Blood on Tanganyika

Yombwe wiped his forehead, gliding his buttocks to the edge of his seat as he watched the ticking wall clock , waiting for his mystery client to appear but the terminal was vast and void, not another landing scheduled for the next half hour. He shouldn’t have been there; with the short hand at 13 and the long one right behind it, exactly one hour had elapsed since first arrived. Instantly his smile disappeared , as it rightfully should, for nothing was pleasant, in this moment. As a black man in colonial Rhodesia, the devil stood in every mundane thing; each vacant seat, each wide open door, each an elaborately tripped wire awaiting a hot-blooded n***o , brave enough to jump the color bar; a system that persisted for so long , it became the way of life, the Code; the do’s and don’ts, the green zones and red ones, the places you could live and the ones you had to leave before the sun set, the difference between life and death. The mothers whispered it to their children while they where yet babes, made songs of it so they wouldn’t forget, but none could prepare them for when the bough broke, every once in a while, thrusting an ill-prepared colored into a predominantly ‘white space’; an office, restaurant o in this case Airport, where sat a wide-eyed Yombwe, wiping the sweat from his thick black brows. He shook his head. “ Mwe Lesa (Jesus Christ) sure, all this time?” he thought, tapping his foot to drown out the voices that echoed so loudly within his head; horrid and unrelenting, like a chorus of demons. One by one they proclaimed, affirming his fears ‘ Go back now, she wont come! The plane has obviously crashed , no one takes this long .” they cried, as he tapped harder and harder, a few more minutes and there’d be a hole in the ground. He shook his head. “ No! She is coming, she just has to!” he said, nodding vigorously as the clock trailed feverishly to the next minute, dragging his sanity along with it. “But what if she’s doesn’t, hmm, have you thought about that? What if somehow she came earlier but she didn’t find you, huh?” he thought, wide-eyes, gazing round to make sure his thoughts didn’t leak, and they didn’t. Between the walls and the wide open door, nothing gave way. “Shhh! Wila sabaila,!( Stop thinking like that!) He hissed, slapping his thigh. “The woman will come, just calm down, you are a good driver, why would she go, hmm?” he whispered, dabbing a moist cloth gently across his shiny forehead , hoping each strand of interwoven fiber would do the impossible; wipe away the fear, the shame and anxiety, along with his sweat, but alas! Whatever spoils or indeed terrors reserved for him that day demanded to be eaten raw , in full view of the public , the lagging timepiece made it clear. Suddenly , the silence broke at the sound of heavy footsteps cutting across the concrete floor. He could feel the hairs rise on his back and neck as the footsteps approached. His heart stopped. “Hey! Hey you!” came a large man walking up to him in a dark-blue uniform , gold badge vibrating with every step. “ Boss!” he cried, jerking up to his feet in a half salute. “ Don’t ‘boss’ me boy, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” he said, blue eyes trailing from head-to toe as his voice and limbs trembled. “ Boss, I_” “ You what? Huh! Use your mouth, boy! Use your eyes, can’t you read?” he said, pointing to a faded sign behind a large potted plant as Yombwe nodded, cupping his hand over his squinted eyes. “ Yes boss, Ahem! _ it says; _’ These building_” “ ‘This’, you i***t!” He cried, as he nodded, clearing his throat. “ Ahem! This_ building, and it’s amene- amenities there of, are reserved exclusively for the use of white persons _ strictly by order.” he read, as he nodded. “ And what does that mean?” he said, biting his lip, as he fell to his knees. “ Boss please! Please, I’m sorry, I didn’t see!” “Lies! You read that perfectly well; you’re a liar! You know exactly what you’re doing! You know damn well you don’t need a bloody sign to know you’re not wanted here; Its rebellion! That’s all this is!” he said, shouting at the top of his voice, as lukewarm saliva showered across his mortified face, he gulped. “Boss, I’m telling you; if I saw that sign, I wouldn’t have even sat there, I swear!” He said, licking his finger, and pointing to the sky. “ I’m very obedient, I’m telling you; I don’t even like to quarrel or fight! Where can I even start, hmm? These hands are used to removing tires, not people’s teeth!” he cried, as he grunted, shaking his head. “ You think I’m stupid, don’t you?” He chuckled, scratching his rough grey chin. “ See; I was alright