Independence Day in Zimbabwe - 18th April

It was the 18th of April.

They drove along a seriously potholed highway, coming from Masvingo on their way to Harare.  The day was hot and wind-driven dust, swirling all over the road, forced them to keep the car windows closed.

With her scarf she wiped pearls of sweat from her face and, with a pained smile, she said:

“I'll be happy to get to a long shower in the Holiday Inn”

“If we ever get there” he smiled “we're running low on fuel and need to tank up in Chivhu. It's about 10 kilometers to Chivhu and then about another 180 to Harare.

They drove on in silence until the first road sign indicated that Chivhu was near.

He slowed down as the first houses and road side stores appeared.

There were, however, no people anywhere.

They arrived at the only gas station but found it unmanned and closed.

A car went by at great speed.

“Where the hell is everybody?” he asked of no-one, as he climbed out of the car.

She too extracted her lithe body out of the somewhat awkward, low slung Mitsubishi.

She walked to the glass door of the attendant's hut and from a posting she read out loud:

“Closed for celebrating Independence Day.”

“What'll we do now for gas?”  His frown showed that he was worried.

“Ah don't worry, Bart” She said. “We'll find somebody to remove this padlock on the pump.”

Just then a young Shona appeared from inside the hut. He rubbed his eyes and peered at them in the bright daylight.

“Ndeipi” said Bart, showing off his very limited knowledge of Shona

“you wanna gas? Is no problem. I take off lock. How much you wanna?”

“Just filler up” said Bert. And added: “Munofara here?”

“Ndinofara”  the young Shona mumbled and then quickly added: “I's okay”

Obviously preferring to speak English, he mentioned the amount showing on the pump.

Bart payed and left a handsome tip.

“Ndinotenda” said the young Shona, and: “Thank you”

“Ndapota”, Bert smiled.

“You speak Shona?” The young man asked in surprise.

“Just a few words”

“But you speak good.”

She had wandered off, looking at old car wrecks littering the area behind the hut.

He called for her.

“C'mon Glad, we're ready to leave.

“You go football field? Everbody there, happy Independence day”.

 The Shona smiled.

“Yes, let's do that,” Glad called out. She slipped into the passenger seat

“Where is the Soccer field?” she asked.

“Jus downa road a mile or two, hanga left. You get there. No problem.

The Shona waved to them as they drove off into the car-less dusty road.

“You really want to go there?” He asked.

“Oh yes, I really do.”

“We shall be the only two white faces”

“Doesn't matter. I think it would be interesting and fun”

They drove on and less than a kilometer later the town limit of Chivhu was indicated on a marker and within 150 meters, or so, the road to the Soccer field branched off to the left. They followed it and, driving very slowly, almost at a walking pace, they passed many of Chivhu's citizens.

When they saw the wooden stadium and the masses of people assembled in front, they parked their car.

Bart took two of his cameras from the plastic, dust proof wrappings, mounted a Zoom lens on each, and, almost as an afterthought he grabbed the Polaroid camera and put it, together with three ten-packs of Polaroid film, along with the other photographic gear into his carry bag.

”Will I ever get this dust out of my hair?” Glad asked rhetorically

“One long shower at the hotel should do it. It's a good thing your hair is cut short.”

They walked slowly, at the pace of the throng, and finally they reached the large entrance gate

Three smartly dressed policemen guarded the still locked gate.

They looked at the only two white faces amidst the Sea of varying shades of black with some suspicion.

Bart pulled out the Polaroid.

“Ndapota”? He said. and added: “Please?

He pointed to the Camera and then to the three police.

They took position, straightened their tunic and posed with big smiles.

The bulky camera ejected the colored print, which slowly, the three policemen watching intently, came more and more into focus until it finally became a still somewhat damp print.

Bart waved it in the air, to complete the drying and then handed it to one of the three, who seemed to be in charge.

“I think this will be a big hit” Glad smiled.

“Yes, I believe it will” said Bart

The crowd, which had gathered around to view this picture, suddenly parted allowing a group of six, to proceed to the now opened gate.

Chivhu's Mayor, accompanied by his wife and four City officials had arrived and the Celebration of the Independence of Zimbabwe could officially begin.

But first, Mister Mayor wanted a picture of himself and his wife.

Then one of the Aldermen needed one.

Then the second Alderman informed Bart that he wanted a picture of himself, his wife and 6 children.  He had to rush home to get them and would Bart wait.

They crowded around the two visitors and everybody wanted his picture taken.

“If this carries on like that, I soon won't have any film left.”.

“Won't matter” Glad said. “That's why you brought the Polaroid. So shoot the works and  pack the camera away.”

“I guess you're right. There will never be a better opportunity, nor reason”.

The Second Alderman arrived with his entire family.

“The little ones in front” Bart directed. “Now move together a little tighter”

His hand movements showed them what he meant and this photo session was a smashing success.

“Such an opportunity will never come again” he marveled.

Then the crowed pushed into the arena and the people found their places in the stands.

With a motion of his hand the mayor invited Bart and Glad to sit with them at the table of the honorees. Glad sat down at the side of the mayor's wife.

Bart asked permission to roam and photograph.

Mister Mayor then spoke. Of course he spoke in Shona and only by the rise and ebb in his voice could they guess that he spoke of the day his country reached Independence from the yoke of the colonizers.

And all of those had had white faces. As did Bart and Glad.

Two Choirs sang in interesting harmonies and beautiful, African rhythms.

One of the Aldermen spoke at length.

A group of girls performed intricate dances accompanied by two young drummers.

Then the Choirs  and then the dancing girls, then the drummers alone

and finally everybody sang, what Bart and Glad assumed to be Zimbabwe's new National Anthem.

“See over there?” With a nod of her head Glad pointed to a group who had come from the stands and crowded around three large metal containers. A lively fire under these drums caused steam to rise.

“What do you guess is in these drums?” Bart asked.

“Meat and Vegetables”

“Yeah, but what meat?”

“I really have no idea.”

One of the Aldermen approached Bart and in passable English he said:

“You stay with us dinner?”

“Oh yes, we'd love to” Glad was bubbly.

“I'm so sorry, we can't.” Bart said quickly. “Friends expect us in Harare. We're already running late.”

“But I'd love to stay here” Glad was pouting a little.

“So would I” said Bart. ”But we promised to be there on time.”

They shook hands all around and with a heartfelt “Ndimotenda” Bart and Glad headed toward their car.

They waved and the crowd waved as the Mitsubishi carried them slowly, very slowly toward the main road to Harare.

“I wish we had stayed” she said.

“So do I” said Bart. “It probably would have tasted quite good!

An invitation for Dinner