Dorset Zimbabwean publishes thiller novel
When the economic situation in Zimbabwe deteriorated, her citizens just packed their bags and left. But the exodus was neither exactly planned nor the same for everyone. Some families seamlessly separated but others were ruthlessly taken apart by the diasporian attraction.
The author of ‘Why Rock The Boat When You Don’t Know How To Swim?’ explores life in the diaspora, through the narrative of Dolly Sibanda, whose voice rings as true as a bell.
This is a remarkable story of a Zimbabwean asylum seeker, Dolly, who finds herself in a psychiatric hospital, in Bournemouth, England, just a few months after returning from visiting her sick mother in Zimbabwe.
On her return journey to the English shores, using an asylum seeker’s British Travel Document, she experiences multiple traumatic near death situations. This leaves her unsure of what is real and what is imagination? Her husband struggles to cope with the plausibility of a stalker from Zimbabwe to the United Kingdom.
Psychiatrists tell her it is Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). A witchdoctor in Luton tells her it is witchcraft by entities envious of her. In church they tried to cast out a stubborn demon. Was there anyone who would believe her unconditionally?
The book explores trials of immigrants and the manner they experience and cope with events beyond their control. Daniel Sebata, the author, brings these events to life while maintaining suspense and inflaming the imagination. His description of housing, journeys, poverty, experiences and violence sounds drawn from really life and all adds the impact the story makes on the reader. The storyline is multi-layered with twists and turns throughout the book. The end of the story is shuttering, as Dolly comes face-to-face with the reality.
The novel launches on paperback early September, and the e-book will be available on leading e-book outlets late September.
Below are excerpts of Dolly’s story that touches every fibre of most immigrants abroad.
On immigration rules abroad, Dolly, says to her mother lying on her death bed;
“But even those so called developed countries, are governed by heartless men. Men you would think kabazalwanga babhotshwa, they were not born but poo-ed. I tried to obey those rules mama…”
I am sure some of us have been on her shoes before.
On police corruption, she observed;
If the police officers on those road blocks did just half of their job properly, Zimbabwean roads would be the safest in the world.
When her husband failed to send her the ticket as agreed before he left she says;
….When I started to hear rumours that he was seen with some white girls having a good time, the bells rang even louder than the Big Ben. Ukubona kanye yikubona kabili, once bitten, twice shy. That was why I took the ‘fly now and pay later’ scheme from a travel company, and flew to the UK, denied the visitors’ visa…..
How did you join you spouse abroad?
We are all subject to death or sickness, whether in the diaspora and in Zimbabwe. When Dolly’s mother had a second heart attack back in Zimbabwe, she visits her on a British blue asylum seeker’s passport, she apologises to her;
.…Her hands were cold.“Mama I’m here, can you hear me? Can you see me?” She didn’t respond.”……“I’m sorry for not visiting you as often as I would have wanted mama. I am embarrassed because I have nothing to show for being in the land of plenty.
Does this ring true to you or someone you know?
When she arrived in Bulawayo to see her sick mother she states;
I was walking on a ten centimetre stiletto and my nails were painted red, I had to make an impression, after all I had just arrived in Zimbabwe from the United Kingdom.
With size 36DD breasts and natural, no boob job, I twisted a few necks that day. My breast and buttocks balanced my body quite nicely. I didn’t look like I would fall on my face because of the size of my breasts overcoming the weight of my buttocks. Nor did I appear like I would fall backwards due to the size of my buttocks, too heavy for my breasts. I didn’t look like those white girls in Bournemouth, whose backs were as flat as planks, who went for a 40F boob jobs, leaving them leaning forward like grannies.
On her return journey to the United Kingdom, Dolly was forced to cross Limpopo River on foot and she was rightly concerned, as she observed;
Their breakfast, lunch and dinner is made up of Zim fresh meat. If a South African and a Zimbabwean crossed the Limpopo River hand in hand, I would bet with my last penny that the crocodiles would pick the Zimbabwean……I took comfort from the fact that as a supposedly new British citizen the crocodiles might spare me, they might show me some respect.
Beans, Dolly’s family friend, on South Africans’ xenophobic;
….Those who escaped white persecution, were given sanctuary by the very people they are killing today. They have very short memories indeed….
Were you in South Africa, when Zimbabweans and other Africans were burnt alive?
We are all prone to mental illness, in the United Kingdom it is estimated that one in four people suffer from some form of mental illness in their life time. Research has also shown that a high number of immigrants are diagnosed with a mental illness, which could be partly due to social exclusion in foreign lands, separation from family and friends and many other factors. Dolly had a stimulating debate with her nurse escort at Engutsheni hospital, in Bulawayo, during her visit;
….“Explain how medication works? Explain to a mad man why his brains are not working? What would he use to understand what you are teaching him since his brains are not working? There’s a sign on his forehead written ‘out of order’ and you try to explain science to him….
“Would you want your brother or father……when they developed a mental illness…. to be treated….in this hospital?”
“You are insulting me?….. you want to jinx my family.”
This displays how people with mental illness are perceived in their countries of origin.
On the fear of her developing a mental illness, she says;
I began to fear the state of my mind. I thought to myself how does insanity develop? Does one go to bed as usual and work up the following morning a raving lunatic.
Dolly chases what is supposed to be her stalker, at Castlepoint Shopping Centre, as she comments;
The sight of her sent me loopy, I even forgot that I was pregnant….. I didn’t only run on my adrenaline, but that of my unborn baby too.
Is she really being stalked, if so by who and why?