letting you off with a warning, but it seems you’re up for something more exciting; show me your pass!” he said, as his eyes flickered. “Huh?” “ You heard me! I. D! I need your travelling pass, now!” He cried, as he nodded, reaching into his pockets for redemption, patting restlessly, left to right; as sweat glistened over his forehead, much to the officer’s delight. “You’re toying with five years hard-labor, boy! You know way better than that!” “Wait, officer! Wait! It’s coming!” He cried, patting vigorously from left to right, when his fingers landed on something hard and flat, in the corner of his ripped pocket, he sighed. “ Here!” he cried, flashing the card in the air. “ I have it boss, look!” He cried, handing it to him, with a heaving chest. “ Hmm_” he said, inspecting the frayed card with a curled lip. “ I wouldn’t be proud of this if I where you; defacing a state-issued card’s a capital felony, you understand? I can book you for this.” He said, raising the card to his stunned face. “You’re guaranteed at least three years, give or take.” He said, scratching his chin, as his jaw fell open. “ hmmm, boss!” “ Yeah! Five, actually, looking at the state of this thing; it’s falling apart at the seams; that’s borderline treason!” He said, scratching his chin, as he fell to his knees. “ Boss, please_” “Who sent you? You’re with one of those underground n***o guerilla groups, aren’t you?” He said, as his eyes popped. “ Huh? No! “ He said, head vigorously shaking. “ No boss, please! I don’t even know what that means, please! Don’t send me to jail, I beg you! If it’s replacing the card, I will replace it; but not jail, please!” He said, falling to his knees. “My mother is a widow; I swear! If I go to jail, we will both die!” “ That’s not my problem. Mine’s to make sure these premises aren’t infiltrated by low-life criminals and thieves!” “ _But I’m not a thief, Boss; no! I’m a driver, look!” He said, drawing a small paper from his pocket. “ It’s from the Boma, I’m suppose to pick up the Madam.” He said, with a broad smile, as he read the note with a curled lip. “ Miller, huh?” He whispered, returning the note. “Well, according to that piece of paper, she was suppose to be here about an hour ago.” He said, looking at the wall clock, as he gulped.” Either you’re in the wrong place, boy; or this ‘Miller’ of yours isn’t coming.” He said, as bloodshot eyes remained glued to ticking clock, the air grew thick. “ Listen to me, and listen very carefully. The next time I walk through this hall, and find you standing idly, ‘Miller’ or not, we’re going to have ourselves a problem; you understand?” He whispered, squeezing his shoulder, as the blood drained from his knees. “ Yes, boss_” He whispered. “ What!” “I said yes, Boss! Yes! “ He cried, at the top of his voice, echo bouncing off the walls as the officer chuckled. “ My eyes are on you.” He said, pointing at him, as he nodded vigorously, holding his breath, as he watched the officer walk away, footsteps fading off into the distance, he released. It was these moments that he envied chameleons, how convenient it would be to change his hue upon the surge of adrenaline. Perhaps then, he’d have turned pale, or pale pink, with bright blue eyes and shiny gold hair; and creams existed, that could do that; in back alleys, from friends’ friends, in unlabeled tubes, loaded with mercury, hydroquinone and other ‘exotic’ things; they did the magic; enough to break down the melanin in their skin and the keratin in their curls, repressing the blackness enough to sell the Caucasian illusion; until the next perm was due. Such was the rite of passage, a privilege only the elite few could afford, not that he envied them, often. Through years of conditioning, he had come to understand his place in the world_ or the white mans’ anyway; one of running and hiding, of bending over backwards so long, the spine dissolved. His vocabulary reduced to sorry , yes and thank you, anything between; a challenge, one taken heavily by the powers that be , a thought that soon became testament in his view of the world, and how the world perceived him; a bipedal ape; a few ranks up Darwin’s ladder, two hand-axes shy of earning human status ; that’s why they had them in Zoo’s, in Germany and France, he’d seen a few, in old newspapers; red-eyed, bruised, chained to metal poles and trees as a sea of blue eyes gazed in horror, awe, shelling out Toffees and Bananas to appease the rogue savage. Such was the will of the creator, or so he thought, and to defy this was to defy the latter; he resolved, raising the sign higher into the air as a stream of passengers slowly trickled in.