My dad was a primary school headmaster.
Reading that, one may come to believe that my old man is no more. On the contrary, the gentleman in question is quietly retired at his home in Chegutu (getting so much balder he wears hats inside) watching his stock of grandkids grow by the year.
So, to correct that opening line, and make things a little clearer, let’s begin from the beginning, shall we?
My dad, who is, was a primary school headmaster.
I once made a best man’s speech at a wedding, and I joked that my dad beat other people’s kids for a living. My stand-up brought the house down. Ndiwo anonzi ma true jokes ka?
Now, I’m not sure if the cane spirit is hereditary (cane spirit, because caning, headmaster, cane, you’ll get it in a minute), but I have the occasional moments where I just want to correct somebody.
Early this morning, I made an egg run to Bon Marche Avondale. It is Friday, so the maid is around, and y’all know maids need to eat, right?
So there I am, got my eggs, a couple of samosas to keep things spicy, and I think nah, I needs my medicine, innit? Schweppes Lemonade, it’s in the drinks section, let me pop over.
I entered the drinks section, which is a little dark cave filled with alcohol of all kinds and two fridges on the far wall carrying ma soft.
On the left wall of shelves, right at the far corner intersecting with the soft-drink fridges, is an eye-level display of mini Amarula Cream bottles.
There stood a boy child, in a red jersey and grey pants, holding one of said Amarula bottles and checking the price.
Me: Hey kid, aren’t you in a school uniform?
Him: Yes rasta, that is indeed what I’m wearing.
Me: So what the hell are you doing?
Him: I’m just looking, rasta.
Me: What are you looking at, exactly?
Him: The price.
Me: Put that bottle down and get the hell out of here.
He smiled sheepishly, carefully returned the bottle to the shelf, glanced at the price of some sort of vodka, smiled at me, and sauntered by as if the whole thing was some big joke.
Here’s the thing; I am not some grumpy old man roaming the streets of Harare terrorising people’s damn kids.
What annoyed me was, before school, in uniform, this kid is just wandering around the alcohol section of a major supermarket chain, and not one employee has asked a question.
I won’t go into a whole tirade about teenage drinking and responsibility and so on and so forth because, like I said, it’s a Friday.
I’ll just say one thing before I get back to work.
Little shits do shit like this because big shits like us allow it.