is French man.
At first I ignore this talk because such stories is all over Harare
North. Soon the idea start to grow into proper tree and it bust
out of the back of his head, tilting his head back. Now he can't
pull his head back to look down where he is stepping. But because
he look after me, buying all the food and paying the rent, I don't
want to upset him and say this is getting out of order. So me I
sweet him and tell him that maybe soon he will have French passport
too and become big Frenchman. He go kak kak kak about
this. Soon I call him Mr Chirac; you know what it's like when you
have to keep big cheer on the face of your comrade while you is
planning next move.
Maybe when I get French passport I give you my Zimbabwe
passport so you can use it to look for job, Shingi laugh. He have
hear from his graft that everyone that don't have the right papers
have got French passports organised for them now. French passport
is easy to thief, that's what people that sell fake passports on
Tottenham Court Road say.
Maybe when you get back home you can tell big story about
life in Harare North; big story about how you can become labourer,
sewage drain cleaner and then French President; being many people
in one person.
I tell Mr Chirac this because these kind of stories rolled into
one can be sweet story if telled while one big mug of chibuku brew is passing around the table until the teller have also forget
which part of story is just sweet jazz number and which is true;
when you only tell truth by accident.
Now give me pocket money for small packet of cigarettes, I
ask Shingi after giving him this suggestion.
Before I have even finish doing list of hotels, Shingi disappear,
and in the house President Chirac take his place. It is up to me
to feel free to use Shingi's Zimbabwean passport and National
Insurance number whenever I feel like I want to.
'I . . . I am not original n-native now,' Chirac tell us all, Tsitsi,
Aleck, Farayi and me. 'W . . . we is not the same any more, Aleck.
Wh . . . while yo . . . you graft hard in Harare North, me I will
soon be hitting French wine and wiping my bottom with them
butter croissants,' Chirac say, leaping into squiggly dance and disappearing
to the kitchen.
7
History is littered with them ruined underpants of small people
leaping about in vex style and trying to save they bread from the
long throats of big people. Me I have already lose one pair of
them underpants trying to save my Mars bars from long throats.
That is one pair of underpants too many. Now is time for new
tactics. I am about to finish investigating which hotels to check
out.
Shingi have give me £20 to go buy food for us for the week
but that is too much money so me I only use £15 and make saving
of £5. When I come from Tesco supermarket I can see our house,
this Shingi's head, looking at me like it accuse me of things.
I step inside, put bread on table and drag myself onto the
cupboard by the kitchen sink and sit with my back to the window.
Everyone else have go to they graft and Tsitsi is washing them
dishes in the kitchen. Sometimes when she wash dishes she also
start talking to me about how she used to climb them guava trees
when she was small.
'Just like boys,' she say.
'You wanted to be boy?'
'No; boys always get cysts on they eyes.'
'Why?'
'Because they always peep up skirt of girl if she climb tree.'
Me I have nothing to say. She mind is already made up on
everything: boys get cysts on they eyes; if you is small girl and
take chicken egg that has just been laid and rub onto your chest
you never grow breasts; if you is boy and rub the egg on your
chin you never grow beard. Evil spirits can imitate voices of people
that you know and call your name at night and if you answer your
voice will never come back. Owls can call your name too. If
someone jump over you while you is sitting down you will never
grow taller unless they undo they jump.
Tsitsi start singing as she wash them dishes. She always
At first I ignore this talk because such stories is all over Harare
North. Soon the idea start to grow into proper tree and it bust
out of the back of his head, tilting his head back. Now he can't
pull his head back to look down where he is stepping. But because
he look after me, buying all the food and paying the rent, I don't
want to upset him and say this is getting out of order. So me I
sweet him and tell him that maybe soon he will have French passport
too and become big Frenchman. He go kak kak kak about
this. Soon I call him Mr Chirac; you know what it's like when you
have to keep big cheer on the face of your comrade while you is
planning next move.
Maybe when I get French passport I give you my Zimbabwe
passport so you can use it to look for job, Shingi laugh. He have
hear from his graft that everyone that don't have the right papers
have got French passports organised for them now. French passport
is easy to thief, that's what people that sell fake passports on
Tottenham Court Road say.
Maybe when you get back home you can tell big story about
life in Harare North; big story about how you can become labourer,
sewage drain cleaner and then French President; being many people
in one person.
I tell Mr Chirac this because these kind of stories rolled into
one can be sweet story if telled while one big mug of chibuku brew is passing around the table until the teller have also forget
which part of story is just sweet jazz number and which is true;
when you only tell truth by accident.
Now give me pocket money for small packet of cigarettes, I
ask Shingi after giving him this suggestion.
Before I have even finish doing list of hotels, Shingi disappear,
and in the house President Chirac take his place. It is up to me
to feel free to use Shingi's Zimbabwean passport and National
Insurance number whenever I feel like I want to.
'I . . . I am not original n-native now,' Chirac tell us all, Tsitsi,
Aleck, Farayi and me. 'W . . . we is not the same any more, Aleck.
Wh . . . while yo . . . you graft hard in Harare North, me I will
soon be hitting French wine and wiping my bottom with them
butter croissants,' Chirac say, leaping into squiggly dance and disappearing
to the kitchen.
7
History is littered with them ruined underpants of small people
leaping about in vex style and trying to save they bread from the
long throats of big people. Me I have already lose one pair of
them underpants trying to save my Mars bars from long throats.
That is one pair of underpants too many. Now is time for new
tactics. I am about to finish investigating which hotels to check
out.
Shingi have give me £20 to go buy food for us for the week
but that is too much money so me I only use £15 and make saving
of £5. When I come from Tesco supermarket I can see our house,
this Shingi's head, looking at me like it accuse me of things.
I step inside, put bread on table and drag myself onto the
cupboard by the kitchen sink and sit with my back to the window.
Everyone else have go to they graft and Tsitsi is washing them
dishes in the kitchen. Sometimes when she wash dishes she also
start talking to me about how she used to climb them guava trees
when she was small.
'Just like boys,' she say.
'You wanted to be boy?'
'No; boys always get cysts on they eyes.'
'Why?'
'Because they always peep up skirt of girl if she climb tree.'
Me I have nothing to say. She mind is already made up on
everything: boys get cysts on they eyes; if you is small girl and
take chicken egg that has just been laid and rub onto your chest
you never grow breasts; if you is boy and rub the egg on your
chin you never grow beard. Evil spirits can imitate voices of people
that you know and call your name at night and if you answer your
voice will never come back. Owls can call your name too. If
someone jump over you while you is sitting down you will never
grow taller unless they undo they jump.
Tsitsi start singing as she wash them dishes. She always
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