Lenox Lizwi Mhlanga
THERE is one thing that we Zimbabweans are so averse to, and that is keeping time.
I’ve met dozens of people who are always running late (and that, of course includes me.) Many of them have apparently never heard of that great invention called the watch. Count the number of people wearing one.
Don’t give us the lame excuse that anyone with a mobile phone has one! Chances are there are more inclined to using the sun to guesstimate what time it is.
Among the precious few who have received news about the technological breakthrough (the watch, of course), some consider it nothing more than a piece of jewellery. If it didn’t display the time, they wouldn’t care, as long as it displayed important information such as “Seiko” or “Rolex.”
Most of us have never owned a watch. We think we can do without one, even though we don’t work for the civil service. If I have an important appointment, I make sure I get there before sunrise. If not, I rely on people around me.
I last wore a watch in 1996 when I was overseas. You see, over there, time is money which is why we are so ever broke, chasing money or stealing it. Apart from the fact that my hosts insisted that I wear one, which they bought for me, I only did so that I sell it immediately I came back home.
You see, in Zimbabwe, money is money. Of the public clocks that we have here in Bulawayo, it’s only the one at the City Hall that works, most of the time! The one at the Main Post Office has never worked for as long as I can remember.
I need not mention the one at the High Court. I am sure it got stuck at that time when some notorious criminal was hanged decades ago.
In fact, it might confirm the impression that Bulawayo is the city where time stood still. If you compare us to Harare, that is.
Women are classic time wasters. If one is expected to be at a function at 6PM, one would assume that if you are ready to leave before 5.30PM, you are bound to get there right on time.
Yet the woman has only just entered the bathroom, which means that you still have enough time to read a 200-page novel and repaint the house.
Most women to their defence are much better at keeping time than many people I know. And I say that not just because men hate sleeping on the sofa, or the doghouse for that matter. For speaking the truth.
People from certain countries seem more inclined to be late. For example, if a Swede invited a Nigerian and an Indian to lunch at 1PM, Oga will arrive at 3PM, unless he gets a lift from his Indian friend, in which case they will both arrive just in time for supper. And neither of them will act as if anything went wrong.
“Apologise? What for? We got here on the same day!” They will say.
My friends at our social soccer club Amavevane have tried to adjust to this chronic disease. For example, if they want to play social soccer at 10AM we ask team members to assemble at 7AM so that they trickle in at 11AM, ensuring that the game will start promptly at 1PM. In fact the trick is not to mention time at all.
It’s far much better than buying them expensive watches. However, we will never beat the National Railways of Zimbabwe’s shoddy record of constantly not keeping to their timetable. With such a record, who needs a timetable? When the night train was still operational, (does it still?) it took off late as a matter of principle.
Never mind the fact that it arrived in Harare a day or two later! Remember, why apologise, at least the train arrived within the year. The chaps at the NRZ perhaps rest assured that they fared better than their sufferable cousin, Air Zimbabwe, whose planes never seemed to take off at one point. We have every cause to celebrate the introduction of a second frequency to Joburg from Harare. Soon there will be a resumption of the London route. Perhaps they should adopt a new slogan to boast about their excellent safety record, “Better late than being the late!”
I used to have bosses who were very irritated by meetings starting late. That did not preclude the fact that very little if anything was achieved at these marathon meetings. As long as it started on time, they were cool with it.
I am yet to meet a group of people who like to hear the sound of their voices. At high school, keeping time was a prefect’s obsession. At some point, the school issued them with those classic clocks with a winding alarm. Just to wake us up at the crack of dawn in the dead of winter just to torture us. They were called Zobo clocks and I wished prefects were called the same.
Perhaps I should buy myself one to hang around my neck as a reminder that I should not waste other people’s time. In any event, which thief or mugger would find a Zobo clock attractive to steal?