Sunshine City - H Tizzy - HTown - Harare

I am not a Harare girl (at all!) - City of Kings (&Queens) baybay is the place I rep til I die, but I once (6 years ago) spent a good amount of time on a forced "vacation" in the capital of Zim, during that time I fell in love - with writing.  First time I ever wrote anything for something other than school, first time I ever wrote just for my own fulfilment, so I like to read this short story about my Harare days, it ALWAYS puts a smile on my face, especially during nostalgic moments.  These conversations happened - lol, names have been changed, but what hasn't changed is the fact that the friendships made were truly everlasting :-)  + it's raw, rough, uncut & unedited - I blog what I like, don't say I didn't tell you.

A Writer is Born

Looking back at the first day we met, it makes no sense to me how we came this far…

Sundays were my days, to peruse the city looking for a quiet place to enjoy some peace and lose myself in a novel.  Then I met him, it was a rather odd chance meeting which I think God creates randomly when He’s taking a break from listening in on His worshippers below Him praising Him on the Holy Day.  So, on this chosen Sunday God was looking in on the art gallery and decided to create a meeting, a kind of meeting that resembled electromagnetism.  Yes, it was a kind of magnetic attraction, correction – magnetic meeting because attraction only happened later.  The kind of magnetism that occurred in this meeting defied the laws of Physics.  Opposites attract but Likes repel, yet what my scientific left brain always accepted as some kind of truth would later choose me to believe otherwise.

So I stumbled upon this art gallery, pleased to have found some kind of sanctuary for my Sunday afternoon reading.  My curious mind led me all over the gallery, it cost me $20 000, but its funny how a small amount of money can change one’s life drastically – not to say my life changed drastically that day but my point is this; Scenario one – I may have had no money on me at all, and not have had the opportunity to venture through the gallery and meet him.  Scenario two – Maybe I would have left the gallery in pursuit of money and have bumped into him in some other crazy circumstance.

Such scenarios are besides the point, the point that exists is that I had the money to be able to explore the gallery I stumbled upon and gain some kind of satisfactory pleasure which would enlighten my otherwise dull Sunday.

An exhibition was taking place and some of the art pieces were breathtaking.  I always found it ironic how as a writer it was so easy for me to express myself on paper whereas in spoken word I always managed to turn the simplest things into something of such a complex manner no one could really understand.  This was something that always bothered me, especially when people would look at me with a stunned expression on their face and say to me

 “I really don’t understand what you’re saying.”

I guess this is what plagued my confidence as a writer – I always did find myself a bit awkward and weird – and the most straightforward procedures (in life, even) became complicated when it came to me.  I believe this came from birth, even that was a complicated event that could have happened simply like my one friend said to me;

“Why you Cherish?  It always seems to happen to you,”

this statement came after I asked him if he had even woken up suddenly from his slumber and the sudden abrupt movement of  lifting his head off the pillow causing his neck to snap slightly but not fatally followed by a huge rush of blood to the brain leaving you faint headed for at least half an hour.  This is something I thought happened to many, obviously not.

I was finishing off my tour of the upper level of the gallery when he said

“It’s a shame, you’re too late – you missed the food,”

I was standing by a chocolate cake, wrapped in cellophane – how I loved chocolate!  I hadn’t eaten it in so long and was real tempted to just put my finger in the middle of the icing.

“I could always just take this cake with me can’t I?” I joked,

He laughed, he was with his cousin Trawe, a name I would only discover later on, the same as his, he was Ekim,

“Seen anything you like?” asked Trawe

I have never exactly been the world’s greatest art appreciator, I actually felt nervous as if I was being put on the spot; at least they didn’t know me, the real me, a scientist trespassing in on artists’ turf.

“I’m not really into art appreciation,” I replied, “and I’m a scientist, I’m not an artist,”

They both laughed

“I’m an artist, well really I’m a writer,” Ekim said

“And I’m a painter,” Trawe chipped in

“Actually that’s one of my pieces over there”

He pointed to an amateur painting obviously created by a ten year old.

“Impressive,” I said dryly, my obvious sarcasm apparent but humorous,

“It’s reminiscent of a Picasso piece”

Ekim smiled,

“Wow, a lady who knows Picasso,” he said

“Well Picasso, Monet, Van Gogh and that’s about it, I only know three artists,” I said

“You can’t leave out the Godfather of them all though,” Trawe said

“Rembrandt?” I quizzed

“Leonardo Da Vinci,” they said in unison

“He was also a writer and a philosopher,” Trawe added,

“I write,” I said with such braveness I actually amazed myself.  Mathematics was my speciality and I knew I was magnificent at it, I had superior confidence – I know it sounds crazy but being the daughter of a mathematician it had to be in the genes as my father always said.

“You write!” Ekim exclaimed, “what do you write?”

“I’m writing a novel” I replied

“What’s your story called?  What’s it about?” Ekim asked

“It’s called Exodus, its just about people leaving a place and all their lives are somewhat connected,” I said.

