A very peculiar affair

A few years ago, one November morning, we had a very unforgettable experience. Even before we left school, my friends and I sensed there was something wrong. First, it was the call to school assembly midmorning when we were unexpectedly sent home early and told no idling on the way. When did we ever have lessons cancelled for no apparent reason? Then as we took a short cut through the market, my friend Molly and I knew something was up. There was an unusual eerie silence in the streets usually bustling with shoppers of fruit and vegetables. Stallholders were not enticing buyers to get last-minute bargains. Instead, they were rushing about packing boxes into vehicles and shouting in agitated voices among themselves. The carless had already lined up by the roadside with their vegetables heaped in woven baskets, as they tried to squeeze onto public transport. Animated taxi drivers were calling out their destinations and urging people to hurry up because no one had all day to accommodate the idlers.

I didn't hesitate to ask one woman who occasionally gave us her damaged fruit for free, "Amai, what's happening today? Why is the market closing early? Where is everyone going?"

"Morning my child, where are you coming from that you haven't heard the latest news?  Hurry up and go home, it's safer there. Here, take these oranges. I don't expect the market will reopen today."

I  left Molly at the market to find transport home and soon arrived at our block of flats near the city centre, only to be met at the gate by my mother.

"Where have you been? I was about to send a search party for you! I hope your friends are not dawdling on their way home. Get in, get in!"

"Mum, what's happening? Even the market people are closing down, and the traffic on the road is unbelievable. No-one is following the road traffic instructions in their rush to get out of the city. We nearly got run over trying to cross the main road by the shops."

"What did your headmaster tell you before you were allowed out early?"

"Nothing much, except that we should go straight home."

"That was wise of him because he probably didn't want you to panic. I hope that your father arrives home soon."

"Is he coming early as well? No one wants to tell me what's happening!"

"It's a good thing you don't have a phone because the content of the SMS and WhatsApp messages is becoming more alarming. There are rumours of a coup in progress, and if it's true, the social media may get cut off and then we will be stuck for news. Wait, wait someone has sent a video. I need to open it and see what's happening."

"Mum, what's a coup?"

"Don't they teach you such things in history, or is it Social Science at school? A coup d'état or coup is the illegal removal of a government and its powers." Usually, the army takes over in running the country."

"Will we see soldiers since we're on the main road into the city? Because I don't like guns."

"There is no other way in if they are heading for State House. That's what is circulating on social media. I am not sure whether we should believe all we read. What's this from your father? He's asking whether he should pass through school and pick you up. I better reassure him that you are already safe at home. Switch on the TV. There must be something on if the studios are still broadcasting."

My mum and I were glued to the TV when Dad entered the room saying,

"I'm so relieved you are all home. There's mayhem out there! The police and army are setting up roadblocks, and shopkeepers are boarding up their properties, there is a mad rush for groceries if the shops don't open for a while. The tension is palpable with the soldiers in the barracks planning to march into the city en-mass. It's not looking good."

I asked, "Mum if we have to stay indoors, do we have enough food?"

"Is that your priority number one Danai? Yes, lucky for you the rumours started circulating early today, and I managed to stock up. I even bought candles- you never know. My car's petrol tank is full, but if Dad says there are roadblocks, then there is nowhere to go but stay put. Dad, join us. We're watching the news."

The screen was full of old captions of scenes before Independence with men and women referred to as comrades. They had returned from the bush warfare, which was part of the liberation struggle. Most were wearing army fatigue. Their choirs sang old songs about the battles. The broadcast continued showing the country's flag, interspersed with the national anthem and what appeared to be a tourism commercial. After a short while, the music faded, and an intimidating looking soldier in army fatigue appeared on the screen, his papers in front of him, trying to work out whether the cameras were focused on him. He cleared his throat, ready to read from his script. Dad, Mai and I sat in silence.

Then I asked, "Mum, is this real?"

"Shhhh, Danai. None of us know what is happening. You should be watching this; you may learn something."

The soldier started his address:

"Good morning fellow countrymen and women. My name is Army Commander Simba of the Seventh Brigade, speaking on behalf of all the armed forces. Today is an unforgettable day in our short history of Independence. As you are aware, this country has suffered under the leadership of..."

I was never one to listen to long speeches and soon left the parents as the broadcast continued. I went downstairs to the entrance and discovered I was not alone. Our neighbours and other occupants had congregated on the steps, exchanging versions of the unfolding story.  The street was virtually empty; no cars, no traffic, apart from one or two people who had not managed to get public transport. They were making their way home, on foot, using a shortcut through an alley between our block of flats. Now and again, they would stop and start while scrutinising their phones before hurtling down the main street and disappearing. Above our din and in the distance, we heard an unmistakable rumble. Everyone performed a frantic U-turn and rushed back into the flats. Whatever the ominous sound was, it was best experienced behind our four walls.

