reason it hard because there's too many thoughts raving and screaming inside our heads and we have to discipline them to survive.

  You can never tell when things is about to change; the morning start not so bad. Shingi get letter from relative in Chipinge and he is reading it while I sit on my suitcase smoking my cigarette. Cloud of blue tobacco smoke hang silent in the air around me like time is refusing to shift. The mischief priest, Farayi, is taking shower; Aleck is still in bed. And Tsitsi, after waking up early because of crying baby, have now go back to sleep. The house is quiet.

  Then Shingi go out of the house for walk because the letter make him worryful. He come back one hour later hauling bag of skunk that he pick from skip. Shingi is expect me to jump and shout but by then me and Farayi have already see the termite and nothing interest us more than this. Aleck is still in bed then and have not yet see his mail. There is this postcard card for him with Indian stamp. It is from Mirjam and Ed and they is saying how, even after two years away, they don't know when they is going to be back in England and that if Aleck want to move out of squat he should email them so they find someone they trust to take over.

  Aleck is lucky boy, Farayi talk. When he come to England Aleck is one of them people that also get the visitor's visa and on arrival pull the fast style on the Immigration Department, claiming asylum. But he get refused asylum and join activist group that is campaigning for Zimbabwe asylum seekers and they spend they time dancing and waving they placards outside Home Office building. That's where he meet this Mirjam and Ed couple who was squatting in the house, and when they decide to go to India, Aleck is living rough and so they leave the squat to him. Now Aleck jump into it and start to invite them natives, whipping £35 per week out of them when the English people have leave the squat to him for free. And now he is busy making money and buying them stands back home.

  'So this is squat? Did you know?' I ask Farayi and he sing the usual chorus of yari yari yari I have tell you everything.

  Hmmm, F . . . Farayi know th . . . the score all along, Shingi laugh.

  'No, nooooo!'

  'Don't worry, we not going to throw you in bonfire.'

  Me I light small bit from the skunk pillow that Shingi pick. He is also puffing smoke and it's coming out of every hole on his body. Smoke fill the whole place and before long we have smoke the mischief priest out of our room because he think skunk is evil. That's when Aleck wake up and come down to tell us that we stop it because we is filling the whole house with smoke. We stub out without even throwing one bad word.

  'It's not like we have break into his family house and thief his mother's petticoat; what's his problem?' My head is full of smoke now.

  'Oh, Minister Zvobgo is dead.' That's the kind of mouth Aleck throw in careless style. He have spent all of this week reminding us about the rent that we still owe him. Me I am now getting tired of knowing that he is going to keep hitting our pocket until the return of the Messiah. I don't want to get eaten with my eyes wide open as if I am sardine.

  Now he start this yari yari yari: yeee it's only the good people that die while Lucifer himself not die; yari yari yari even death is getting disorient by size of Mugabe's evil.

  After spending the afternoon hitting Shingi's skunk, me I have funny light-headed feeling now. JCB bulldozers can clear any village, I have been reasoning. Anyone's village.

  In the sky the moon tremble through the window and make me feel like I don't belong to earth. Sekai is taking for ever to come back from Zimbabwe, Shingi is not talking and Farayi is reading the paper hard like smoke is soon going to start coming off them newspaper pages. No one is talking. Except BBC boy.

  'Shingi, you are Chipinge man; do your rituals, strike the earth with knobkerrie and talk to your ancestral spirits and see what they can do about Mugabe,' BBC boy cry as he pace up and down in our room like district administrator.

  Shingi grin like fool. He always say he have no opinion on these matters about the president.

  Sitting on my suitcase me I flick through my new pack of cards and shiver like the winds. My skin look like that of chicken but I'm not chicken. Aleck give me them looks like he want to start me.

  'Why you looking at me like that; do I remind you of your mother?' I take grand stand on him. There is sharp look of surprise on his face because he think that, like Shingi, I also have no opinion about the president.

  'You should not go around making big talk about things that you has likkle knowledge of,' I add, shuffling them cards and trying to find my stride.

  Aleck recover, fold his arms, shift his weight to one leg in fancy homosexual kind of way, fidget above me before he fold his arms and support his chin on one hand as if to he is saying, 'Here
we go again, let's hear what you have to say this time.'

  'You so sure you know Bob well enough to judge him. Do you know anything about ZANU–PF?' I ask putting my cards on the floorboards.

  Aleck tut-tut and shake his head and laugh at me: yeee you are just one big ZANU believer; yeee you have been brainwash too much by ZANU; yeee stop bigging up that that tired old fart!

