Zimbabwean Tales: Team Building

By Jeremy Wohlers

Team Building and Other Stories is a collection of eight short stories. The first, Team Building, takes place in Victoria Falls and describes a day in the life of Mbambo. His employer conducts corporate team building exercises and this story follows the absurd misadventures of Mbambos benighted charges who eventually triumph, despite the odds, due to Mbambos inspired leadership, which is worthy of Good Soldier Svejk.
Section 3 (g) gets its title from the Miscellaneous Offences Act, a set of colonial laws used by the Zimbabwean government against it own people. Malinga, an enterprising single mother who is a money-changer, is arrested and charged with section3 (g) blocking the pavement. The story follows her struggle against the state security apparatus.
The Buffalo is a story set in rural Matabeleland. A lone buffalo visits a remote village setting off a series of events that ultimately ends in tragedy for one of the local identities, Tshabalala, whose misfortunes are the product of his fraught relationship with his daughter. The Eagle also begins in a rural district when a family is visited by a terrifying, supernatural force that demands to be appeased. Unfortunately, this family is unable to present a united front when it is needed most.
Majujus Magic is the last of the rural stories and examines the conflict caused by the filial loyalty of Dlodlo for his roguish uncle, Ncube, and his responsibilities as a young professional in the modern world. One Shoe is concerned with the antics of mad Archie, notorious war veteran and debt collector, as he recovers money owed to his friend, Ngwenya.
The last two stories are set in Australia and deal with the experiences of the Zimbabwean Diaspora. Little Buddies is about Lubas experiences of racism in primary school. Three Little Birds deals with the political divisions within the Zimbabwean community as they surface during a beauty contest.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Apr 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493134748

Jeremy Wohlers

Author Biography coming up soon

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by Jeremy Wohlers.

ISBN:      Softcover      978-1-4931-3475-5

      eBook         978-1-4931-3474-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 03/29/2014

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CONTENTS

Team Building

Section 3 (g)

The Buffalo

One Shoe

Majuju’s Magic

The Eagle

Little Buddies

Three Little Birds

TEAM BUILDING

‘Amakhiwa ayahlanya,’ exclaimed Mbambo in amazement.

‘Uncle, what’s wrong?’ asked Nomalanga, surprised by Mbambo’s outburst.

He pointed at the television screen.

‘White people are crazy,’ he said again.

Nomalanga laughed out loud, which surprised Mbambo, for she was always very polite and respectful, and he thought she was laughing at him.

‘But uncle, that’s how you make your money,’ insisted Nomalanga.

Nomalanga handed him a cold soft drink and a clean glass, then sat down on the other lounge chair.

‘Malume,’ she said respectfully, for she knew that old men of Mbambo’s vintage liked to be called ‘uncle’, ‘when you drive your clients to the river for their games, this is what they are doing.’ Nomalanga also pointed at the television screen.

‘No, no, no,’ insisted Mbambo. ‘I drive them to the river where they go bungee jumping or rafting, not this.’

Now it was Nomalanga’s turn to be surprised. She thought the parallels between the American reality shows and their work as tourist guides were obvious. For Mbambo, however, there was nothing obvious about it. After all, Mbambo did not have satellite television. If Mbambo did watch television, he only had access to the Zimbabwe Broadcasting Corporation and Zambian television, and those stations did not run such programs.

‘Malume, these shows are popular overseas,’ said Nomalanga. ‘This one is called Panic Stations.’ Even though Mbambo’s English was very good, the title did not help him understand the rationale of the programme, if anything it made it even more impenetrable. If the truth be known, Nomalanga, who was much better educated than Mbambo, even had trouble understanding the term Panic Stations. Like Mbambo, she translated panic as ‘ukuphaphazela’, that was straightforward enough, but the ‘station’ part was somewhat confusing. Neither Nomalanga nor Mbambo could get past the literal translation, ‘isititshini’, and more precisely, ‘esititshini’, ‘at the station’, which conjured up visions of the panic train rolling down the tracks to the railway station, or the panic bus flying down the road to the bus stop. And what did people do when they were waiting for a train or bus? They either sat quietly or lined up in an orderly fashion. The two words did not seem to go together.

‘It’s a competition, malume,’ said Nomalanga hurriedly. ‘The competitors do dangerous and frightening activities, the bravest wins.’

‘How much do they win?’ asked Mbambo.

‘I think it’s twenty thousand, or is it fifty?’

‘That much!’ said Mbambo, shaking his head in amazement. Mbambo glanced at the screen. A young man with big muscles was ready to swing from one high rise building to the other. Mbambo could see a parallel between what the man on the television was trying to do and some of the games the tourists played at the gorges.

