Out of Shadows

The policeman sat astride his growling motorbike, one hand on his holster, anonymous behind shades. He was one of the outriders for the new Prime Ministers motorcade, signalling for cars to get off the road. If drivers didnt stop quickly enough he was entitled to shoot. If they didnt move right off the tarmac, he could shoot. If they did stop but the policeman thought the passengers inside looked shifty or saw them messing around, hed shoot. He was nothing like the policemen back home.

Home, I thought. An old ache swelled in my stomach. England. Britain. So far away. For me, this Africa was another world, and as we sat there watching the rider watch us, Britain felt further away than ever.

I sighed.

My father completely misinterpreted it and tutted as he showed me his watch against a sunburned wrist. Weve plenty of time, I made sure you wouldnt be late on your first day, he said.

And instantly the fear came charging back. It was here: the day Id prayed would never come. Any hope that my father might have a change of heart and take us back to our own country flickered and finally died.

The policeman didnt move. With sweat glistening on his black-brown skin he just glared at my mother and father and me as we sat rigidly in silence. It was getting hotter and hotter now the air wasnt rushing through the open windows. Beyond the car, insects clicked and buzzed in the dry grass. We were miles from anywhere. Anywhere but here.

A moment later the motorcade rushed by at a million miles an hour, the cars all secretive and dark. I didnt know which one was the Prime Ministers because you couldnt see behind the tinted glass, though I guessed it was the biggest and sleekest Mercedes in the middle with the flags.

You see that? My father spoke with the look of a child gazing through a toy shop window. There goes a great, great man. Hes given the people freedom what could be a greater achievement than that?

He caught my confused look in the rear-view mirror.

Didnt you read the book I gave you?

I nodded, lying, but he knew perfectly well I hated history. For generations, Europeans have treated Africa like a playground. Weve carved it up amongst ourselves, stolen its riches and not given a damn about the poor people who live here.

My mother sighed but my father was in full swing now. Britain claimed this land and called it Rhodesia, but the black Africans have fought back at last and tipped the balance of power, son. White minority rule is over, thank goodness. Rhodesia no longer exists. This is Zimbabwe. And, now that the fighting has finally finished, that man theres going to do tremendous things for this country, you mark my words. Hes a hero.

I nodded subserviently while inside I was chewing over his words: tipped the balance of power. It seemed a strange expression to me because it gave me an image of a seesaw, and when one end was up the other was always down. It was never actually balanced.

The tail of the motorcade whooshed by, followed by yet more policemen on motorbikes, sirens wailing. Our man joined them and left us in a cloud of red dust that filled the car and made a mess of everything.

Yes indeed, a hero. Do you know something, darling? My father spoke to my mother. If I could meet him, just to be in the same room as him, I would consider it the greatest moment of my life.

And he made a silly laughing sound as if it were something that might actually happen. He never did meet Mr Mugabe. For me, it was to be a very different story.

We pulled off the main road and between huge stone pillars that bore Haven Schools name. Up a willow-lined drive, then down and round to where the boarding houses were. A jostle of vehicles had already filled the small car park, a reassuring reminder of life beyond the grounds. The baking January sun glinted off windscreens.

My father stopped the engine and sat a moment without speaking, looking up at Selous House my house like it was a monument or something.

Named after Frederick Courteney Selous, one of Rhodesias founding figures, he said at last, as if we hadnt stopped talking about it. All five boarding houses in the school are named after Rhodesian founders. Giving names of important people to buildings and places is just one way the white government asserted power.

He gave me a meaningful nod.

But thats in the past now. Colonialism is an outdated ideal that was never going to work. It doesnt matter who you are, you cant simply plant a flag and claim rights over someone elses land. This is Africa, for Africans. And black people had every right to rise up and use aggression.

Even though most of the other parents and boys around us were white I started to feel even more nervous about being here, and I wondered if he knew how he was making me feel. I opened my mouth to speak.

So was that what the war was about? I asked. Land?

This is what it was about, he replied, finding and pointing to a black family standing isolated on the grass. The boy was small and looking at his shoes while his parents tried to appear relaxed. The winds of change. Opportunity for all. Boys like him wouldnt have been allowed in a school like this before independence. But you cant suppress people because of the colour of their skin. Or at all, for that matter. Do you think it was right? No, I said.

