No place for dreams

HAVING been born and bred in the Mataruse area under Chitsa’s chieftainship, Zvenhamo was assured of a job in Bulawayo as he had a maternal uncle who was a manager at a garment factory.

HAVING been born and bred in the Mataruse area under Chitsa’s chieftainship, Zvenhamo was assured of a job in Bulawayo as he had a maternal uncle who was a manager at a garment factory.

He did not have to agonise about writing flowery application letters “begging” to be considered for a vacancy on offer.

He had grown up motivated by the knowledge that a job was “waiting” for him at his uncle’s jobbing place. All he had to do was to exercise patience in watchful wait for the all clear signal from his uncle. When he was eventually cleared, he made the long trip to Bulawayo.

This trip announced the dawn of his emancipation from the punishing schedules of rural chores and also signified his coming of age.

He boarded the number 246 ShuShine bus for the long trip from Mataruse to Bulawayo. As the bus progressively “ate” the kilometres through unfamiliar territory, he witnessed the familiar effects of a ravaging drought.

He knew that it was disparaging mischief that most the people from Mataruse who worked in Bulawayo endearingly portrayed Mataruse as nyika yemvura (wet clime). They played this only to assert an exaggerated degree of pride about their village of origin.

As the bus negotiated narrow bridges over sandy rivers at dangerous speeds, Zvenhamo got busy day-dreaming about possible experiences on his first day at work as a cleaner in a garment factory in the bubbling city’s industrial area.

He considered the lowly job as a stepping stone since his qualifications for the menial job were determined through nepotism.

Such a nepotistic system of recruitment was widespread in all facets of commerce and industry. As a general rule, a person with an influential position in the workplace could run and ruin the recruitment process to his advantage. Where jobs could not be offered to relatives and other identified as personal projects, they were extended to those who used financial inducement.

On arrival Zvenhamo was impressed by everything that the City of Bulawayo offered and stood for. He was astounded by the beauty, the tranquility and the homogeneity of what he saw and what he had expected to see.

The functionality of the city was beyond any imagination. Everything seemed to work like clockwork. The taps gushed with crystal clear water, the electric switches did not dither when switched on and the transport system was efficient. He loved the orderly queues at the bus stop.

He was enthralled by the ticketing system employed by Zupco. He also marvelled at the religious manner the bus timetables were followed.

Zvenhamo attributed all the systems in place at Zupco to his other uncle, a Chimedza who was viewed as a rising star laden with general manager qualities. Zvenhamo felt lucky to have people in high places.

For Zvenhamo, life was just good. If what he was living was a dream, then he did not mind sleeping through the dream forever.

Zvenhamo enjoyed seeing the wheels of industry turn at full throttle. His work place opened his eyes to other possibilities. He could see other factories churning their products with unimagined efficiency. He made friends and acquaintances who worked in the factories around.

He held his breath in awe when his friends told him about the complex equipment that enhanced productivity in nearby companies such as CSC, Colcom, Merlin, DATLabs, Supersonic and Dunlop to name but a few.

The city’s flawless public amenities made his working days very comfortable. Weekend meant a stroll in the lush-green Centenary Park. He was obviously amazed by the neatness of the lawns and the dazzling sequence of the fountain’s water jets. To Zvenhamo, Bulawayo was a heaven and no-one would take that away from him. Life could not be any better.

It is an established fact that being at the top has a fundamental flaw. Failure to sustain top position results in a downward trend. Zvenhamo was unfortunate to witness Bulawayo fall from grace. For whatever reason, Bulawayo failed to maintain her strategic position at the top.

As if devastated by a cyclone or a tsunami, Bulawayo degenerated into a ghost town with eerily festooned factory shells in what was a vibrant industrial zone.

With no warning, the wheels of industry ground to a halt. It was as if to inform the crews from Mataruse and elsewhere that it was game over for nepotism.

With very slim job prospects in the distant horizon, Zvenhamo had to beat a hasty retreat to nyika nyoro, nyika yemvura. He parked his earthly belongings and headed to Renkini. The Renkini terminus had changed from the iconic regional transport hub he had seen when he first came to the city.

He had seen the signs of the mighty having fallen. On arrival at Mataruse he was confronted by the sad realities of desertification and the prospects of living a nightmare hit home.

Indeed Bulawayo’s industrial demise has destroyed many dreams and many people now reap the resultant nightmare. Who is to blame for this prevailing nightmarish divestment?

Masola waDabudabu is a social commentator