“Hmmm, interesting, so tell me the starting line of your story,” Ekim said

“I can’t remember, you write? What do you write about?” I said to Ekim

“He has some of his stuff on the PC, you can come check it out,” Trawe said.

We made our way to the office, the designer’s studio in the gallery, it had a balcony which overlooked much of J.Nyerere Way in the Sunshine City and an extended view of second street leading to the Eastgate shopping centre.  From small talk I gathered that Trawe worked further out of town in his art studio and Ekim spent most of his time in the gallery writing.  Together they had their own plans, with big aspirations of what they would do with their talent, they were close and really valued each other in their lives this I observed and admired especially when I learned the true nature of their relation.  They weren’t former lovers or anything, nothing scandalous but a humorous story nonetheless about how they were related.  I smiled inwardly, it was funny how the most unlikely pairs of people ‘click’ as is well known and form a connection – meeting in the unlikeliest places such as toilets, planes, trains, exhibitions in art galleries?  God had an interesting mind and He made sure everything happened for a reason.

I was sitting in front of Smoking Behinds.  Literally speaking, I was sitting in front of Smoking Behinds the consummation of Ekim’s mind and paper.  It was his story, a sick story, at least that’s what I thought, upon hearing its title I asked

“It isn’t anything anal is it?”

They both laughed.  If only they knew I had the greatest fear of anything anal, I felt so much compassion for the straight innocent men sent to the roughest prisons to do time for their petty crimes, I never quite understood how homosexuals did it and enjoyed it.  Anus equalled output and not input.  The simplest way my straight forward brain could put it.  Yes, the a-word really made me cringe, so when Smoking Behinds stared at me from the computer screen I was a bit afraid to read it.

Ekim took hold of the mouse and began to read an excerpt.  The story of Smoking Behinds is a story of its own, one must read it to understand what its about, it cannot be retold.

So we departed from the gallery with Smoking Behinds on our minds.  Ekim recited two of his poetic creations, which fascinated me.  It was refreshing to meet a person who was so comfortable in their own skin to say exactly what was in their minds and share it with others, things so intimate such as the passing of his mother which he mentioned in a poem title referring to rubber contraceptives, a bit crazy, yes, but very beautifully written and recited, I became even more inspired to write.  We walked and talked, Trawe, Ekim and I, and we learnt about each other the kind of things people gather about one another when they’re ‘getting to know each other.’  We said our goodbyes when I had reached the kombi rank, there were no hugs – ‘maybe they’re just not affectionate people,’ I thought to myself.  We did exchange email addresses though, never imagined communication could be so hard in the year 2007 but although it may have felt like we were stuck in a twilight zone, non-physical communication being so hard to achieve would later prove itself to be a blessing in disguise as meeting each other in person became the only logical means to communicate.  He only asked my name before I boarded the kombi,

“Oh by the way what is your name?” Ekim asked

“Cherish,” I repied

“I’m E…” he started to say

“Ekim,” I finished for him, Trawe had done the name introductions earlier whilst Ekim was otherwise engaged.

Another amusing work of God, is how people can ignite a type of fever in another human being causing them to speak with passion and drive, really revealing the best in them in my opinion; and the other person feels a sense of fulfilment purely based on the fact that they somehow enlightened another person’s mind.  Names are not necessary, aesthetics come secondary if not tertiary or even not important at all – just a kind of fringe benefit they are.  A truly powerful person is not one who is responsible for changing the world but the one who triggers the mind of the person who could change the world.

This is what put me in awe of Ekim, this humble contemporary writer, with a sick and twisted mind that was perfectly normal really but displayed in an unorthodox and unconventional way when he wrote.  He would later say

“I’m full of filth, and it all comes out when I write,” this statement would be followed by “As a city we are all full of shit,” and where did the latter statement came from?  A discussion being had by me, himself, Inanakam, Italash, Inanakam’s chemical engineering mother had told her about how sometimes the city water would taste sweeter than usual.  The sweeter tasting water was the one that should be re-boiled and filtered.  The way water treatment worked in the city was that it was retraced from sewage.  The water would be extracted from the sewage, treated and then came flowing through the taps of the H-town masses sometimes with pieces of shit not fully removed from it – literally.  Hence Ekim’s profound declaration that the city was a city of people full of shit.

I’m sure people who would walk by and catch snippets of me and Ekim’s conversations must have thought we had left sanity at birth.  Ekim’s mother funnily enough was actually a nurse in a psychiatric hospital; I once joked “I’m sure your mother was bringing back small doses of madness into your home on a daily basis;” from what he had told me of his mother she seemed very eccentric and extremely interesting.  One conversation of madness between Ekim and I happened as we were walking in the city,

“Nobody seems to wear bras in Zimbabwe anymore,” I said

“What?” he asked “I never really noticed”

“Everyday I see bra-less women and their bouncy breasts staring right at me,” I continued

“Do you reckon they’re also not wearing panties?” he asked, “Cause there are some serious cases of ass moving freely in jeans and skirts, tits crazy they just go up and down, one cheek at a time,” he went on with hand gestures as well.

