Alternative Realities

I couldn't believe it. I needed a moment to process, maybe hours even. I did not know if this was good or bad though. Here I was, leaning on the dirty wall, taking deep breaths to control myself, taking in the information bit by bit. It did no good to stare at my father for I knew his reaction would be the contrary of comforting.

We were going to England.

It sounds strange and scary, but it was the truth and near future. Everybody's life was going to take reverse directions. My father thought it was fair as I, the living eldest child, were to be educated when we went to live in England. Nyasha's family, however, would switch sides with our family and live in our farm. I could not imagine Nyasha working in the garden all day long, with her English teenager attitude and class. I felt bad for her, so when we were about to leave for the airport and give Babamukuru the last control tools of the house, I took Nyasha to a corner to give her a last personal message:

“Nyasha,” I wispered, feeling my throat closed, not wanting to say goodbye. “You know we can still keep in touch, through letters or something.”

“Yes, but,” she was sobbing, she had cried for days, scared of what would be made of them now. “I don't know how to work on a farm! How will I survive this life?”

“You'll be fine. Send me letters. Tell me how you go and I'll advise you back. I shall miss you”. We hugged and said goodbye. Our flight was unpleasantly long and scary. I was not used to all that white, grey and black technology, looking clean and polished like they were made yesterday. There were so many of those huge metal birds I wondered if they really were made in a day.

England was huge. In fact, it was enormous! There were thousands of people dressed smartly walking from place to place, doing a thousand things at the same time. They spoke English with the strongest accent I've ever heard. It was the rough natural English, spoken from deep down their vocal cords and cracking through their lower teeth. I tried to imitate them, awed, but it did not work in the first weeks. We stayed in an appartment, different from anything I've known. It had been Babamukuru's old appartment. It was modern and brand-new compared to our old house. I didn't know how to work with anything, it seemed like everything had switches, doorknobs, buttons or taps, always a system or an automatic utensil. My mother wasn't having an easy time either:

“How do they expect us to work in the house with such conditions?” She said, exasperated while trying to turn on the oven to cook us dinner. “Everything is moved by something else so you never know how to start or where does it end and you never know where to find something and-”

“Mother!” I interrupted her. “It's okay, we'll figure it out, step by step, you don't need to be angry with it.” She relaxed, but still sighed.

“You're right. Come on, go find your school uniform to leave it ready for the morning.”

School wasn't any easier than cooking. Honestly, it was absolutely terrifying at first. I stood on the front door of the school, my parents beside me, getting me ready to be dropped off while they talked with the principal. When the elder man shook their hands, the bell ringed and he turned to me:

“Well then, what are you waiting for?” I ran towards my class, only slowing down when I heard him shout “No running in the school hallway!” I was used to rules, to being told what to do. This part would be easy.

I began my lessons well, teachers were nice to me and so were the Black students. But they were a minority at the school. Most children were White, and some weren't nice at all. They were actually mean and rude. Some greeted me when I came to school by saying “Hey there, what you're doing in this school? Here's a place for humans, who have actually sprang from the apes, but you don't seem to have come that far, have ya?” I would then bite my tonge not to reply or blinked hard not to cry. This reminded me of when I was eight and was trying to sell mealies to pay for school fees and a scary white man asked if I was 'a munt being cheeky' (28). When I managed to sell the cobs, he spat on the floor saying I would 'do no good with the money' and 'run to the next old white person to get more' (29). Of course it was not true, but it made me really sad and the memory struck my mind when a big white boy and a smug-looking girl passed me by at the end of my fifth day of school:

“Look there,” said the boy with yellow teeth. “The monkeys just can't get enough of screwing their own colonies. They had to screw our city too!”

I guess I have only seen some of London yet, it being so huge and I have only been here two weeks. But if this are London youngsters, I somehow fear the city which produced them. What I thought might make me happy was read Nyasha's first letter, but that wasn't much of a confort. It read:

“Dear Tambu,

How can you be still be alive? I can't believe you've spent your entire life doing what I am doing! I've been trying so hard to work it out, but it's slowly killing me. Most of it is because of the boredom, believe me the work is not so bad. Everyday, mum and I get up early to heat water for my family to wash. And, truly, I think Chido ought to help us do this, but when I even call him not only Babamukuru but neighbours passing by, arch a brow wondering why was I harassing my brother with such an indignant question. But that's ok because he has to help with many other things too. We both work in the field, “milking a cow”, “grazing” (20) and “cultivating the crops” (21). It's tiring the amount of time I have to spend on the garden and when I do have free time I have nothing to do. Babamukuru sold all my books to help us continue paying Chido's school fees. But he told me I would now have to be the woman he put me in the world to. I would have to work and learn all the things a wife need to know. No school, no books anymore. Life is absolutely depressing and I wish you'd at least be here with me. But I couldn't dare ask that of you, who's been fitghing for so long to study and now you have the greatest chance to. You'll be doing great, I know. I'll be fine, all this work helped me loose some weight too. Swimming in Nyamarira was also a good exercise.

I miss you,

Nyasha.”

I felt quite guilty after reading this. I wrote her back, giving advices on little things such as methods to deal with the work. She sounded grateful in her replies, but I couldn't help but notice that time really was beginning to go faster for both of us. I soon began to forget vital Shona words, annoying my mother when English came into our family conversations. My father did not mind, he learned English too, but he also caught the English sarcasm. His fool self was the same though. My mother was becoming more and more depressed, complaining about the tasteless food they had. I was growing irritated by anything anyone complained, I liked England. It's just that it was so different. It was big and fast and loud. It's all very impressive, but also very scary. I tried to guide my family forward, considering I was the one being educated. I couldn't help but limit myself to become stressed only about school, ignoring the fact that now some white kids tried to beat me up after classes sometimes. Of course it was no challenge for me, but it was perturbing. Competing in classes became a routine, one of the only things I got along with. What does motivate me to go on is thinking of how I can have a brighter future. I just have to survive the present.

“They're just English.” told my mother when we spoke of my White classmates' behaviour three months after we came “That's what they do, what they are. 'It's the Englishness.' (207). You'd better be careful with it too. It's never too late when you're that young.”