LET THEM TRY
When I am eating a well grilled T-bone steak, I hate to be disturbed.
The disturbance on that sunny Thursday morning came in form of a resounding series of bangs on my gate. The person hitting the gate was either a damned idiot, I presumed, or was looking to start a fight. Why would he vandalize my expensive property when there was a bell button, very big and very red, as well as the instruction ‘Ring Bell’ inscribed in the most legible…
After taking a big bite of my T-bone, I jumped off the garden chair and headed for the gate.
“Hey I'm coming, you donkey!” I shouted as the bang got louder. “Are you planning to buy me a new gate?”
I was startled to an abrupt stop by a khaki envelope which flew over the entrance towards me. As I picked it up, I heard a motorbike start and take off outside. I studied the envelope as I returned to my spot under the jacaranda tree.
It was from the Bulawayo City Council, but it was definitely not a water bill or an invitation to a public meeting.
After attending to the meat once again, I finally tore it open. I forgot to breathe for a minute as I stared at the heading.
EVICTION NOTICE.
I once again checked the address on the envelope. The letter was definitely mine. But the house was mine, too!
“The Bulawayo City Council regrets to inform you that the land on which you built your house has been legally acquired in terms of Section 3:5 of the Urban Lands Tenure Act…”
I read on in disbelief. I was being chucked out of my own house. I had a month to vacate. It made no sense at all to me.
Five years back,when my auto repair business started to flourish, I had bought a piece of undeveloped land - from the Council itself - and followed every piece of procedure when I built my thirteen roomed semi-mansion. Either the records had been mixed up or someone was playing a dangerous practical joke with me.
I pulled out my phone and called the number which had been generously added at the end of the letter.
To my surprise, the call was answered by the Deputy Town Clerk himself. Enquiries usually went through Reception.
I spent the next three minutes explaining my case to the DTC.
“Sir, it must be very hard for you,” started the city officer, “but the records in front of me show that stand number 12, Hudson Crescent was officially idle until it was recently purchased by, let's see… by Tinashe Ndoro. That's not you, I suppose?”
“Of course not,” I replied flatly.
“In other words,” he continued, “you live in an illegal structure. You are very lucky to be allowed to leave, without any criminal charges levelled against you. Plus, do be grateful that you have been given a whole month to vacate the premises.”
“So I should demolish the house before I…”
“No!” He vehemently responded. “The Council will handle that. What I only ask of you is to save yourself more trouble and do the right thing without fighting us.”
“Of course I will fight you!” I heard myself burst in anger. “I told you I’ve got title deeds for this property!”
“Fraudulently obtained, of course,” scoffed the DTC’s voice.
“Voetsek, man!” I snapped. “I still have every receipt from the purchase of the stand up to the last transaction I did with you guys!”
“Then those receipts are forgeries too no doubt.”
Dazzled by the anger in me, I flung the cellphone at the far distance and half-watched it disappear into the neighbour’s yard.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
I turned to see a petified Sandra standing in the veranda, staring at me. I had even forgotten that there was someone else in the house. As usual, Sandra was only waking up now. Not that she was a champion sleeper, but she was fresh out of Khami Maximum Prison where a good sleep was as rare as a sunny midnight.
She went on: “Did I just see you throwing an iPhone over the wall?”
I stood up as I replied. “You and I are next over the wall.”
“Excuse me?”
“Somebody wants to kick us out of this house.”
“What? But I thought…”
“It’s mine, damn it!” I shouted, and instantly regretted it. “Sorry, I…”
“Its okay, Skyman. Just tell me what this is all about.”
********
I waited for the whole hour in the Charge Office of Bulawayo Police Station. I was already contemplating to rise and vacate when a tall, gangly officer with heavily stained teeth approached the concrete bench I was sitting on.
“You must be Skyman Dube,” he started, grinning. He was probably oblivious of his dental situation.
“And you must be the VIP who kept me waiting for an…”
“Sorry, man. I was checking out the facts of your story. Follow me to my office, please. I am Inspector Chimene, by the way.”
As soon as Inspector Chimene took a seat behind his desk, the brown teeth vanished behind a pair of pouting lips.
“I know who you are, Mr Dube,” he said. “You are an ex convict who used to rob banks.”
He paused. I said nothing.
“This year is the ninth since you were released from prison, and you have built a house worth a quarter of a million bucks, no?”
“Your facts are precise,” I replied, tonelessly.
“Right. Your car repair business is also not a million dollar venture, no?”
I stood up. “Whats your point, policeman?”
“Sit down. You supposedly bought a stand four years after your release; no mechanic in the world would buy a stand in Morningside in a space of four years, let alone build such a house. Either you forged those receipts, sir, or you involved yourself in some illegal fundraising project.”
“Bloody moron!” I shouted. “I came here to…”
“The Municipality wouldn’t lie, Mr Dube. Just vacate their land and don’t give them grief, or we will have you thoroughly checked out and throw you back to jail for property fraud.”
“What fraud?”
“One more thing, Mr Skyman Dube. I understand your romantic companion is one Sandra Banda.”
“So?”
“She’s also an ex-con, right?”
I sprayed the policeman with spittle and stormed out.
**********
I was on my third pint of Carling Black Label at The Horizon when Patrick Solenbutt joined me at the far enfd of the bar. Known as the Scandal Hunter, Solenbutt was a freelance reporter whose reputation included the dismissal of two government ministers and the imprisonment of a city mayor. Like me, he was an ex convict who had come out of jail with a new purpose in mind.
