Harare North

by Brian Chikwava

  On morning Wednesday, I am in good mood. I go out to buy food. I come back to the squat and there is no rat kaka nowhere.

  In the evening I go to the chestnut tree. No Dave, no Jenny is there. No one that I know. When I come back at night there is no rat nowhere.

  Thursday morning. I wake up and there is not one rat kaka anywhere. I am over the moon.

  Friday morning. I wake up. I expect the smell of the rotting rat, but there is no smell in the air. But I know that the body need to be in real decay before smell can start to come out of them floorboards so I relax.

  Saturday morning. Still no rat droppings nowhere. Also no smell.

  Sunday morning. I am scared stiff. I drink one litre of Coca-Cola and try to relax for the rest of the morning. Then the diarrhoea start and I know for sure Jenny was wrong because how can you have diarrhoea if you don't have no Aids? And the rat, maybe he have not die. He is recovering somewhere under them floorboards of my squat.

  Sunday evening. I reason up some way of finding out what happen to the rat.

  I can take them kitchen cupboards apart; maybe rat is at the bottom? Or I can rip open them floorboards in the kitchen.

  Midnight. I throw myself into this graft. I start to rip them kitchen-floor skirting out with claw hammer. Then the floorboards; they pile up in the hallway. One floorboard out; I see them dusty and PVC pipes. Another floorboard, another pile of rat kaka, but no rat. Another litre of Coca-Cola I drink in thirty seconds.

  I start to apply myself flat out on my graft. Then the diarrhoea, it come again. Even my hair now feel like cat's hair but me I know life is not fair; I don't worry; I am hard.

  I don't know what time it is, but it is way after midnight when the prepay electricity meter run out of credit and suddenly there is darkness inside Shingi's head.

  I can't call the whole thing off. Not now. I grope around in the darkness and them splinters of timber lodge into my fingers. I trip, fall, but get up again. My eyes now get used to the darkness. I am breathing hard; hot air is coming out of my mouth and nose. I breathe black bitter wind into our house.

  I don't know for how long I work, removing all them floorboards, but soon time stop; the sun come up, come down and come up again I don't know how many times. I don't go out until this graft is done. I smoke cigarettes and fire myself up with bread. I sleep and wake up sweating because I have been having nightmare about rat eating up all my money.

  I go check the money and find it is still there. But the smell of Mother have already come out of the suitcase. Now it fill the whole house.

  I spend the night slamming them doors everywhere trying to frighten the rat to come out from under remaining floorboards. But I have to stop this because the crusty neighbour that shout at Jenny over dog kaka come to complain that I am disturbing his sleep. It is wasted night because I don't get much done.

  The following evening, I have work with no disturbance. Now I go out for walk around the block. I want fresh air.

  I come back to house and suddenly Shingi's mobile phone start causing one big racket on them floorboards. It's them London relatives. But this time I have no fear on my tail so I answer it.

  'Shingi?'

  'It's not Shingi.'

  On the other end is cousin of Shingi. But that is not the scandal. The scandal is that he hand the phone to someone, and it's the old nincompoop Sinyoro. He have land in London to claim Shingi now.

  Before I have even have chance to think straight, the nincompoop jump into one of those long-winded traditional greetings that go on and on and make it impossible for you to talk honestly to each each. My whole body start to ache with effort of my patience while he talk. Suddenly I decide I have to end this and I straight away ask him what he want.

  'Time is everything in Harare North, you don't just call someone like you is back home and just talk talk talk without purpose. Get to the point,' I tell him. That shake him out of his style. That's when he start this big talk asking me where is my manners and why I talk like some child that was born when them village elders have gone away for beer orgy. I hang up and switch phone off.

  At night I work hard. I remove them floorboards and only stop when I notice that the waters have start to lap at my ankles; I must have damage one of them pipes while removing the floorboards. Me I sit on big pile of floorboards and take rest.

  Some big bell gong inside my head and suddenly I realise that maybe Shingi's relatives know our address. You don't want to hear door knock and open door only to find the nincompoop, Shingi's mother, and all them other crusty members of clan. I jump up and make my way through them piles of floorboards and go upstairs into my room where I pack my suitcase full, lift it onto my head, walk out of our house and slam the door.

  33

  I go to the i-Joint, some round-the-clock Internet cafe on Brixton Station Road. For £3, you stay there until 7am.

  Shingi's email password is poor – originalnative. It take three tries to crack it. Inside there is only one message from Chamu; he is wondering if Shingi can send him 'a sound system' because he want to start DJing at community hall. Me I tell him to 'pull your tongue out of my bum; I have no more ginger to keep pushing away tongues that continue to stretch out for my bum and trying to thief they way into my plane ticket money. Also you is sell-out opposition supporter,' I tell him straight and square.

  I don't stay at the i-Joint too long because the guy behind the counter look at me funny and the place feel funny with only one other man that twitch every two seconds.