It was utterly, utterly wrong. I wasnt sure my father had heard me. White people should be ashamed. He climbed out and walked enthusiastically towards the family. Soon, the three grown-ups laughed, and I noticed some of the white parents glancing and shaking their heads.

My mother sat silently in the front fanning her face. Shed cried almost the whole way here.

It wont be so bad, she said, a line shed fed me on and off all through Christmas Id felt safe then, despite the weirdness of unwrapping presents in the heat, as though the start of the school year might never find me. But it had. Youll make lots of new friends, you wont have time to be sad.

We sat and watched my father. Two tall senior boys greeted him politely as they passed. My father puffed himself up and stroked his beard, and responded in the voice he saved for the telephone. He looked strange today, wrapped in one of his London suits as if he was on business. All the other fathers were in short-sleeved shirts, shorts, desert boots and long socks. Their wives wore floral-print dresses like ones Id seen on old British TV programmes.

You mustnt blame your father, my mother spoke again. He has a very different sort of background, his parents never had money. He feels very strongly that you should take the opportunities he never had.

She dabbed her nostrils with a tissue.

The Embassy has been very kind in offering to pay the fees. We could certainly never afford a school like this on your fathers salary.

He could get another job. I spoke petulantly into my tie knot. In England. He acts like a stupid history teacher most of the time, he could be one of those.

Now, now. Dont be rude, my mother told me, but with her face pointing the other way.

She blew her nose.

This country is our home for the time being, she went on dutifully. I could tell she was forcing her mouth into a smile. Itll be better this time. I believe that, I really do. Back at home your fathers old department just didnt appreciate his . . . skills, but I think hell finally find his feet with this new job. Hes running a whole office. Things will be different.

But I dont really know anything about this country, I said, a plea as I eyed the small boy over on the grass who now appeared to be looking right back at me. What if they dont like me?

She turned round again.

Then we will go back, one way or another. I promise. Its where we belong. We can go and live with Granny while we settle back. She says were always welcome. She misses us so much since we left.

Now her smile was real.

But you have to promise youll at least try. If you can do that then Ill see what I can do. Your father does listen to me sometimes, he does care. Maybe he can put in for a transfer Im sure the Civil Service does that sort of thing all the time. Deal?

I nodded quickly up and down, knowing I could believe her optimism, and my mother leaned into the back to give me a hug. Beyond, my father waved me out with impatience.

Youre at grown-up school now, Robert, you dont want the other boys seeing that, he said as I went to him. Until that point Id always been Bobby. It seemed Bobby had been left at home and I wished I was there with him.

I lowered my head and pulled on my the oversized blue blazer that itched my skin.

Weve found you a new friend, my father went on, pointing to the small black boy. Hes starting today too. This is Nelson. Nelson, this is Robert. You two are going to be best friends.

Nelsons father smiled and agreed. Nelson himself didnt move until his father gave him a nudge, and he nodded a silent hello. His eyes cried out that he was in fact having the same kind of day as me, and we laughed anxiously together. It wasnt a sound we would make many times that first term.

Nelson can give you a hand with your trunk, if you ask nicely, my father added.

My head went down again and he folded his arms. His shirt had dark blots all over it and was tight across his stomach.

Come on, stop that. Youre thirteen years of age, I was told as if it were news.

Nelson and his parents were watching me, and I looked away.

Time to take your trunk in, Robert. Up you go.

Can Mum come?

Your mother isnt feeling well in this heat.

But cant she come up, please? Cant she come and see me before you . . .

Go, was the word that wouldnt form.

My father stood solid, then eventually uncrossed his arms.

Ill see what I can do. He took his wallet and extracted two ten dollar notes, thought about it, then put one of them back. Here. And dont go spending it all on sweets in the first week.- This excerpt from Jason Wallaces debut novel is reproduced here for the pleasure of Zimbabwean readers with permission of the publishers and the author. Dont miss Part 2 next Sunday.

First published in 2010 by Andersen Press Limited, London. www.andersenpress.co.uk

All rights reserved. Copyright Jason Wallace, 2010. ISBN 978 184 939 048 4