Diaries of a village idiot abroad

Diary of the village idiot abroad (2)

[Satire] Vokal da Poet reflects on the lives of Zimbabweans who have left the country in search of greener pastures. 

Highly literate?
Highly literate?

After maths, my best time at school was the sports day. Madam Mutero always came wearing her skirt that reached the knees, but when she sat down it would rise. And half her thigh would be out.

Madam Mutero was dark, but not very dark, and you could see the leg becoming lighter as it went up. If you sat on the ground opposite to her you could see where the legs met, just ahead of the panties. And if you looked closely enough, you would see the panties. Mr Mutero was a very lucky man. But you know…a beautiful woman cannot be beautiful everywhere, she is either a witch or a prostitute….
Anyway, my bestest were the away games when we went to play other schools. We always went with Mr Choto’s lorry. Mr Choto was a local businessman who gave us his lorry for free. The school bought the fuel. The fuel was bought from the boys who bought their fuel from haulage trucks and resold it. It was said most boys diluted the fuel with water, but Mr Choto’s son did not. So our school bought from the son.


So in the lorry we and the girls would stand holding the bars. I liked to stand behind Doris. Doris played netball, and had a bum bigger than every girl at school. Win or lose we sang songs jumping up and down. And you know, if we took away the clothes my thingy, Doris’ bum and if she bent over… A thought like that standing behind Doris made it stand at attention. So I would make it look up. And that made the jumping up and down a lot of fun.
And because we were singing and jumping, sometimes accidents happen and my hand would touch her breast.
After touching her breast by accident for a few times, and jumping up and down, great things happened and I would have to stop and go to sit at the side bars.
Doris was also the headgirl. And she was Madam Mutero’s daughter. Madam Mutero was my maths teacher.


I am thinking of Madam Mutero today because I heard guys from home talking about news of what is happening back home. They say the government wants to force the people to pass maths. Why? Surely why?


They just want to eat money because maths is very difficult. It was my best lesson, but I did not pass it. And it is useless in life, for example these guys I work with have everything, maths what what but we do the same job and get the same money.


There are no jobs in Zimbabwe, and there are jobs here in South Africa, but they don’t ask if you have maths. They do not want maths, because maths will not do the job for you while you sit or sleep. No. The person does the job. Maths will not buy your mother tennis shoes for winter, or sugar for tea. And I do not know about the prostitutes in Harare, maybe they want maths, the ones here want money.


The only place where maths is wanted is in a public taxi. They don’t have a conductor, so the person sitting at the front has to count the money and give people change. But that is all. They don’t pay you for the job.


So I sit at the back and let the one with maths work for free.


Vokal da Poet is a Zimbabwean poet. The spoken word artist has interacted, shared 4 minute memoirs, performed and created material with audiences at house shows, universities, conferences, schools, festivals, art shows… “I have performed to an audience of three, performed on a train ride, done bars and impromptu street shows.” And it is his ability to be honest that has him connecting with audiences well. Vokal DaPoet seamlessly weaves autobiography, first hand eye witness account and fiction in his spoken word presentations.

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