A bead of sweat formed on his forehead, slowly welling up into one large drop as his porous skin gave back the much-needed water he had forced himself to drink in the morning. It stung as it rolled down the side of his face laced with toxins rejected by the body and a generous dash of fear. This was it, there was no getting out of this one. He looked up and stared directly into the Sergeant’s eyes, his lips quivering as he tried to come up with an explanation for his current predicament. Nothing came out except for a whisper barely audible. His lungs had failed him.
Tapiwa Mkandla was born in his grandmother’s bedroom at her colonial style house in the high-density suburb of Old Luveve, Bulawayo. A common joke in his family is that he was so small at birth they compared him to a baby rat. Of course, he didn’t like that joke but his ears which threatened to fly away from his head did not make anything better. Just after his birth his mother and father took off to South Africa. Faced with no options of employment at home and laden with the burden of a newborn baby they sought to find greener pastures.
Left with the little bundle of trouble that needed lots of attention, Tapiwa’s grandmother used up her savings to make sure that her little weakling of a grandson survived. She silently cursed her Shona daughter-in-law for failing to use contraceptives every time baby Tapiwa opened his mouth to cry. Her small vegetable stall by a corner almost three houses from hers could not fully cover the needs of her household. For the first two years, it seemed like her son had forgotten the contraption created in his image that she took care of every day. Every time she saw a car belonging to Omalayitsha (informal couriers) passing through her neighbourhood, her hopes were shattered as they always parked at the other houses except hers. Tapiwa had become a forgotten child. Her sole responsibility.
Tapiwa went through the brutal years of primary school at Luveve Primary School. Clad in a hand-me-down oversized khaki uniform whose pair of shorts were tucked to sit on his tiny waist and cheap pata patas from Bata, he cut a lone figure every day at school. His entrenchment in poverty was his curse. While other children who had parents in South Africa were properly dressed with a hint of gwanda socks, Tapiwa felt out of place. A reject unable to even secure a place in a mini-football team during games played in his streets even though he was the one who was good at making the all recycled plastic replica of what a Mitre ball should look like. This is how he grew up to until he finished his form 4 at Inyanda High School. A ruthless institution nestled in Gwabalanda where all the bullies from all surrounding primary schools congregated for four years in an environment that’s supposed to be for schooling, but what happened is the opposite.
He walked out his last day of Form 4 a bruised boy. Teenage-hood had not been fair to him, with a field of acne in full bloom all over his face. His body had not shown any considerable growth as he still maintained a small figure. He was not sure if he had done well in his exams at all. After all, this school had a well-known history of churning out failed students who formed the yearly exodus to South Africa. A labour creation centre of sorts!
His grandmother had already talked to one of his uncles in the police force, who had agreed to try and get him recruited. Life had become extremely hard at home. A breadwinner had to rise and he was the only one who had gotten the basic education. The rest of his cousins spent most of their time either arguing by a bridge over a 2 Litre of Ingwebu or massacring their voices in the brutal trade of touting. Hope in them had long been lost and he was the only one who could try to at least keep this bunch alive. Including his mean grandmother who saw him as the cause of all her woes. As if he asked to be born!
His entrance into the police force was effortless. He hadn’t done that well in his O’Level exams but at least he had secured 5 subjects including the Holy Grail, Mathematics. His uncle got him a placing in the traffic police, after all with Tapiwa’s small stature, stopping criminals could be the least dangerous thing he could do without getting himself hurt.
Donning the green reflective sleeves and fending off a really loud fly which seemed to have found a liking for his flaked lips, as Tapiwa manned as roadblock with his other team members along the Bulawayo Plumtree road. So far he hadn’t had a taste of the rumoured drink money that all the other guys seemed to get every time they stopped a car. Just as he immersed himself into thought, trying to drift away from this slow day which did not have any action at all, his mobile phone rang. His cousin was informing him that his grandmother was not feeling well, she had been admitted to Mpilo Hospital and they badly needed money to get the medicine prescribed to her by the doctors. The call ended abruptly and Tapiwa slid slowly into depression. Payday was a week away and even if he did it earlier it would not be enough to cover the medical costs as well as to keep the people back at home fed.
While in thought, he heard a loud engine sound. He raised his head slowly and was meant by a true spectacle. A Botswana registered bus clearly overloaded was hurtling towards Bulawayo and instantly knew that this could be a jackpot that would change his fortunes. He instantly rushed to the road and flagged it down with all his energy, someone’s life depended on this.
“Look at me Mkandla. It’s barely a month since you joined my traffic department and you have already screwed up. I know that my officers take bribes but your case is embarrassing. How did you get caught for a five dollar bribe? You are fired!”
This is purely a work of fiction!
