Once in a while everyone’s good side must reign supreme Al Capone was a gangster during the Prohibition era (1920–1933) when alcohol was banned in the USA and also established a “soup kitchen” that at its height served three free meals a day to thousands of poor persons, bringing out his good and evil sides
Al Capone was a gangster during the Prohibition era (1920–1933) when alcohol was banned in the USA and also established a “soup kitchen” that at its height served three free meals a day to thousands of poor persons, bringing out his good and evil sides

Al Capone was a gangster during the Prohibition era (1920–1933) when alcohol was banned in the USA and also established a “soup kitchen” that at its height served three free meals a day to thousands of poor persons, bringing out his good and evil sides

David Mungoshi Shelling the Nuts
Not so very long ago in this little town, a boy killed his mother in what is probably one of the most bizarre and gruesome crimes this normally somnambulistic little place has ever seen.

I had seen the boy around, a dainty fellow if there ever was one. His mother was a gentle, carefree and loving person, and she doted on him.

He was the baby of the family! But something went awfully wrong and everyone is still wondering what got into the boy’s head.

Her stab wounds must have been more painful than those of Julius Caesar and her thoughts more torn-up than Caesar’s “Et tu Brute?”

Whatever happened to our cultural taboos? Mai havarohwe ende havatukwe.Unotanda botso. Oh no, you don’t touch your mother and you don’t speak loosely to her either.

If you do that you will have to do a public penance, wearing rags and dancing like a demented fool with everyone mocking you for your foolishness. Sadly, today’s hot heads fear nothing and stand for nothing. The word ‘principle’ is not in their vocabulary. And as Simon Chopper Chimbetu mourns in one of his most pensive songs: Vane utsinye/Vanoponda chero mwana waMwari (They are so malevolent/They can kill even God’s own son).

What does the boy now languishing in jail remind you of? Well I don’t know, but I find myself wondering about that infamous axe killer after independence.

I keep wondering what was going on in his head and why he slew all the people he slew. I wonder too what his poor mother suffered inside, being the mother of a monster. Never mind girls.

Hanzi, nyoka yemvana yakazvara mbavha nemuroyi — a mother’s womb brought forth a thief and a witch. In his lacerating song ‘Axe killer’, Elijah Madzikatire captures the agony and the disappointment of a parent whose once promising child becomes a serial killer. He wails, “Ahaha-ha-ha-ha, mwana wangu axe killer!” (Could this really be my son, this axe killer, the one I thought would be a teacher or a pastor?)

But life is full of paradoxes. For this reason, in history and in fiction certain characters attain this enduring appeal in the eyes of the public. Take for instance, Ned Kelly of Australia, and Al Capone the ‘king’ of Chicago.

Though classified as a flawed hero, Ned Kelly is, nevertheless, a folk hero.

Writers and the general public forgive his crimes and choose instead to highlight his fight for justice and freedom. Ned Kelly represents the single most articulate voice against Australia’s Felons Apprehension Act of 1865. According to the act, it was more important to shoot a felon than to effect an arrest.

Al Capone was a gangster during the Prohibition era (1920–1933) when alcohol was banned in the USA and at the same time there was a huge economic depression with thousands of hungry unemployed everywhere. Capone made a fortune selling illicit alcohol. Capone established a ‘soup kitchen’ that at its height served three free meals a day to thousands of poor persons.

There does seem to be some good in everyone, just as there is some evil. It doesn’t really matter if these qualities are innate and never acted on. This brings me to the story of a common thief and burglar from Harare who becomes a revered hero in a certain rural area not too far away from the capital. Proof enough that anyone can be anything!

The thief in question has so far been no more than a petty thief, one not averse to pickpocketing either. With time this thief goes up the ranks until he is an expert burglar, stealing by stealth and by night

We shall call our burglar, Shane, the burglar. After our boy Shane does something rash in Harare he has to hide away for a while. He remembers that he has an aunt somewhere out there and decides to make her homestead his urgent destination. He arrives at his aunt’s place shortly after dusk one day.

