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Authors: Irene Sabatini
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their land. There were some whites at the statue of the Pioneer Column and they were looking at us. When
Maphosa stopped singing, they started.
“
For we are all Rhodesians and we’ll fight through thick and thin; Rhodesians never die and…”
Maphosa looked over at them. They were young boys and girls. The Children of Settlers. Daddy said, “We should be going now,
it’s getting late.” Maphosa was rubbing his eye. Whenever he is very angry, his eye itches and hurts him. We walked down the
hill. I could hear the whites laughing and shouting.
Later that year we went to the Trade Fair. Since independence many more countries had come to exhibit, even Britain. South
Africa was banned.
We all watched the parachute jumping, the police dogs, and the police motorcycles doing tricks by the showgrounds; Mummy,
Rosanna, and I went to the fashion show at the David Whitehead Hall while Daddy and Maphosa went to see the technical exhibits
in Hall 1.
In the newspaper there were stories about gangs of white youths wearing rhodesians never die and rhodesia is super T-shirts,
insulting and even beating up people.
Maphosa said enough is enough. “We will teach these people a lesson. They still think that this is Rhodesia.”
On the last day of the fair, there was a big fight near the animal showgrounds and Maphosa did not come home for three days.
Mummy said that she was sure he was in jail and it was time to let him go. Daddy said, “Let us wait and hear what he has to
say.” When Maphosa came back, he had nothing at all to say. We all noticed the cut on his forehead, but no one said anything.
Twenty-eight dissidents have been captured. They are lined up on the TV. Their hands tied to one long rope that a policeman
holds at either end so that it looks like they want to play tug of war. The dissidents look very skinny. They have bushy,
uncombed hair. They’re confessing. One by one. They have been working to destabilize the government. They have been killing
villagers. They are under the control of Nkomo.
Maphosa is very worried. There is trouble at his rural home in Gwayi. He wants to go, but Daddy has warned him that there
are roadblocks everywhere and the Fifth Brigade is on the lookout for former ZIPRA fighters. “If they catch you going there,
they will accuse you of going to join the dissidents,” Daddy tells him. Maphosa says that women and children are getting persecuted.
Daddy says that these are only rumors. Children and women are not dissidents.
Maphosa says that Mphiri has been behaving strangely of late. Yesterday when he passed him on the way to the shops and made
his greeting, the old man looked at him without any recognition. Maphosa repeated the greeting but the old man made no response
at all. “That mukhiwa boy has a lot to answer for,” says Maphosa. “It is time he packed his bags and took off to South Africa.”
Maphosa thinks that Mphiri is in the process of being bewitched and if action is not taken the old man will die in the hands
of evil spirits. This cannot be allowed to happen.
15.
He picked me
up at the bus stop just at the entrance of the cemetery. He was almost forty minutes late, and I was about to cross the road
and take the next bus home.
“Mind the chips,” he said as I was about to sit down. “Help yourself.”
“So, the party, was it lekker?” he asked as he checked the mirror.
“It was okay.”
That’s all I said.
He turned and looked at me. I thought he would say something, ask me more about the party, why it was just okay, but he didn’t;
he concentrated on his driving.
It made me feel better to see that he’d chosen my favorite flavor, Salt and Vinegar. He didn’t say anything about being late
as he drove, and I concentrated on eating the chips without making too much noise. In the parking lot we drank the Cokes and
watched people strolling about at the station. Then he had the idea to go to the Railway Museum, for
Maphosa stopped singing, they started.
“
For we are all Rhodesians and we’ll fight through thick and thin; Rhodesians never die and…”
Maphosa looked over at them. They were young boys and girls. The Children of Settlers. Daddy said, “We should be going now,
it’s getting late.” Maphosa was rubbing his eye. Whenever he is very angry, his eye itches and hurts him. We walked down the
hill. I could hear the whites laughing and shouting.
Later that year we went to the Trade Fair. Since independence many more countries had come to exhibit, even Britain. South
Africa was banned.
We all watched the parachute jumping, the police dogs, and the police motorcycles doing tricks by the showgrounds; Mummy,
Rosanna, and I went to the fashion show at the David Whitehead Hall while Daddy and Maphosa went to see the technical exhibits
in Hall 1.
In the newspaper there were stories about gangs of white youths wearing rhodesians never die and rhodesia is super T-shirts,
insulting and even beating up people.
Maphosa said enough is enough. “We will teach these people a lesson. They still think that this is Rhodesia.”
On the last day of the fair, there was a big fight near the animal showgrounds and Maphosa did not come home for three days.
Mummy said that she was sure he was in jail and it was time to let him go. Daddy said, “Let us wait and hear what he has to
say.” When Maphosa came back, he had nothing at all to say. We all noticed the cut on his forehead, but no one said anything.
Twenty-eight dissidents have been captured. They are lined up on the TV. Their hands tied to one long rope that a policeman
holds at either end so that it looks like they want to play tug of war. The dissidents look very skinny. They have bushy,
uncombed hair. They’re confessing. One by one. They have been working to destabilize the government. They have been killing
villagers. They are under the control of Nkomo.
Maphosa is very worried. There is trouble at his rural home in Gwayi. He wants to go, but Daddy has warned him that there
are roadblocks everywhere and the Fifth Brigade is on the lookout for former ZIPRA fighters. “If they catch you going there,
they will accuse you of going to join the dissidents,” Daddy tells him. Maphosa says that women and children are getting persecuted.
Daddy says that these are only rumors. Children and women are not dissidents.
Maphosa says that Mphiri has been behaving strangely of late. Yesterday when he passed him on the way to the shops and made
his greeting, the old man looked at him without any recognition. Maphosa repeated the greeting but the old man made no response
at all. “That mukhiwa boy has a lot to answer for,” says Maphosa. “It is time he packed his bags and took off to South Africa.”
Maphosa thinks that Mphiri is in the process of being bewitched and if action is not taken the old man will die in the hands
of evil spirits. This cannot be allowed to happen.
15.
He picked me
up at the bus stop just at the entrance of the cemetery. He was almost forty minutes late, and I was about to cross the road
and take the next bus home.
“Mind the chips,” he said as I was about to sit down. “Help yourself.”
“So, the party, was it lekker?” he asked as he checked the mirror.
“It was okay.”
That’s all I said.
He turned and looked at me. I thought he would say something, ask me more about the party, why it was just okay, but he didn’t;
he concentrated on his driving.
It made me feel better to see that he’d chosen my favorite flavor, Salt and Vinegar. He didn’t say anything about being late
as he drove, and I concentrated on eating the chips without making too much noise. In the parking lot we drank the Cokes and
watched people strolling about at the station. Then he had the idea to go to the Railway Museum, for