This is the context in which I have chosen to be critical about a spooky visit that I received from strangers last Saturday.
Before I say anything about the recent visitation, let me wind back to several years ago, when I briefly played host to mysterious visitors, the very visit that made me borrow a leaf from Donne.
Then, I was the editor of a local national daily. The receptionist—they are always unsuspecting components of the cast—informed me that a lady wanted to see me. I asked to talk to the visitor on the phone to know the purpose of her visit. After a pause, the receptionist said:
“She says she wants to talk to you in person, but informed me that your wife referred her to you.”
The line the lady sold to the receptionist was that my wife had told her we needed sugar—those were the days of critical shortages—and I was supposed to pay for it. I was later told that the young lady was wearing a corporate T-shirt of one of the leading supermarkets.
Smelling a rat because we had plenty of sugar at home, I went down to the front office using a back entrance. But when I got there, the receptionist told me that the lady had left, after some lame excuse. I immediately called my wife who said she had never talked to any lady about sugar.
On my way back to my office, which I had fortunately locked behind me, I decided to use the elevator. As soon as I stepped out of the lift, two gentlemen seated on the visitors’ chairs, as if on cue, abruptly stood up and greeted me by my surname.
That took me aback because I had never seen them before. I asked them who they were and how they knew me and the bespectacled one of the two calmly but wryly responded: “We know you from around”. I expected them to say more, but they simply said Good bye and got into the lift and left.
Confusing, is it not? Much like the choreographed stuff you see in action movies.
A tide of questions swelled up. Who were these gentlemen? How did they know me? What was that lady up to? Why did the two men rise as though in salute, only to walk away after greeting me? Was there anything sinister astir? Why is it that they never informed the third floor security officer of their intentions, other than to say they were waiting for someone? Needless to say, I don’t have answers to any of the above.
Fast forward to Saturday. There I am alone in the office, when I hear a loud knock on the door. A young man, about 30 or so, walks and casually greets me as his eyes roam the office.
“How is business today?” he asks. “So, so,” I reply, waiting for him to introduce himself and state the purpose of his visit. He does not, so I tell him my name and enquire where he is coming from.
“Of course, I know you are Majoni,” he says. “How is that so?” “I know you from around,” he says – the very same response I received several years ago.
Then he says he’s into IT and has his own company, so he wants me to help him find an affordable office. At that point, another reporter came into the office and the guy, who gave his name as Lee, rambled on about how office space was expensive and then invited me outside. I was taken aback because his request was almost like a command.
Curious to learn more about him, I obliged, expecting to find another stranger outside who would order me into a car, for spooks normally float in pairs. Meanwhile, the reporter remained in the office.
True to my anticipation, there was a clean-shaven guy ominously standing outside. The moment he saw me with “Lee”, he reached for his mobile phone and appeared to be doing something with it. I asked Lee if they were together, to which he said no.
He asked for my number because he would still want to get in contact with me to find out if I had fixed an office for him. I told him to read our newspaper because my number is there.
Me, appointed an estate agent by “Lee” who knew me yet I didn’t know him? Confusing, is it not?
I then left the office but gave the impression that I was still around, with the reporter having to join me in town 30 minutes later.
As in the first case, a flood of questions swelled up. Who told “Lee” my name? Where is “from around?” Why did he not approach the receptionist if he genuinely wanted office accommodation? And why did he think that I would help in that regard? How come the reporter was followed into central Harare by a man whose description matched that of the guy who was waiting outside?
Most importantly, could I have picked up a tail? But then, what for?
Post published in: Analysis