‘That looks familiar,’ said Mbambo. The young man braced himself and then leapt off a temporary platform built on to the side of one of the buildings. He swung through the air towards the building on the other side. A curtain of ropes hung in front of the other building. The swing was constructed so there was no possibility of him crashing into the wall of the building on the other side. Apparently, the object of the game was to catch on to the ropes and prevent oneself from swinging back. Unfortunately, for this competitor, the velocity at which he hurtled through the air was so great that he was unable to latch on to any of the ropes; consequently, he ended up dangling on the end of his line, swinging backwards and forwards. The only competitor to manage the feat was declared the winner.

‘Just like the swing at the gorges,’ said Mbambo, referring to the Big Swing set up across Batoka Gorge above the Zambezi River. ‘And just as silly,’ added Mbambo.

‘Come now, malume,’ said Nomalanga. ‘The Big Swing and other silliness keep us in work.’

‘It’s all right for you young ones, you enjoy such things. The rest of us, on the other hand, have seen enough, too much, in fact. We don’t need any more excitement,’ concluded Mbambo.

Just then a new program came on the air, ‘First One Home.’ It seemed to consist of bickering, American couples, rushing through airports, hailing taxis and running around monuments in far off exotic lands.

‘What’s this show called?’ asked Mbambo.

‘‘First One Home’, you do this one as well,’ said Nomalanga. ‘You drive the clients to all the main sites like the Rainforest Park, the Big Tree, and the Boat Club, and you wait for them to find the clues.’

‘Oh, you mean the ‘Treasure Hunt’,’ said Mbambo.

‘Exactly,’ said Nomalanga.

‘Look, I’ve been there,’ cried Mbambo excitedly, referring to the place shown on the television. The contestants were busy scurrying about a market, purchasing various items. ‘That’s in Dar-Es-Salaam,’ said Mbambo.

‘When were you in Tanzania?’ asked Nomalanga.

‘Oh, a long time ago, during the war,’ said Mbambo.

‘What were you doing?’ asked Nomalanga.

‘I was training. It was during the joint command when the liberation armies combined to form a united front,’ said Mbambo.

‘What was it like?’ asked Nomalanga.

‘Like?’ Mbambo seemed surprised that she should ask. ‘Oh, that was no vacation, that’s for sure,’ said Mbambo ruefully.

‘At least, you’ve been out of the country,’ said Nomalanga.

‘Ye, but the only time I’ve left was to go to war,’ said Mbambo. ‘I don’t know which was worse, the Rhodesian attacks on our camps in Zambia, or the abuse we received from ZANU when we joined forces with them. Anyway, after that I never wanted to travel again. It’s better to stay home, no matter how bad it gets.’

Nomalanga would have liked to have asked more questions about the war, but it seemed to be a sensitive topic, so she merely made an observation instead. ‘I’ve only ever worked in the tourist industry, yet I’ve never been a tourist, not even in my own country.’

‘You’re young and smart,’ said Mbambo. ‘Your time will come, and soon.’

They watched the television for a few moments while Mbambo finished his drink. The contestants were using buses to get to a remote rural village. Once there, they had to plaster the wall of a hut with mud and cattle dung. The contestants seemed to represent distinct stereotypes. Two cheerleaders, who were the first couple to arrive, quite predictably were unrestrained in venting their feelings, which were a mixture of disgust and horror. Their first assignment was to collect water. The cheerleaders were very fit; however, they did themselves no favours by insisting on carrying the buckets of water at arm’s length. As a consequence, they struggled since the buckets proved to be very heavy.

‘Why don’t they put the buckets on their heads?’ complained Mbambo.

‘They’re not used to carrying water. They don’t know how to,’ said Nomalanga.

It did not take long for the other contestants to catch up with the cheerleaders even though they did not seem to know how to carry buckets of water either. The cheerleaders were faced with the task of mixing mud and dung and making the plaster. They did not even want to touch the mixture, and they squealed and complained vociferously as they plastered the walls. Mbambo found the spectacle highly amusing.

‘It would be more interesting if the cheerleaders did not behave like princesses,’ observed Nomalanga.

‘Ye,’ agreed Mbambo, ‘it would be much better if those who appeared least suited to the tasks turned out to be the best.’

‘It makes you wonder how real it is,’ added Nomalanga.

The very idea that it might be real made Mbambo laugh, for he was convinced it was a performance worthy of any theatre company. Once Mbambo recovered, he asked. ‘Why do our clients put themselves through such agony? Why come all the way to Zimbabwe to do our ‘Treasure Hunt’?’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Nomalanga.

‘Well, if I were them, I’d take it easy,’ contended Mbambo. ‘I’d enjoy the scenery, meet people, and behave like an adult instead of playing childish games.’

‘So, you think our version of ‘First One Home’ is just as silly?’ asked Nomalanga.

