8 a.m. in the classroom, the siren had gone to mark the beginning of class. However, it was the beginning of a never-ending party. We had rearranged the stationery to facilitate a game of Crazy 8. After that, a round of quiz. It was story time later in the day or any other chaos we wanted to indulge in…
School was actually fun. We were in the second month of an ongoing strike. Teachers would come and stay rocked up in their staff room, having some Tanganda tea and gossiping. No lessons! They were protesting unfair salaries. Inasmuch as I was happy that we weren’t having classes at that time, I always wondered why the government never gave them a fair wage. Well, teaching was a profession I always thought was the backbone for a country’s success, as every highly esteemed professional had come through the hands of a competent teacher. Growing up, I always wanted to be one as well. But after this debacle I was having second doubts. More than second doubts, I decided not to become a teacher when I grew up.
And everything had changed; I couldn’t entirely make sense of what was going on. Sometimes, when we were not going to school, we were sent to the grocery store early in the morning to wait in line for bread. A couple of months back we used to grab bread from the shelves and straight to the cashier. But now we had to wait in line before the shop opened. And it was limited as well, only one loaf per customer. What? This led to scenarios where three to four people from the same household had to wait in line so as to ensure they’d have enough bread.
We had to wait to in line for other basic products such as sugar, mealie meal, cooking oil, flour – well, everything. These goods were not readily available on shelves. Most of the shelves were stacked with mineral water and macadamia nuts and some stationery equipment…
My parents started going to Mozambique for their grocery shopping. I loved the Mobisco’s, the cream coated biscuits. They were so crunchy and the cream was divine. We also had our first encounter with jolly juice. You added water to it and walla, there’s your juice. Very sweet and I loved it as well (jolly juice has been now banned in Zimbabwe due to health concerns). Prices were rising on the fly. There were some days I was given quadruple my normal bus fare to guard against those rising prices. Some days it would work in our favour, as the price would stabilize, and I’d have a little extra to buy some snacks for myself…
The year was 2008 and bloody hell at that moment I was enjoying it. Only later did I begin to understand what was really happening. The economic collapse. The shortages. The uncertainty that hung over everything. What felt like adventure to me was, in truth, instability.
I was seeing the world as a child – shielded from its weight.
As the year was drawing to a close, thing got back to normal. Shops’ shelves were slowly filling again. No one had prepared for life without Davita or Mobiscos… The withdrawal symptoms were just too much. I nagged my folks to go to Mozambique and get some again but to no avail. And in all honesty it didn’t make any financial sense.
The schoolteachers came back and soon lessons were in full swing again. The beautiful disarray which had filled our classrooms and playing fields was a thing of the past. The fun and games were now replaced with tons of homework, exercises and DIY projects.
It’s ironic thinking about it now as things became normal. My life was now… boring!
