Laughing Now: New Stories from Zimbabwe

Christmas

Christmas Bryony Rheam IT’S A STRANGE FAMILY, OURS, A REAL MIXTURE. I manage to avoid most of them during the year, but not at Christmas. At Christmas they all pop again for the once-a year family dinner. Not that we’ll all be together this time. For one, Nicholas and Lisa are in New Zealand. They left in March and live in a place called Wellington. I looked it up in my school atlas; it’s very far away. They said to me they’d try and come back for Christmas, but Mom says they’re really busy and don’t have much money, so she didn’t expect them home. They sent us a postcard when they first arrived and I wrote back, but I haven’t heard from them since, except when they write to Gran. Gran, now she’s a funny one. Eighty-nine this year and still going strong. That’s what she always says, even after her hip replacement operation. We had to go to Joburg for that. Mom and Dad and I took her in the car and we stayed at Auntie Lesley’s place in Rivonia. We went last school holidays and stayed the whole four weeks. It was fun, except that Mom had an argument with Auntie Lesley because Mom says no one else helps with Gran and we really can’t afford it because we live in Zimbabwe. Dad says our dollar is now worth less than the Zambian Kwacha, and we always used to laugh at the Zambians. Uncle Peter comes from Zambia. He’s always talking about it. Dad calls him a ‘whenwe’ and rolls his eyes every time Uncle Peter says ‘when we were in Zambia’. My sister, Linda, says Zimbabweans are like that in England. ‘When we were in Zimbabwe’ they always say. She lives in London and works in a shop. She does the till. Dad says why leave Zimbabwe to work in a shop, when you can stay here and 104 have a good job? Linda says it’s not that easy because you earn more money working in a shop in London than you do in an office in Zimbabwe. Dad shakes his head and says so why are you living in a house with fifteen other people if you’re earning so much money? Linda says that’s what Zimbabweans do now; they try and help each other out when they first go over and don’t have much money. Dad says why don’t they help each other out while they’re in Zimbabwe, then they wouldn’t have to go to England and all squeeze into one house? Linda throws her arms up and shouts, ‘Oh, I give up!’ Linda worked in Macdonald’s for a year. That’s how she met her boyfriend, Arnie. He’s from Australia and he’s a bodyguard. Not much up top though, said Mom after last Christmas when he came back with her. Dad said it was like talking to the dog, except at least the dog responded by wagging its tail or pricking up his ears. When you spoke to Arnie, you could see the words taking a while to sink in. We played Trivial Pursuit after Christmas lunch and he didn’t even know which state Brisbane is in. Dad said afterwards that that’s like not knowing if Bulawayo was in Matabeleland or not. We even gave him two chances. I’m usually the only one who’s allowed two chances, and most of the time Mom holds a book up in front of her face and whispers the answers to me from behind it. I won once, like that. But that’s because I’m only ten. Arnie’s thirty-two. At first Mom and Dad were worried about the big age gap between Linda and Arnie, but once they met him, Dad said he felt a whole lot better. He was even too thick to cheat. At one point it was his turn to ask questions, and he didn’t even look at the answer first, like Johnnie, that’s my cousin, does when he plays. Johnnie’s a real cheat, but you have to be quick to be a good one and Arnie’s certainly not that. Dad says no wonder the guy’s a bodyguard, because if he’s shot, even in the head, all they have to do is pick him off the floor...