‘Ye,’ agreed Mbambo.

‘But malume, they’re not tourists, these ones who play ‘Treasure Hunt’. They’ve been sent by their companies. It’s to make them better managers. It’s called team building,’ contended Nomalanga.

‘Team building?’ repeated Mbambo, more perplexed than ever.

‘Ye, by giving them tasks they have to learn to cooperate, be self-reliant, solve problems. Some of them have to show leadership,’ contended Nomalanga.

Mbambo thought about it and then he realised it did sound familiar. ‘Oh, you mean like a military exercise.’

Nomalanga had no idea what Mbambo meant by military exercises; the analogy sounded very dubious, very dubious indeed. She could not get the image out of her head of soldiers in fatigues doing callisthenics on a parade ground. Mbambo laughed again. Rich, pampered Americans were being put through their paces in a third world country. It was ridiculous a idea. He just shook his head and said no more.

The next day Mbambo and Nomalanga met at Mosi-Oa-Tunya Hotel in front of the terrace. Their clients had already eaten their breakfast. They stood on the lawn, waiting for their briefing. Nomalanga was responsible for running the day’s activities since she was the most qualified. She was a fully licensed hunter and guide, as well as an oarswoman, the only one on the river, and a qualified canoe and kayak instructor. Of course, she was the company’s favourite, and consequently the most overworked employee.

Mbambo, on the other hand, was merely a driver. He never really took much interest in the games these tourists played. Nomalanga rang a bell to start the briefing. Mbambo stood in the background as Nomalanga gave her presentation.

‘Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,’ she began. ‘Our company, Call of the Wild, invites you to participate in our very own, ‘First One Home Challenge’. We call it ‘Treasure Hunt’. We will be guiding you through a series of activities that will test you to your limits…’

When Mbambo looked at the participants, he shook his head. They were a sorry lot. His attitude had subtly changed since he had seen the original version of the competition on the television. It was no longer an entertainment; it was a test. As he watched the red bandanas being handed out, which were used to identify his team, he was not inspired with confidence. ‘We don’t stand a chance,’ he said to himself.

Nomalanga finished the briefing session. She introduced each five member team to their driver. They wore adhesive name tags. Mbambo was introduced as ‘Simon’, which was not his name. Certainly, it was customary to use an adult’s last name rather than their first name, especially when speaking to someone of Mbambo’s generation; however, the management felt that it was important to use simple first names, which were always English, for ease of communication and to promote the necessary camaraderie between clients and guides vital for the smooth running of the challenge.

Mbambo met his charges. First, he shook hands with Jaco, a young weedy man, who wrote software. Then he greeted the two older men, Piet and Hennie, and finally the women, Anika and Nel, who were also middle-aged. The older participants held senior administrative positions. They belonged to an IT firm from South Africa and were attending a conference for firms that serviced financial institutions across the border. Obviously, their bosses felt that they would benefit from some team building.

‘Well, ladies and gentlemen, let’s get started,’ said Mbambo, just as Nomalanga rang the bell for the start of the challenge. Jaco took off like a startled rock rabbit; Piet lumbered after him. It was only after they reached the steps leading up to the terrace that they realised that they did not know where they were going. Anika and Nel, on the other hand, did not react at all; they were still chatting and admiring the view of the bridge spanning the Zambezi River. Mbambo was forced to shout,

‘Chop, chop, ladies, we haven’t got all day.’ Nel and Anika were taken by surprise. Anika squealed as she scurried after the rest of her team. Nel muttered, ‘oh dear’, several times before actually getting underway.

‘Where’s Hennie?’ cried Mbambo. No one else knew. ‘Let’s hope he’s in the car park,’ said Mbambo as he shepherded his people across the terrace.

As they passed through the lobby, they saw Hennie trudging down one of the corridors that led to the rooms.

‘Hey, Hennie, where are you off to?’ shouted Mbambo. For a moment, Mbambo thought Hennie was not going to stop, and Hennie only seemed to do so reluctantly.

‘He’s doing a runner,’ said Piet.

‘Ag man, I was just going to the room,’ complained Hennie.

‘There’s no time,’ said Jaco.

‘What does it matter?’ asked Hennie irritably.

‘We won’t win if we waste time,’ said Jaco reproachfully.

‘Relax,’ said Mbambo, ‘there’s plenty of time.’

By the time the red team made it to their car, the other teams had gone.

‘The first stop is the Falls,’ said Mbambo. Mbambo put the car into gear and then drove off at a leisurely pace.

When they arrived, Mbambo gave them some advice. ‘Stick together. Now, I can’t go in with you, but the trick is to decide where you need to go first. Consult the map at the entrance.’ He handed over the first clue to Nel. She opened the envelope and read out the clue.

‘Find ‘The Liberator’ and collect the