“This better be good, Skyman,” he started as he snapped his finger at the bartender.
I replied: “Why would I need you for anything good?”
I spent the next ten minutes explaining my case to Solenbutt.
“So,” he finally interrupted me, “what exactly did you find newsworthy about your ordeal?”
“Don’t be a swollen backside, Patrick,” I replied, trying in vain to conceal the impatience in me. “There is obviously a group of mamparas out there who are busy stealing people’s houses; im sure im not the only victim. If you and I can prove that, then your dry spell of stories will be over.”
Solenbutt looked at the ceiling and laughed. I frowned.
“Sky, let’s get one thing straight,” he murmured. “You are not worried about my dry spell. You are worried about having to live in an imaginary house after they…”
“Skip the motive crap, man,” I said with finality. “Let’s just do this.”
**********
When I got home at 6pm, I pulled three Carling Black Labels out of the fridge and went back to the garage to sit in the car. I wanted to think. I punched the steering wheel in dismay when the smaller door of the garage opened and Sandra walked in. At that moment, I wished I was the woman and she the man.
It is quite easy for a woman to say, “Go away, I want to be alone.”
But said the other way round, that statement might lead to a lot of unthinkables, including a night without contact games.
I concealed my disapproval by rummaging through the glove box as she got into the car.
She started: “So what did the cops say?”
“They denied that they were even cops,” I replied.
“What do you mean?”
I explained to her the details of my trip to the police station, including my meeting with Solenbutt.
“Sky, you can trust me,” she finally said, her eyes trained on mine.
I just stared at her, confused.
She went on. “Are you really sure you bought this land? I mean, the Municipality wouldn’t…”
“Sandra!” I exploded. “Are you listening to your bloody self?”
“Im not saying I don’t believe you, Sky, but…”
“Then what the hell are you saying?”
My new Huawei cellphone saved the day. Its shrill ringtone startled us both. It was Solenbutt calling.
“Skyman, you are a lucky guy,” his excited voice whispered.
I said nothing.
He continued, “I ran some background check on the Deputy Town Clerk. It looks like Mr Trevor Sibanda has previously worked for at least three other municipalities.”
“And that helps us a lot, right?” I sarcastically said.
“Let me finish! When Mr Sibanda was working in Beitbridge, at least two guys lost their properties. When he was in Plumtree, at least two more guys lost houses. One of them fought all the way to the Supreme Court but lost.
“Nice.”
“Then our dear Sibanda went to Victoria Falls…”
“I can easily guess,” I interrupted him. Look, im coming to your house right now.”
“Don’t hang up, Skyman,” he said. “There is one common thing about these victims.”
“What?”
“They are all ex-convicts.”
********
I had hooted twice in front of Solenbutt's house, but there was no response. I noticed the Jialing motorbike which was awkwardly parked in front of the entrance I cut the engine of my Isuzu and got out.
"If you are thinkiñg what I'm thinking," spoke Sandra, "then let's climb over the gate very fast."
I said nothing. I was too angry with her to acknowledge that she was right.
"I'm not thinking what you are thinking," I replied distantly. "And it's been more than two decades since I climbed over someone's gate."
Sandra snorted something inaudible and started clambering over the not-so-challenging steel gate. I had no choice but to follow.
Ever since Sandra hinted that she did not believe my version of the problem at hand, I had begun to build a theory that she was part of whichever gang that was trying to scam me. I had tried to stop her from accompanying me to Solenbutt's house, but she had buckled up and challenged me to drag her out of the car.
Solenbutt's front door was wide open. I shoved Sandra aside and looked inside. I would not have expected worse than what I saw.
The coffee table in the middle of the sitting room was a mess of broken glass and blood coating.
I heard Sandra let out a gasp, which would have been a shrill scream were she any other regular woman. She shoved me forward and I entered the house.
A continuous trail of blood started from the ruined table and stretched into the kitchen. When I stepped into the kitchen, I immediately saw the corpse.
"He tried to kill me," said Solenbutt, emerging from the dark pantry.
I jumped. Sandra gasped again.
"Don't frighten me like that, Patrick!" I whispered unpleasantly.
Solenbutt ignored my rebuke and continued speaking.
" I spotted him climbing the gate. I then sneaked out through the back door and..."
"Who is he?" I asked.
Solenbutt hesitated and looked hurt that I had no time to listen to his supersoldier story. Then he tossed an ID card at me. And another. And a third one. And then a passport.
The documents belonged to three different nationalities. One was for a Tanzanian named Roy Safewa. The other ID and the passport both belonged to a Nigerian, Troy Emenike. The last card belonged to a Zimbabwean. Tinashe Ndoro.
"Isn't this the guy who supposedly bought your house?" Sandra asked.
"Which makes a lot of sense," said Solenbutt.
I cast a demanding stare at him.
"Newsflash, my friends," he said. "Your deputy Town Clerk's real name is Joel Emenike."
**********
The story came out on Sunday morning. In the afternoon, I was sitting like a king under the jacaranda tree, helping myself to a well grilled T-bone steak when the FM radio pleasantly disturbed me. It reported that Joel Emenike had been arrested for countless counts of fraud. His brother cum accomplice was officially on the run, but I knew that his body would never be seen again.