  I carry my suitcase along Brixton Station Road, into the dark and unlit Popes Road, and find my way through them deserted market stalls on Electric Avenue where I take suitcase off my head and stop to pee on pile of garbage that spill out of industrial bins behind Boots chemist. I am halfway through my pee and the man with them soldier's eyes rumble out of the rubbish and give me big fright. Me I call for peace; I don't want to make enemies on first day out on the street. Especially after what have happen to Shingi. One flash of some ten-pence blade, one flick of tramp's wrist and one not so quick leap backward on your part and before you know it you is struggling to stop gallons of life from leaving your body. Them mental backstreets is full of death dealers.

  The man with soldier's eyes is high on brew but he accept that I am sorry and we part in civil way. I go to sit under the chestnut tree. It is dark and the place is desert, but it is near sunrise because it is not long before it start getting light giving me some view of Brixton that I have never see before. Dawn come and the sun's rays start to climb across the quiet walls of them tall council estate tower blocks in the distance. Brixton Road show sweep of old street lamps that I have never see because such things can hide in daytime clamour of preachers throwing word of God at you through megaphone, cars and buses, posters, graffiti and them trains cluttering above your head as they pass over them bridges.

  I fix my eyes on the bus stop outside KFC and soon start to see them figures cross them streets for some while before they is replaced by flickering commuters. Down Coldharbour Lane shops open; shutters – red, blue, green and silver – get rolled up. Some funeral procession with them clopping horses, jazz band in white uniform march past and make me think of Shingi.

  34

  The mobile phone start to ring again. I answer and it's Shingi's cousin again. This time he make sure he don't hand the phone to the nincompoop. I tell him that me I don't think that Shingi want to be found. That's it. Unless they want to repay the £500 that I have spend on Shingi's family?

  He talk nice.

  'Can we meet?'

  'OK; I wait outside Brixton station as long as you come on your own, without the nincompoop or anyone else.'

  By the time our phone conversation end I am in the chatter of them chestnut-tree people who is already out for the warmth of the sun. I pick my suitcase, lift it onto my head and go to Elser Cafe where I buy myself cup of tea. When the waitress bring it, the tea is too hot, so me I start to fan it with Shingi's hat. One woman carry
ing she baby come to sit at the table near me, but suddenly move to another table because our eyes have clash.

  I finish my tea and go.

  35

  It is 10.49am. We is supposed to meet at eleven o'clock. I go and sit across the road from the station. When Shingi's cousin come out he is not only late by five minutes, but he also bring with him the nincompoop. He come out of the station with him, and then he leave him by newspaper vendor and go to stand alone by flower vendor where he take his mobile phone out and call me. I add two and three and figure things out.

  'You is five minutes late. I can't meet you now because me I have meeting in city and have to go straight away. If you want to see me again, we meet at Bond Street station at 3pm sharp. No foolishness. And my price go up to £1,500 because me I know I have Aids. Soon I will be dead, so I also want money to buy good coffin so that I can be lay to rest close to Mother,' I tell him and hang up and switch the phone off. I watch him having bad-tempered talk with the nincompoop and they disappear into the station.

  I get up, take walk down Electric Avenue. Life is not fair. Them stalls is now piled high with yams, salt fish, chicken, fruit and vegetables as the market roar back to life. I cross Atlantic Road and go to the other end of the market on Popes Road.

  Jenny can't be right.

  I go to the chestnut tree. I go to the Tube station and watch people but I grow tired and go through the market again. I rest at Elser Cafe because my neck is getting tired of carrying suitcase. I go to Tesco but don't buy nothing. I go to the Salvation Army shop looking for binoculars but they say they don't have any. Me I stand outside KFC. I go to the train station and sit on the bench, but them trains making noise and putting ideas into my head so me I go back to the chestnut tree.

  How can HIV-negative be good news? What school did she go to, Jenny? I don't even want to waste time asking Sekai what HIV-negative mean. I'm tired of wrong answers.

  No one want to talk to me and they all giving me the wide berth. And comrade commander is not there.

  I touch my hair; it feel like cat's hair. Jenny cannot be right; the world is never fair, me I know. Now I even feel the diarrhoea coming but I hold it. Soon I get bored and decide to go into Brixton Tate Library. I want to read hard until smoke lift off them pages of books. I have not read properly in long time and this is the first time that I find myself with spare time to read. I want to read Sherlock Holmes.

  I try to go inside the library but I am stopped by the security man; he don't like my suitcase. I try to explain to him and he start pushing me out, saying they don't want disruptive people in the library. Another important library official gang up on me but he leave at dog speed when I ask him if he can see what is pointing at him. He only start waving his fat finger from safety of staircase.

  36

  It is 2.37pm. I send text to Shingi's cousin and tell him I am sorry we have to cancel our meeting because I have many things to do but we can meet at Bond Street station same time tomorrow.

  The sun leap up; sometimes. The sun fall down; sometimes. I visit Sherlock Holmes Museum on Baker Street. I pay good money to see Sherlock Holmes's armchair – his bedroom, magnifying glass, pipe, violin and all. Our tour guide now tell us that Sherlock Holmes is just some fiction character. Without batting one eye? I pick my suitcase and leave. What else is big con here?

