They Called It Academic Genocide Part 9: Zimbabwe Footers Association (ZIFA)

The cars which were being destroyed were the same cars which were taking us to campus every morning and back. With taxis and kombi fares skyrocketing, responding to the over 500 million per cent inflation rate, ‘lifts’ were the only option for most of us. Lifts were private vehicles that we begged for discounted fares. In fact, lifts were actually not the only option for some of us. Walking - footing - was the other option. We called it ZIFA; Zimbabwe Footers Association. There was no pride nor honour in being a ZIFA member. No need for subscriptions or membership fees. Just walking to and from campus was enough. So yes, I was a member of ZIFA as well during that time. I knew my roads pretty well, just like fellow ZIFA members and associates. One condition for selecting roads was to choose routes seldom plied by kombis and public transport. This was done for two reasons; to keep ZIFA membership a secret to fellow students and avoid being bothered by touts and kombi drivers. Because I stayed in Greenwood Park, Fife Avenue and 10^th Street - about 8km from the university, the most convenient road was Fifth Street. It was secluded and isolated enough. It was supposed to be. That particular road passed behind the Zimbabwe House which is the residential side of the State House. The security along that road was indicative of that functionality. Even though the President was staying at his private residence in Borrowdale Brooke, the Blue Roof, security details continued to man the area with verve and vigour.

The presence of armed security details made it a very difficult choice for the ZIFA members. There were lots of dos and don’ts and behavioural expectations. For example, you were supposed to just walk looking in front and not looking everywhere. There were no time restrictions along Fifth Street as opposed to Seventh Street aka Borrowdale Road, however, the road was dangerous to use between 6am and 6pm every day. Failure to abide by these restrictions and expectations would attract unnecessary attention from the AK47 wielding soldiers. You were also not supposed to stop. That was a no, no exceptions. I remember the day I was nearly forced to stop on my way from campus. I had my drinking water, borehole water, in a 500ml plastic bottle when I met a gentleman who was coming from the CBD direction. He stopped and asked me for water. I shushed him and handed him the bottle, he was very grateful. But before consuming, he asked if it was safe to drink. I understood him because the nation was reeling from a serious cholera outbreak that had claimed many lives and was still prevailing. Harare, in particular, Budiriro, Glen View(s), Mabvuku and Chitungwiza suburbs were ravaged, typical of the epicentre. But the whole country was under siege from the communicable disease. I told him it was borehole water and dismissed him. He wanted to drink and hand back the drinking bottle but I told him no need. He could not understand so I whispered; “We are not allowed to stop here”. Lucky him, he was going the other direction, towards Alexandra Park. Meanwhile, one soldier literally jumped off the pine tree and landed in a neat flower bed, destroying a few in the process. He did not bother enumerating the damages. He ran on the freshly irrigated and manicured lawn towards me.

I tried the ZIFA trick; walk up straight, look where you are going, don’t stop – no matter what. He whistled. First time I ignored but was very conscious that it was him calling me. When he whistled again, I slightly turned my head to the left-hand side – where he was. Now that I had his attention, he literally screamed. “Iwe mupfanha mira mhani iwee!!” – (“Young man stop right there!!”). One of the unwritten ZIFA rules was that ‘even if they ask you to stop, don’t stop’. ‘Sometimes they will be doing so to tempt you and if you fall for the temptation then you are in trouble’, the lesson was expanded. I hesitated a bit and then stopped. 'Stop' is a soft word to describe what I actually did. I froze. I felt some cold air penetrating my organs and tissues but I also felt sweat on my nose. I just felt it but it was not there when I tried to wipe it. That was enough to confirm that I had entered into the Fear Mode. Usually, it is accompanied by Fight and or/ Flight. But at that time Fear was dispatched alone. He came and stopped right next to me as if to see who was taller. In my mind, I just thought, ‘eish no need man. You are taller and bigger. Just let me go’. As if he had read my secret thoughts, he took a step back and examined me. Head to feet. Feet to head. His eyes were bloodshot and teary, betraying an underlying optic disease or substance abuse. I believed the latter.

“Apo manga muchiitei apo?” – “What were doing there?” he asked whilst pointing at the ‘crime scene’. He did not remove his eyes from me. “Oh apo? Ndanga ndichipa baba avo mvura, Vakumbira mvura vachiti vane heart problem” – “Oh there? I was giving that old man some water. He desperately needed some water because he said he has a heart problem”. I responded, making a combo of the truth and something that I just made up. “So what did you say to him? Why were you looking here and pointing this side?”, he asked. He was lying of course. We never pointed anywhere nor used hands – other than in exchanging the water bottle – in our hurried and hushed conversation. “I was telling him this is a protected area, we are not supposed to stop”, I told him. “How do you know that?” he asked again. “I stay nearby and besides; I know state residences are protected areas”. “Unoita nezvei – What do you do?” “I am just a student at UZ”. I wanted to tell him that I am also a ZIFA affiliate. I wanted to tell him that I am not alone in that association, neither was membership limited to students only. The man I had just assisted with water was a ZIFA member, in another Chapter. Every morning I would meet ZIFA members and associates coming from different directions, going in different directions. Some going to work. Some coming from work. Others rushing for hospitals visiting times. Others going to the market. Different chapters but same ZIFA, I wanted to let it out but could not. I wanted him to know that my father was waking up at 4am every day, walking to his workplace many kilometres away, but his take home was drained by inflation before feeding anyone or saving for his and my transport needs. In the end, I just looked at him, expecting some more interrogative questions but not hoping for them. He looked lost and confused on the course of action to take. Probably it was his first incident with a ZIFA member from the UZ Chapter. Then we were both startled by the screeching and loud noise from the large black metal gate that concealed everything inside the protected palace. It plus the precast wall, electric wire and the armed security details, fortified everything inside Zimbabwe House. I had a quick glance of the inside but could not see beyond the man who was wearing a police uniform dragging the gate to make it wide open. He stopped briefly to salute whoever was in the SUV which was about to drive out. The soldier who was quizzing me just turned to me and said dismissively; “baya mupfana – Go young man!” He sounded as if he did not want to attract anyone's attention. I obliged and walked without turning all the way to the other side of Josiah Tongogara Avenue... 

To be continued...