Car trouble

Monday, 14/12/09
I’m driving down Jason Moyo Avenue, Thursday after work. It is the peak hour and everyone is heading home after a busy working day. I’m quite happy because I replaced the shocks on my car just yesterday and it really feels stable. I stop by the robots and suddenly the most exasperating nightmare motorist’s nightmare hits me. The engine just goes silent and the car stops. I try to restarts but it just won’t budge. I could almost feel every nerve ending in my body converging for an outcry but I just kept my cool; amidst the other cars hooting behind me. Luckily I was with two of my friends, and they quickly got out and started pushing the car to the side.
I call my mechanic who gets to the spot in about 30 minutes and starts working on the car. He says it’s just a blown fuse and replaces it. I kick myself for being so ignorant about cars.
Friday the next day, I knock off work mid afternoon and I’m in the mood for a bit of shopping. I cruise through the streets of Harare, hit a few shops, buy some snickers and a DVD player. As I’m heading home the car suddenly gives up on me – again. Immediately, I channel all my anger to my mechanic. But I calmly pick my phone and call him. He gets there in about two hours time. It’s about 7pm when he starts working on the car. He can barely identify any problem, and after two fours hours of this and that, he notices a licking pipe in the fuel tank. He replaces the small pipe closes everything and bills me $50. I think it’s exorbitant but we had just spent so much time and I had no time to negotiate. I just drive off home.
The next morning is a friend’s wedding day. I’m supposed to pick up the groom and take him to the wedding reception. I manage to do that confidently. The wedding goes pretty fine until lunch time, when the couple is now supposed to go for photos. I transport the groom’s companions. And well for the third time the car gives up on me. I feel so embarrassed because this time I have some passengers who are crucial in a wedding – a once off special event. There is no time to be angry I just fell defeated. I hit the key and the car starts. At least it’s moving I tell myself. The whole journey the car is just starting and stopping. Despite the disappointments, the car accomplishes its mandated task.
I call the mechanic again. He comes to the church (wedding venue) and starts working on the car. He doesn’t have any explanations for why its behaving the way it is and just says he will do his best. I calmly agree and he gets to work. After about two hors he takes it for a test drive and comes back smiling. He starts explaining that the only problem was a dirty sensor that was now inactive. All he did was just clean it. He is confident that this time it will not break down. He charges me $30. I have spent so much on a car in a short space of time over minor issues that I start thinking the mechanic is milking me. I express my disappointments and concerns and he tries to console me by telling me that sometimes cars do these sort of things. I pay him and drive off partly disgruntled and partly satisfied.
Earlier on this year I could go on my business without even thinking of a vehicle. When I bought my car, I thought I would only use it when I needed to and it wouldn’t really affect my usual life. How wrong I was. I can barely cope without my car now. When it breaks down it’s like a lot of things stop working.
Ends

Brand New Sneakers

Harare, 19/09/08 Late Thursday afternoon, I decide to buy myself some sneakers. It really is more of a commitment than a decision. Prices are sky-rocketing in Zimbabwe and sneakers are beyond the reach of many. I’m forced to purchase frankly because I no longer own a single pair in my locker. Wearing shoes daily is also becoming very uncomfortable with these high temperatures. And I also need to make my return to basketball after more than two years off the court.

Having done a bit of window shopping and price comparing, I finally find a pair I think is reasonably priced. Purchases in the shops have seized to be largely based on personal choice but more on pricing. This shop is selling Nikees for Z$25,000 the equivalent of US$62; Better than some shops which go up to $Z55,000 (higher than US$100).

At the shop, I approach this nice looking young lady attendant for the price and ask if they have a size 11. Her answers are satisfactory to me. I swear this is not because of her looks. Seeing that I only have Z$500 in my pocket and some US dollars, I ask her for the US dollar price. Apparently, almost all the shops price their products in Zim dollars with skeleton US dollar prices. Unfortunately for me, she says they only charge in Zim dollars. Her answer is followed by a smile which quickly neutralizes my disappointment as I then have to take to the streets to change my US dollars to Zim dollars. Although this is illegal, I really have no choice. Banks, the formal channels, offer less than a tenth of what is offered on the streets and they transfer the money into one’s account as there are serious cash shortages.

So there I am along Kwamwe Nkurume and 5^th Street, the habour of forex dealers, Zhet masters or Cash Barons as they are affectionately known. I pick out two brothers from the numerous groups of youths and ask for the rate.

‘’Ma green i3.8 mdara” meaning the US dollar is trading at one is to Z$380 to the Zim dollar.

I negotiate up to Z$400. One of the guys says they only have cash for US$40. I want to change US$65. He tells me to wait and quickly disappears into the crowds of dealers. I pace slowly towards the direction he ran to. He re-emerges holding a bunch of fresh Z$1000 notes.

I hold my breath a bit in awe.

‘’Only yesterday did the Reserve Bank Governor release the new Z$1000 notes and an individual is only allowed to withdraw just one note of that value a day, so where did he get all that money,’’ I think aloud.

‘’…but these occurrences have become common in Harare, corruption is the order of the day.’’ I conclude.

After transacting, the unthinkable happens. The brother who had disappeared and appeared, asks me.

‘’Weren’t you at the UZ?’’

I take a good look at him and suddenly my mind is taken back to the basketball court. I used to play half-court with this brother on Friday afternoons at the University of Zimbabwe (UZ) and he was one of the faithful supporters of our college team. I commanded a regular jersey. We exchange hearty greetings and pretend as if we did not transact any money.

I proceed to the shop to purchase my Nikees. But I start to ponder again.

‘’What is a University graduate doing in the streets, trading in illegal dealings? A University of Zimbabwe graduate for that matter. The most prestigious University in the country. At one time Zimbabwe’s education system was rated number one in Africa and highly ranked in the world. Is this the depth of educational degradation in our nation? How deep will Zimbabwe sink?’’

With unemployment rates at 80%, and the majority of the employed living below the poverty datum line Zimbabweans are fleeing the country and/or engaging in self help entrepreneurial projects; legal and illegal to sustain themselves and fend for their families. This really is not the direction we wish to take as Zimbabweans. Every day we pray for a better tomorrow where the skilled will be recognized, the disadvantaged empowered, and most importantly our pride restored.

After all is said and done, I go home a disappointed man. My beloved Nikees failed to fit. The size 11s I was told are the US size 11s. They are smaller in size than the UK size 11s which we normally use. Now I have to wake up early in the morning and hunt for another sneaker before my money loses value, or go back to Kwame Nkurume and 5^th street to bid back my foreign currency.

Ends