  I visit that shop that have the mirror that can make you look tall, beautiful and rich. I go to the basement, with my suitcase, while them shop assistants look at me in that usual London way when them people think you is in the wrong place but don't tell you straight and square. But me I don't care what civilians think.

  I put suitcase down, stand in front of the mirror. I nearly suffer skin failure from lot of gooseflesh: there in front of me, the original native flash on the mirror for one second. This is the works of Banda the Chipinge wizard straight and square. I pick my suitcase and leave.

  It is nearly time to meet Shingi's cousin but me I don't want to stay anywhere near Bond Street no more. I walk towards Oxford Street. I am in vigilant mood and not walking on them pavements, but right in the middle of the streets, on the white line, with suitcase on my head while traffic flowing past me in different direction. That way I stay well clear of any tall building; if some dunderhead drop £1 coin from some tall building it can hit ground at 400 metres per second. If that hit your head, it feel like someone smashing into it with pickaxe while you is strolling absent-minded on the street. We have talk about it before with Dave and Shingi.

  I walk on the white line with suitcase on my head. Nothing can hit my head. I feeling like umgodoyi – the homeless dog that roam them villages scavenging until brave villager relieve it of its misery by hit its head with rock. Umgodoyi have no home like the winds. That's why umgodoyi's soul is tear from his body in rough way. That's what everyone want to do to me, me I know.

  I stop and call Shingi's cousin and tell him where I am if he want to find me.

  'You also have to be careful and look out for coins that might hit your head because them tall buildings is full of dunderheads in they smart suits.' But he is too late coming. I have to ride number 3 bus to Brixton. I call him to say that he should learn to keep time.

  'This is Harare North, you forget? Now, if you still want to see me let's meet in Brixton. Come with US$5,000 because me I also have to buy pills for HIV soon. Life is not fair, you know.'

  37

  When Shingi's cousin arrive in Brixton he call me again and I ask him how much money he is bringing. He fail to answer me so, with sweet politeness, I ask him to go think again and call me with nice number; even if you is homeboy it don't mean I can let your family mess up my money and you don't pay nothing. When he call again me I ask him, what is the number that you have now decide is good for me? Now he sigh and just go all cheap and stupid on me. He hesitate, stammer but finally mention the right number. US$5,000.

  'We meet inside Shingi's head,' I tell him and he sound lost again. 'The house!' I have to give him clue. Then there is too many voices on the phone, they start to get mix up and it is hard to tell which voice is which, let alone what or which question to answer. I hang up.

  Before long it is after midnight and I am pacing up and down deserted Atlantic Road, empty of all them market vendors. The sky get dark with them fat mama clouds and hide the moon and some strong wind suddenly come and blow Shingi's hat off my head, take it high into the air and it land on the train bridge above me. I have no ginger to go after the hat and so I go on to Electric Lane hoping to find the man with them soldier's eyes. I want to pee on someone. Then I notice that because I forget to lock it, my suitcase have break open and the things inside have unravel and scatter all over them streets and get lost. Even the proof; my test result. It's gone. Nothing is left inside suitcase except the smell of Mother.

  I put the suitcase down on the pavement to check again what have happen; it's full of nothing.

  38

  Soft rain start and get the tarmac wet so that them street lamps reflect off the wet tarmac doubling up in numbers. Even me – there is my double image reflected on the wet tarmac. In the sky the moon struggle to come out of them clouds. Shingi's trousers is missing now, I am only in his underpants. Right in front of my feeties there is puddle of water that has form from the rain and street lamp is shining into it. I look down into puddle; the crack that is screaming out of corner of my glasses' left lens in all directions make things unclear; I can see Shingi looking straight back. My stump finger now feel cold and sore from carrying suitcase. I shake my head and Shingi shake his head until I start to feel dizzy. Why he want to shake me out of his head like so, me I don't know.

  I take few steps following Shingi's nose in no particular direction. I run. I can feel my bum jump jump behind me like heap of jelly. I stop. Paul and Uncle Sinyoro have give up calling now; they fail to raise the money. But you can't trust them; maybe they is now chasing you with them big rocks in they hands wanting to punish you like you are umgodoyi. Forgiveness
is the best kind of punishment. You don't know when or from which direction the rock of truth will come tearing through the air to smash your head and bring everything to one final end.

  Half naked, you turn left into Electric Avenue and walk. You start to hear in tongues; it feel like Shingi is on his way back to life. You can tell, you know it; Shingi is now coming back. Already there's struggle over your feeties; you are telling right foot to go in one direction and he is telling left foot to go in another direction. You tell the right foot to go in one direction and he is being traitor shoe-doctor and tell left foot to go in another direction. You stand there in them mental backstreets and one big battle rage even if you have no more ginger for it.

  Acknowledgements

  Special thanks to the following people who helped make this book a reality: Jackie Batanda, Tom Bullough, Kate Howell, Delia Jarrett-Macauley, Parselelo Kantai, Monica Arac De Nyeko, Chika Unigwe, Charlie Ward and most of all Ellah Allfrey, Kevin Conroy-Scott and Poet Hank.