  He have forget that me I can give one powerful look.

  'You call me ZANU believer? And you, have you not been brainwash?' I challenge him but Aleck is just in screaming mood: yeee it's not big secret; it's not hidden; yeee go back home if you have forgot what your Bob is doing; people getting clubbed, women raped, people's houses getting burnt; what is all that?

  He hold his hands open up in the air, like you know, he have win.

  'Who has ever see Bob walk around setting fire on them people's roofs or raping women?' I ask.

  Now he go into big sermon about how me is not reasonable; Mugabe is evil dictator; it's always the case with them African presidents; they don't know when to leave power; yeee what has he done for you or your family?

  Now this is getting out of order; I have to hit this head with one stone-question to get it out of gear and let all the oil drain away.

  'Me I want to know what give some BBC the right to dismiss them presidents of one whole continent just like that?'

  Aleck have not expect the termite to come out crawling all over his face so quick and in front of everyone.

  'Eh . . . e . . . but . . .' he stumble and blink like lost goat. 'You know . . . you know,' now he try to talk in English, but I already find my footing now.

  'You have small knowledge of them African presidents that you is jumping to dismiss. Even all this style of treating us like we is evil or something just because we have no rent money is silly games. This is just squat. We all have hear of some witch who take off in one direction or another screaming and pretending to be terrified of small lizard when underneath they drapery she have black mamba tied around she waist. Show us your waist, Aleck.'

  Tsitsi, who have just walk in, laugh.

  'Shingi, look . . .' Aleck now he try to appeal to Shingi for support but I don't give him no space.

  'I've seen them kind of people, Aleck, and these is the same people that go around spreading them lies about Bob. Some of us is here not because we want to spin jazz tunes and have few crumbs of bread dusted our way by them white people. Neither is we in Harare North to wipe they bottoms. And everyone know that this place is squat; them walls have eyes, ears and mouth and they tell. We supposed to pay rent for this hole? Answer yes or no, Aleck.'

  'I . . . I agree with Mirjam that –'

  'No, answer yes or no!'

  'But –'

  'Answer yes or no, Aleck!'

  Now, there is silence in the room. Aleck's mind go blank and he just look at me with long cheap face.

  'TKO!' I blow smoke into the air.

  The conversation should have end there, but Aleck have paranoia and decide to quietly settle down on Farayi's bed looking broken and hoping that his presence will stop us from tilling his back if he leave the room. He is hoping that the mention of bum wiping will be quickly forget so that he can leave without have to worry about his back.

  'Fine. Maybe you think Bob is evil but that's just your opinion.' I leave the rent problem now because I have win that one clean. 'And that's all it is. Mine is not just opinion; I earn it. I earn it through what I have see, I earn it through what I know now. And you will never know who I am unless you have also been where I have been. Never. Me; me I don't allow myself to be given lecture by them people who, while life was tossing me about like some straw, they was flicking rapoko grain at they grandfather's beard and listening to them old fables and old jazz numbers. You see me hiding under the same roof as you and you think that we is all the same folk. Me? Me and you being same same? Nooo, Aleck! Some of us have defend the country from them enemies of the state who have break loose inside house of stones. Yes! Those people that everyone despise; the Green Bombers; the boys of the jackal breed; the boys that drink beer instead of tea for breakfast; they know them things that BBCs don't know,' I say, my head now getting into fifth gear.

  Now Tsitsi laugh. 'Heeee heeeee what is it that you people do to him?' she ask.

  In them other housemates' eyes I see black-eyed fear.

  'What country did you defend?' Tsitsi giggle with she hand over she mouth. Farayi, on his bed, is hiding behind his paper pretending he is not there. Aleck, broken, is now picking fluff off Farayi's blankets in absent-minded way. Me I turn around and get another joint from under them pile of blankets that is my pillow.

  'I want to know, honest,' Tsitsi is laughing.

  Me I light my joint and ignore she.

  Aleck suddenly get up and shoot out of room without warning. Everyone fall quiet but I don't worry. 'If he is not careful he is just asking for heap forgiveness now.'

  Then Shingi also go funny because he is upset that I have now bring my Green Bomber past out into the open.

  The evening end with Shingi in headache kind of mood which he hang onto for rest of the week. At the end of that, for the first time ever, Tsitsi run away from she room upstairs because she say she is also scared Aleck is in funny mood and will do something to baby. It's all because of quarrel between them, with him accusing she of having no conscience when it come to using margarine, especially when she is not bring much money in.

