REMINISCES
OF A MISSION BOY
Karikoga Gumi Remiseve
It was in 1992. We were in the
English Room. It was around 9 in the morning. Mai Knottie was busy dishing
knowledge. Something happening in the corridor caught our collective attention.
The Headmaster was in front. Behind him were two men armed to the teeth. They
were like the Zulu impis straight out of the history textbook. One was carrying
miseve novuta. The other was carrying
3 big knobkerries and a spear. There was kakano,
the small axe, in the mix. It was an unusual sight at school!
At the back of the procession,
following slowly was another unusual sight. There was a heavily pregnant girl
in a blue dress. They were coming from the direction of the labs.
Immediately, we knew! There was drama
in the offing. Someone had taken their biology practicals too seriously. Now
they were about to be dissected! There was nothing more interesting for an Arts
student than to prove that Sciences were dangerous! Yes, my good friend and
English classmate David Mayanga had captured it well with his distinct
SaManyika accent, when he explained his A’level ‘combination’ choice in 1991:
‘Ndaide
kuita maScience. Asi ndakanzwe kuti kunoite nyaka-nyaka!’
Nyaka-nyaka indeed!
The tabloid journo in me could not be
suppressed by the desire for Victorian literature on offer. I had no time for
Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing!
This was much ado about something. With Henry Pote in hot pursuit, we were on
the trail.
The Headmaster’s office had a
distinct advantage for snooping. One could get a full view of the military
delegation and the bulging Sarajevo Incident, without catching the attentions
of the Headmaster. The men were livid. The Headmaster was trying to calm them
down. We knew there was a huge scandal before our eyes. We suspected one of our
schoolmates may have been responsible. We already had a list of our ‘Usual
Suspects’!
But who would bring such armoury to
the school to confront a pubescent student?
After a while, we smelt a heavy scent
of tobacco. We all hastily turned to read something on a blank notice board!
The Headmaster looked puzzled to see half the school looking at a blank wall.
He knew ‘uswa hwunotaura’! He asked
one of the students to go and call Mr. X. The secret was almost out!
And then, before our eyes, we saw a
guilty-looking teacher walk in to join the tribunal. Yes, teacher vakanga vamitisa! The men were not in a
mood to listen to his nonsense. They had attempted to dissect him at the lab!
After a lengthy discussion, we saw
the army leave the school. Much to the relief of the Cuban trained teacher.
‘Major’ Bwakura captured it well, with his
usual humour, when he asked his bemused class immediately afterwards:
‘Mavuvona
here vuuuta? Vuuuuta’?
Yes, a lesson had been learnt! Usatamba
nemwana waZimuto!
Vincere
Caritate!
This is a series of my
personal reminisces of life during Mission days. Please respect the anonymity
given to protagonists.
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