The Sunday Mail
Daryl Munashe Chidenga, L6 Marist Brothers Nyanga High
THE year was 2008 and I was doing my third grade at Hatcliffe 2 Council School. The school was situated in Northern Harare’s outlying high density area of Harare.
Due to insufficient number of schools in the area the school had to adopt the ‘hot sitting’ system whereby it could enroll twice the number of learners that its infrastructure could hold.
They did this by having some learners attend school in the morning whilst others did so in the afternoon.
The hyperinflation in the country took its toll on the country’s economy and poverty proliferated. Prices of goods would escalate to billions overnight and render peoples wages useless .
My father was a black market trader, vending various commodities which ranged from soaps, cooking oil and even sugar whilst my mother was into cross border trading. My sister Yvonne, just like me, was in school but at the Council high school doing her second form.
Our family was struggling to make ends meant. The electricity bill, water bill and rent were all overdue. We had reached the point whereby it was now unpredictable when our next meal would be. During the week I would rely on the Maheu and porridge that were handed out by donors at school.
The vending tariffs at the designated market places became too expensive and my father could no longer afford them. He then became an illegal vendor. This meant that almost on a daily basis he was engaged in running battles with the council police.
I remember at one time the council police raided all his stock and he shed tears bitterly at the dinner table.
Though my father was a hardworking man he was not spared from the proliferating social vice of slavery to alcohol. On numerous occasions my mother had to go and collect her drunk husband in fear of him using up all of the family’s little finances.
My mother, due to the stiff competition in cross border trading, had to seek for greener pastures in neighboring South Africa.
She ended up working in a Vineyard and she would visit once or twice a year. This meant that my sister lacked that motherly advice for the greater part of her teenage life.
Yvonne began to be involved in illicit activities in which she would date grown up men, most of whom were commuter omnibus drivers. Unfortunately she had to leave school when she fell pregnant.
Throughout my troubled childhood I have since learned that “what does not kill you makes you stronger”. In such a troubled community I hoped the future of the African child is brighter.
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