  Shingi say I should not get involved.

  Me I am tired of Shingi not wanting to support me. Everything I have do since coming to the house is to support him and try to stop Aleck giving him hard time.

  If you want to be with Aleck that's fine, but me I am on Tsitsi's side if Aleck try to toss she about; she is mother, Tsitsi, and don't need useless people around she, I tell Shingi straight and square. Aleck, all he have do is thief all our money pretending he is landlord, I tell Shingi. 'If it was not for this silly rent me I would be back home years ago.'

  Shingi don't like straight talk so he go into headache mood again and do his disappearing thing.

  The day end with Aleck and Tsitsi making up. I know that if Shingi was around he will have say usual silly wise thing like, 'See, I tell you not to get involved and you don't listen . . .'

  15

  I wake up in the morning. The air in the house feel funny. People don't like living under same roof as Green Bomber. I don't feel like staying inside this house.

  The sun have come out of nowhere to chase big fat mama clouds from the sky – just when spring is beginning. And Sekai have already spend a decade in Zimbabwe and is still nowhere to be seen. It is one of them warm days that make them unusual people crawl out of them Brixton's houses and into the streets in big numbers.

  I go to Ritzy Cinema. Under the big chestnut tree. There is heap of them laid-back liars, dog thieves in trenchcoats, pigeons, coarse runaway married men that have develop bad habits like spitting on pavement every minute, them the crazy ones and them the ex-pig keepers who have flee they crazy countrymen in hot climates; all them funny types is gathered there on the grass or the benches.

  With hands in my pockets, I sit on bench. That old man from Tulse Hill Estate, the one that don't like being known by homeboys, he is there wearing cap and brown oversized dungarees, blue long-sleeved shirt and old boots. He have reinvent himself complete; you will never think he is Zimbabwean if you don't know him. Now he is busy sucking cigarette, blowing them great clouds of smoke while everyone sit around him, hanging on every word he talk.

  In foreign place, sometimes you see each each with different eyes for the first time and who you are and your place in the world suddenly become as easy to see as any goat's tail. Sometimes people don't like it if they think you can see how far they have fall. If he don't want to be known, that's OK with me. Last week I meet him in Brixton Market and he give that air, you know, that kind of smell someone throw off when they don't want to talk to you too much.

/>   Now he have old dartboard beside him. I can already sniff sniff that this is the kind of homeboy that can visit Germany for one week and come back to his native country putting on big funny American accent and spinning clouds of jazz numbers playing out he don't understand his native language. He have change completely.

  I light my cigarette.

  'His name is the MFH – Master of Foxhounds,' Khalid say and I give him one cigarette. Khalid have just come to sit next to me without being invite. He is Somali boy and have bleeding nose because have just been involved in fight but he get mauled. Someone is still talking about how Khalid start fights but always lose.

  Khalid swig brandy and start to shoot off about how the old man say he is American with many degrees; one in psychology, another in science, computers, crime, the climate – just about everything. I know this kind of style.

  Near the MFH, Peter who is Ugandan boy, is claiming to have desert the Ugandan army in 1991 and can't go back home. He have his head dangling to one side, dancing and singing. 'When I'm in Uganda, dancing like this, holding my AK47 like this!' he sing and leap around with them arms fold to his chest as if he hold baby. Everyone is quiet and watch. Even Oliver, the junkie and dog thief who lie on bench with greasy bunch of blond hair hanging to the ground, he have stop telling everyone that bus drivers no longer hassle him because his smack dealer, who prefer dealing on the buses instead of them streets, spit on one of them drivers' face.

  Some tramp with bent cigarette in his mouth and wearing socks only – one with big hole on heel – stand up from among them ranks, stagger past me, scratch his head, take his cap off, twist his face in reckless way and challenge the MFH. 'Today I beat you at your own game, mate. Five smackers I bet!'

  Everyone look. The MFH is taken aback. 'Who are you?' he ask, eyeing the man from toe to head like he suspect this is setup. The man say he want the MFH to bet five smackers. 'Are you scared?' he ask.

  On them faces of everyone around there's gleeful looks. Someone rush and grab dartboard from the MFH and hang it on the chestnut tree. Peter come and stand between the challenger with no name and the MFH, ask them to put them fivers each for him to hold and give to the one who win. The MFH look like he is not interested because he don't think this is serious challenge. The man with no name stagger and search his pockets and only manage to come out with coins that add up to something like £3. The MFH wave the man away like he have no time for this. Me I light another cigarette and step off. He have change.