On being picked by the police so often, she observes;
.…people might have thought that I used police cars for my personal errands. I was never picked up by police car, in Comrade Moment of Madness’ police state.
Dolly’s reluctance to take antipsychotic medication, due to its side-effects, led her to visit a witchdoctor in Luton.
His advice was that I should smear my whole body with his concoction mixed with ashes in the bush in Bournemouth? That witchdoctor should have been knighted by the Queen for his excellent work. He deserved a medal.
“I’m not having a witchdoctor fondling my bottom. I’m not inhaling his dog poo, I’m…”
“Don’t be so disrespectful Dolly. This man is trying to help you. To help us.”
….I lifted up my maternity dress and pulled down my panties to expose my behind in full. The witchdoctor …….. was thunderstruck by the size of my boot….
This is a custom, which Dolly thinks that it is better left in your home country as she came to regret later.
Her visual hallucinations and nightmares have an impact on her marriage.
“I’m not moving out Ice,” I said to him, adding emphatically, “This is England. You will move out if you so wish, not me. It’s your choice.”
“What about the baby?” Both of us went quiet for a while, before he finally said, “You can keep it too if your England wants it.
For those with spouses, how many times have been reminded; ‘this is England, America, Canada, Australia’ you cannot do or say this and that?
On her marriage problems she says;
I felt humiliated. I would lie awake for hours, pondering on how my life had changed. The cuddles and ‘love yous’ had disappeared?
We just lived our separate lives under the same roof. When our friends visited we pretended that everything was fine, we were both told when we got married, “don’t wash your linen in public.”
On multiculturalism in Great Britain, Beans has his own views.
“The policy only succeeded on separating people not integrating them…….
Multiculturalism has created “little apartheids” in the middle of England!” Beans emphasised….
But Dolly has her own ideas too;
….Their witchdoctor would have……..thrown away all his skins and clothes during the integration. He might have studied proper medicine instead……
On Zimbabwean names Dolly gives us her views;
Zimbabweans surnames or totems are not exempt either. ………Take for example, Manyengavana – the one who proposes love to children or Chinanzvavana – the one who licks children or kiddy-licker. Such surnames could be deemed politically incorrect.
Beauty, an asylum seeker from North London, explains how some people claimed asylum.
….she asked her friend ukuthi am’ayine izibunu, to iron her bums. …..If she marries one of those docile church boys who only test the pudding after marriage, he would realise very late that he bought a car with broken shock absorbers ha ha ha!……
On her brother who died while trying to liberate Zimbabwe, she expresses her views.
…..But if he really died for Zimbabwe indeed, that was a tragic death. A wasted life. A well-meant sacrifice that had since been hijacked by Comrade Moment of Madness.
When cornered by a hyena in the Limpopo region, she has to survive or else she will not see the following day, but her only consolation was that she would never know about it.
….Using the branch of the tree that was almost horizontal to the ground, at my shoulder level, I tied my left hand, making some kind of a three quarter cross. Just like Jesus Christ, but with his right arm missing…..I had run out of hands…
To cure her mental illness, her church arranged a Big Sunday to cast her demons out.
…..The song just nailed my encounters with the short woman with puppy eyes. I had ran, looked and circled to no avail. As we sang the song we ran, looked and circled…… Yes, I did enjoy myself at the baby shower, but in the church, I got drunk with sweetness.
At the end of the story Dolly comes face-to-face with the reality, as her world breaks apart.
Did I take the eye off the ball when I chased the short woman with puppy eyes? Was she a dummy, a non-event?…I had rocked the boat until it capsized, it was time to swim or sink…
The following is the summary of her experience in her own words.
“The past nine months of my life are like human creation, from conception to birth and then finally, death. My last nine months started with crazy love making with Ice, just as what happens before most women get pregnant. Some hard labour is put into those home factories called bedrooms. Rotas have to be timed to perfection for successful results.
“The crocodile and hyena attacks as well as carjack are the dreaded pregnancy sicknesses, which, unfortunately, most pregnant women have to endure. The morning sicknesses that leave you regretting the hard labour you put in that home factory.
“The nightmares, appearing and disappearing of the short woman with puppy eyes, are the cyst, you tell your doctor that you are pregnant and she tells you that her ultrasounds tell her that it’s a fibroid not a baby. As the visual hallucinations increase in intensity, so is the growth of the baby, or cyst. As the baby or cyst continues to grow, the doctor tells you that since you are almost thirty years, she will have to remove your uterus, otherwise these cancerous cells might spread to some parts of your body. You strongly disagree with your doctor and refuse to contemplate the removal of your uterus because you still harbour some slight hope that you might fall pregnant one day. You also secretly hope that you are really pregnant and the doctor is wrong. At the same time you are caught in a dilemma, to remove the cyst or risk the spread of the cancer.
“One day you feel like poo-ing and you go to the toilet, and guess what comes out instead of poo, a baby. You are rightly angry with your doctor for not believing you all along. You are angry with your husband for not believing you too. You’re angry with the whole world for conniving against you. But, it’s too late. You are now a mother. Although this is something you have been trying and wishing for, for many years, you are not ready to be a mother. To put it bluntly, you are an unfit mother.
“In anger and rage you attempt to flash the baby down the drains, your friend suddenly shows up and tells you to stop it. You then shove your cyst, sorry, baby, in her hands and order her to look after it. The doctor is no longer there to say sorry. You are left on your own to dry like biltong. To deal with the consequences. After all you are not the first one to suffer like that, you’re just a number.”
