They Called It Academic Genocide Part 4

I wanted to leave immediately but I couldn’t. Curiosity urged me to stay a little longer and watch. Watch? I was equally affected by this. How could I just watch a stone that was about to strike me? Just to borrow from Dambudzo Marechera… The student who had gathered the courage to address everyone else wasn’t discouraged by cautions about the Great Hall being locked. He quickly improvised. A few moments later, he was now on the small wall surrounding the Great Hall. “Ahoy UBA!!! Ahoy USA!!”. UBA and USA are monikers used by university students in Zimbabwe referring to university male students and female students respectively, standing for University Bachelors Association and University Spinsters Association. “Ahoy!!!!”, both UBAs and USAs responded to the war cry as started by the brave man who had gathered the courage to address everyone. Although this was my very first time of physically witnessing this, I wasn’t oblivious of the course it was taking and the consequences. With the Public Order and Security Act (POSA) intact, this thing was likely going to be violently crushed by the security forces. I contemplated leaving again, but once again curiosity forced me to stay. I looked around, some UBAs and USAs were still undecided, just like me. But because this was affecting all of us, they were gathering some courage. Meanwhile, the man addressing us never got discouraged.

Back then

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are demonstrating against the 400.00 US dollars that we have been asked to pay before exams”. He erased all my doubts. This was a demo, I confirmed whilst securing my shoelaces preparing to run away. With my shoes done, and my belt tightened, I decided to wait for a few moments and listen a little more. And then a battle started in my mind… If I leave, will I not be betraying the cause? Am I not affected by this decree just like everyone else? Do I have the capacity to pay? Who is earning that much in US dollars? Yes, in January - the previous month - that year, the Acting Finance Minister had officialised the use of multicurrency in the country. But even government workers were earning just $100.00 which was coming in the form of grocery vouchers and redeemable fuel coupons. I had no capacity to pay what was needed, let alone in under two weeks. After a few moments of reflection, I decided to stay.

“Ahoyi UBA and USA!!!!…”, the man’s firm and angry voice brought me back to the gathering, which was swelling with each passing second. “…we are protesting against Nyagura (Professor Levy  Nyagura, then Vice-Chancellor at the University of Zimbabwe) but we are here, looking confused as if we don’t know where his office is. Why can’t we take this right to his doorstep?” It was not a question, it was an instruction. Just after saying that, the man started walking towards the Admin building which housed the VC’s office. Behind the same building was a car park where the top university bureaucrats would park their top of the range vehicles. The VC himself had a fleet of luxurious and off-road vehicles. I still remember a Mitsubishi Colt bakkie and Mercedes Benz S500 (I think). A few people joined the man to the admin building. Unfortunately, or fortunately, the VC was not there. In fact, no one was there. The usually lively and glittering car park was completely deserted. By the time we got to the car park, people were now singing. Unifying songs. Songs that brought emotions. Songs from the heart. Songs that educated me of the role that music played during the liberation struggle. Songs to mobilise and have all stand as one…

I recognised some familiar faces in the crowd. Aleck Mwabvu, someone I had known and became friends with since Form 1. Godfrey Nyambuya, whom I had befriended owing to his closeness to Aleck, was also in the crowd. I realised the stone was not only going to strike me but a whole lot. Someone instructed the crowd to go back to NC6, an open space near the library, between the Great Hall and the Admin building. The library was deserted as people were packing NC6. University security, also known as GBs - Green Bombers, a name derived from the colours of their uniforms -  were battling to contain the crowd. They were also chucking people out of the library. Others were manning the access points, restricting entrance and exit. It was a very busy day for them.

Meanwhile, at NC6 someone else had taken over the speaking. He was standing on a concrete round table. “Ahoy UBA… Ahoy USA… Ahoy!!!!” He followed the slogan with a long and deliberate pause. Some were getting impatient with him, so to press him to speak faster, they broke into a song. “UBA seva, seva seva iweee, UBA seva, seva seva iweee”, which can be loosely translated to ‘UBA please speak’. But this UBA was not rushed. He just looked at the people and took a long pause, again. Then he gestured with his hands that he was now ready to speak. The song came to an abrupt end. All ears and eyes were now fixed on him.

“We are sons and daughters of peasant farmers… We are sons and of poor teachers… Where on earth can we extract 400 US dollars?” It seemed everyone was waiting for this message. Simple as it was, it had a certain effect on people. The man left the stage as songs began. A few guys with sophisticated cellphones drew them out to take photos and others were filming. I wasn’t keen on being captured on cameras though. As this was meant to be a peaceful protest, the songs continued. And I continued to evade the cameras.

"To be continued..."