Counter 2 ~ Part 1

By Zimwriter

There is this one memorable day in your life when you woke up hyperactive. You arrive at work extremely inspired and you start your job with unstoppable zeal and enthusiasm. Should the worker of the year be rated that day, you will scoop the prize. In fact you could be promoted straight away to become the Branch Manager. Now with the indigenization that’s going on 51% will catch up with you while you are already a Manager.

Ultra inspired to work, you will almost let the tea break pass by were it not for the fact Rutendo brought her lunch box. Now everybody knows Rutendo’s baking skills. Blessed is the person who will eventually marry Rutendo. I know baking is her hobby but I reckon it is inspired by the economic hardships in the country. She will be trying to cut costs. Do the sums, a few baking ingredients, less than ten bucks and she can bake cookies that can nourish and sustain her and her little sister who is at university. They stay together.

People are different. Rutendo and her sister, two worlds. Rutendo is calm collected and mature. Maybe that comes with being the first born. And the little sister..phew! mwana ane dzungu iyeye. Akavhengedzera.Anenge loose biscuit futi. {That Child is irrevocably overzealous. Way too forward. She could be an easy lay}. That other day at the interbank sports championships, there she was all over me, you would think we are childhood buddies yet we only met for the first time that day. She was seductively pleading with me to help her come up with a topic for her undergraduate research project. Something to do with human rights. This girl, she will cause me to sin along the lines of adultery. She is pursuing a BA Laws at Harare University.

“I am J Law. J as in Jenniffer. And Law as in Mutemo {the Law}. We are the advocates of tomorrow. Jeniffer & Associates. Practitioners at Law.”

She was drinking Green Valley white wine which I had bought for her at Spar Joina City. Cheap white wine for cheap university girl, I was musing to myself as I downed my Viceroy Brandy and coca~cola at the Bankers Sports Stadium. When she returns to varsity next semester she will be gloating about me and how I spoiled her with imported French white wine…hahahahaha. These university girls! I am used to working with the public, honestly I think she is just a free spirit.

When you have a routine job like mine, you end up working like an automaton. You know exactly what your day will be like. I am a bank teller. In this dollarized economy, the pattern is predictable. Salary deposits clear, the salaried worker comes and withdraws everything. Civil servants in all their shapes, sizes and departments come every month on time to empty their accounts. Occasionally Zinwa employees come. ZBC workers are scarce in the banking halls. Maybe they are given their salaries in their hands ..like domestics. Pensioners come religiously for their forty and sixty dollars from NSSA every month end.

In a banking hall you get to meet all kinds of people like that old woman who is in the queue. I can tell from experience that if you serve that type all your reserve energy will be emptied together with her bank account. I pray dear lord her turn to be served comes so that she is served at Rutendos counter. Dear Lord I do not want to spoil the positive energy which I started off this morning with.

An idea hits me mid-prayer.

Let me close my counter pretend to go to the toilet so that by the time i..

“Gogo! Endayi pa Counter 2. Musamire mumutsetse!”
{Grandma. Skip the queue and go to Counter 2}

That moment when you scream silently since your mind has been read before you act on your thoughts.

“Rutendoooooooooooooooo!”

But all you do is smile and heave a silent sigh summoning all the energy you have, preparing for the storm you are sure is brought by this old lady bank client.

“Good Morning. How can I help you Grandma.”

Wait and see how disorganized these old people are. Grandma starts searching almost endlesslly her handbags. I am dutifully patient.

“Ndinofara mwana wekubereka. Ndoda kuvhara Account yangu.”
{Morning child of my womb. I am here to close my account and withdraw all my money?}

“Chiiko chanetsa Mbuya?”
{Why Grandma?Whats the problem?}

“You are not sending me statements anymore. I want to go to the rural areas. I am done with city life.”

She hands me her withdrawal slip and her ID.

“Fill in the whole amount in my account for me.”

I punch in the account number.
Nothing.
I double check the number and search using her name.
Nothing.
Urine visits me and I say.

“Give me a moment Gogo{Grandma} Machona, let me get you the account closure forms.”

I exit my booth straight to IT and asks Chris.

“This account does not exist, what could be happening?”

Chris looks at the account number.

“Sundays are for church not boozing. Ok? Can’t you see this is a Zimdollar account? Check in the dummy and mirror accounts. Asi waakuda kupisa mari? bwahahahahaha!” {You now want to “burn” money}

My heart beats. I am wowed. I return to my counter and tell Grandma

“Your account eeem Gogo, Zimdollars are no longer in circulation.”

“Its ok just give them to me and close my account.”

She is calm collected and sure footed. Here comes trouble. Ukanzwa bofu richiti huya tirwe panecharakatsika. {When a blind man says lets fight, his feet are stepping on a weapon} God has a way of doing things. I understand now why today Monday I woke up with extra energy. God was preparing me for this.

“Is my account empty?”

“No but…”

“Process the withdrawal and close my account.”

I analyse the deposits and saw her story written in the transaction history file in the form of a series of deposits a few withdrawals and plenty of interest, in Zimdollars. I felt for her.

You look again at her with a fresh eye and you see her properly. The clothes she is putting on are designer labels. Old yet neat. That must be a Princess Diana outfit. Those shoes are Foschini. That handbag is clearly Louis Vuitton. This Granny, I tell you she was monied a few years ago.

So what happened?
She was dispossessed by dollarization. Dear Lord!

So what is her justice?

She is not saying it but I can hear her scream, rant and rave.

“I sold my house and received the payment through the bank so my money equivalent to a house is held in this bank! I broke my back growing high grade tobacco! I spent endless nights sleeping in the open at the Tobacco Auction Floors! I was given agrobearer cheques! I deposited them in this account! A whole high grade tobacco crop is deposited in this bank account! Don’t you mess with me! I want my money! “

But she says calmly,

“I know my money. It weighs 35 tonnes. Which is like ten Mazda T35 trucks.”

“Holly Miracle Money!” I gasp

END OF PART 1