“Son of my brother,” she asks, “What brings you here?”

Shane laughs a loud careless laugh.

“But, Dear Aunt,” Shane replies with a disarming smile, “Isn’t it good to be seeing each other again after so long. I’m just visiting Aunt. Don’t worry. This is not a working visit.”

He breaks into another of his infectious laughs and promises to be good. True to his word, nothing is reported missing in the village over the next few weeks.

One afternoon Shane goes drinking at the nearby council bar. He joins other imbibers in the ‘Special’ where you can sit on a high stool at the counter and drink from a glass. Through the corner of his eye Shane sees an empty high stool and makes straight for it. He orders his ‘poison’. He has just begun to savour his beer when someone nudges him in the ribs with an intrusive elbow. Suddenly everything seems to freeze. The silence is thick and almost palpable. Shane turns around to see who this idiot spoiling for a fight is. What he sees is a lanky old man with foul breath and a mirthless grin. He frowns. The silence deepens. On the man’s right wrist is something waxy and suspiciously like something from one of his nostrils.

“This is my seat,’ the old man says. “I sit here to drink every day.”

“What!”

Shane cannot believe his ears.

“Go away old man. This is not your junior wife’s room. It’s a pub and I did not see any ‘reserved’ tag here.”

The lull before a storm. The old man looks at him and smiles enigmatically before he walks out. Shane turns around and orders another beer. Around him the conversations comes alive again.

Next morning, back at his aunt’s place, Shane rises rather late and has an infernal headache. The aftermath of carefree indulgence. He hears his aunt call him to breakfast and rises to go. The room is full of the signs of his drunken stupor of the night before. With a struggle he makes his way to the door, inches back the bolt and opens the door. What he sees makes him gasp and draw back in fear. “God Lord!” he says to no one.

Just outside the door a roaring river is in flood. He can’t possibly cross it. Strangely, when he steps back inside the river goes away. A step forward and it comes roaring back. Bemused, Shane calls out to his aunt and tells her what is happening. She asks him if he had a misunderstanding with anyone the previous night. After listening to his story she talks to her husband where he is sitting under a tree smoking a pipe. After a few minutes the aunt’s husband rises to his feet and is off on his bicycle in a certain direction.

At first the old man denies knowledge of the happenings, but is soon persuaded to say two live goats will make the problem go away. With the compensation arranged all is well again under God’s heaven. That upstart with milk on the nose will never again start things he can’t finish. And yes, when Shane opens his door this time around he is able to walk out. He is sad and remorseful about the inconvenience to his aunt’s family and agonises over how to make amends. Once in a while everyone’s good side must reign supreme. Now is his turn.

Someone at the bar had said the old man reared and sold broilers. Time to demonstrate his prowess, once night falls.

Next morning the old man has the shock of his life. The feathers of all his broilers lie in a heap inside the chicken run and the birds are red and naked. Just as he is pondering the spectacle, a young boy arrives with a message.

“Have you seen what the little fellows I sent over have done?” is the message.

Says the small boy, “You are to follow me with four goats and you are to bring all your charms with you. If you don’t do this, his boys will be back, but this time things will really be bad.”

Shane gets his revenge and also gets a chance to be good. He neutralises the old man and makes a show of burning the surrendered charms. He warns him to never again touch or use anything of the sort if he valued his miserable life. The villagers say, “Zvazoiwana ngwarati” — a case of poetic justice. And Shane’s pedigree rises phenomenally.

Good for a change, Shane becomes the hero from Harare. We too can redeem ourselves when the worst is upon us, if we just remember that good can be cool.

Once again my friend says it’s a true story.

David Mungoshi is the author of ‘The Fading Sun’, the 2010 NASMA winner for Outstanding Fiction. The book is now an ‘A’ Level set book.

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