“I doubt it,” I said “although my cousins seem to know when a girl is wearing a thong, through her clothing they seem to be able to see it, I mean wow talk about x-ray vision.”

He laughed.  We had many such discussions, not seeming to care who was within earshot and what they would think about our conversations.

“I once wanked my dog,” Ekim said

“What?” I spluttered, we were sitting on the balcony outside the designer’s studio the one that overlooked J.Nyerere Way and Sam Nujoma Street.

“Well my mom would never let it out of the house so it was never going to have a shag, I was really doing it a favour,” he explained.

“Wow, you’re not serious” I said

“I did” he said

“Did it come?” I asked “Eeeew, so it must have come in your hands?  What does dog come look like?”

I was on a roll, I had too many questions that needed answering.

“I wore a glove of course, I wasn’t going to wank it with my bare hands,” he said.

“So did it come?” I asked again,

“No it didn’t come,” he said

“Well you obviously didn’t do a good job if it never orgasmed,” I said

“I did the dog a favour, and he was really happy – he even licked my face to say thank you,” Ekim went on.

We both laughed at the absurdity of his revelation

“So have you ever wanked one of your male friends?” I asked

Ekim looked at me as if I had just told him he was about to be castrated.

“No!” he replied vehemently

“It’s the same principle really as wanking your dog, your friend hasn’t had a shag so you’re helping him out,” I said

“No way!  I’m not gay, he can wank himself why should I have to?” Ekim exclaimed

“I never said you were gay, what if your friend offered to wank you?” I said

“Under no circumstances will I let another man touch my dick” Ekim said

I laughed.

“Not even a doctor?” I asked

“Ok well, maybe a doctor only if necessary and there are no females ones around to do the job” he said

“But no to wanking your friends and them wanking you, it wouldn’t mean you’re a homosexual, you wanked an animal but that doesn’t mean you fuck animals” I said

“No, the thing is that the dog couldn’t do it for himself that’s why I helped him out,” Ekim said

“Ok then say your friend can’t do it for himself, he’s broken both his arms so it’s not possible, would you do it then?  You did it for the dog because he couldn’t do it himself so how about your armless friend?” I asked

“Ok, I fuck dogs, happy?” Ekim said.  We both laughed,

“I wanked the dog because I’m a dog fucker,” he went on

“Whatever, how about a blow job?  You obviously can’t do THAT for yourself unless you’ve got an abnormally long dick or abnormally long neck so would you let a male friend go down on you?” I asked

He laughed again.  These were the regulars of our crazy conversations, anything went – it was an open floor we were both at liberty to say anything we wanted without feeling any kind of judgement from the other person.

“I would like to read some of your writing,” he said

“Ok” I replied, and he walked me on my way home.

“I read your stuff,” he said, the week after the weekend I had given him an excerpt of my “book.”

“It was very brief, I didn’t get the whole picture of the story.” He paused “I wish you could write down all the weird and crazy things you say, just get it all out in writing because you’re obviously thinking it, I’ve never met anyone like you with such an awkward mind,” he said

“Gee thanks for the compliment,” I said sarcastically.

I smiled inwardly, how would he feel right now at this moment knowing I am writing down all the crazy shit we both say?

We talked more about each other, sharing stories about our families and our relationships with them, talking with Trawe and random people walking past whilst we sat on the benches outside.

“You really love your parents,” he said.  I was not sure if this was an observation he made or a question he was asking.

“Of course I do, they have come a long way and have done everything they can to make sure me and my sisters have a future worth looking forward to,” I said.

“You would understand if someone hated their parents though,” he said;

“True, there are some evil folks out there in this world, but then again how evil could they be?” I said.

He nodded his head and our moment descended into silence.

Ekim and Cherish, from a birds eye view it seemed very simple but beneath it all it was a whole lot more complex.

Ekim was walking me back to the kombi rank.  It was a silent walk, but it was a comfortable one I guess we both had a lot on our minds.  He turned to me suddenly

“Cherish I really like you, you know” he said 

“Yessss, I like you too, in a friendly manner” I shrugged back

“No, you don’t get it I really really like you in a special way,” he said.

I had one foot in the kombi that was about to disembark, I gave him a bewildered look, mixed with confusion and astonishment that he had chosen this inconvenient moment to tell me how he felt about me.  I looked him in the eye and he continued talking

“I also just wanted to ask if it would be okay if maybe I could hold your hand sometime,”

I genuinely smiled,

“I’ll have to think about it” was my response, as I got on the kombi, I turned back and gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, I looked out the window as the kombi drove off, I waved, a final goodbye, because that would be the last time Ekim would ever see me.