Breathless after hurrying up the stairs to our third floor flat, I discovered the TV broadcast had finished, and the parents were deep in an animated conversation. Mum turned to me,

"Where have you been? I told you to stay indoors. Now, is not the time for disobedience! We can watch whatever happens from the safety of our flat. You should have stayed for the broadcast. I never thought I would live through a day like this."

I could hear noises from an approaching crowd and ran to conceal myself behind our lace curtains and peered through gaps. Armoured personnel carriers were passing with armed soldiers in camouflage trousers and jackets, escorting on foot. The vehicles were crawling at a snail's pace. Immediately behind were four large grey tanks. Then at a safe distance, a crowd of civilians were following, singing and dancing as if they were at a carnival. Some held up national flags while wearing t-shirts with slogans. Others were waving branches and multicoloured home-made posters with various slogans: "Takura must go!" "The country has gone to the dogs!" "We want change!" "This is not what we fought for!" The surprising thing was that it appeared as if the people were escorting the soldiers into the city, welcoming the insurrection.  The multiracial crowd was composed of both young and old, including people bellowing through loudspeakers while some simultaneously danced and sang carrying ghettoblasters which were emmiting loud music.  Others appeared so relaxed as if they were on a family outing or going for a picnic. There seemed to be no element of fear. As the masses of jubilant people passed by, all shapes and sizes, they left trails of litter, torn banners, plastic water bottles, sweet wrappers and the odd cloth item, in their wake. There were no police in sight to control the crowds or drive people off the street. It seemed as if the masses had adopted unspoken rules of no looting or unruly behaviour. Soldiers who naturally instilled fear were mingling among the crowd, allowing selfies and posing with civilians next to moving tanks. Overhead army helicopters were flying past at intervals, droning en route to unknown destinations. Yet no one was running for cover as their noise receded into the distance.

The tension in our flat had eased as the tail end of the crowd passed our gate.  

"Mum, I have never seen so many soldiers on the street, especially being escorted by people in such a carnival mood. They're not even scared!"

"If you had stayed in Danai, and listened to the news, you would have found out that the army is entering the city using all the main roads and heading for State House.  They have taken over the broadcasting house and asked the President to resign.  The people are behind the army. So, I hope there will be no bloodshed."

"But why the show of force, Dad?"

"I don't know my child. I'm not even sure what's happening countrywide. Oh, wait, a text message from my cousin Winston. He is asking after us, which means this disturbance must be happening only in the capital city. It is not going to be easy this change of power because our leader is a stubborn man. Let's get an update on BBC World Service news which is sometimes more detailed. We don't want to be caught unawares. Coups happen in other countries, never here. We have put up with injustice and corruption, even the trampling of our human rights. All we've ever done is talk. Our problem is that we are peace-loving by nature."

Mother and I joined Dad as we saw on the screen, the same events we had just witnessed passing along the main street.

I was now curious,

"Dad, what are they saying?" Dad raised his hand while immersed in the broadcast. He then realised Mum, and I was waiting for him to summarise what was happening.

"I've never seen anything like it! It seems the whole world and its mother are in the street, and they have now surrounded the State House. Everything is moving so fast. Even I can't keep track of the goings-on," said Dad.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. "Look, Mum! The army! They've entered the building looking for the President!"

Mum replied, "Is he still there? He had better agree to the army's demands if he wants to live. These soldiers are not playing"

I continued, "What about the people who have just gone past our flat? Oh, there they are! Mum, look, some have climbed the nearby trees for a better view.  There are so many! I can see some beating drums and others are dancing. Look, look some street vendors busy selling bottled water! I don't believe it. Any chance to make extra money! I wish I were there!"

 Dad looked at me and said," It may look as if people are having fun, but something is going on behind the scenes, and it's better we stay indoors. The army has said people should go home now and some are already dispersing. The commentator is telling those who are at home to stay there and wait for the following announcement. What is happening is not a game Danai; History is being made right in front of our eyes!"

Mum was quiet, concentrating on her WhatsApp messages as I looked over her shoulder. The internet service providers were making a killing as messages crisscrossed across the country. There were lots of video clips of city street scenes packed with crowds.

"I'm surprised they have not blocked social media. There are all sorts of conspiracy theories being bandied about," said Mum as she continued reading.

"Dad, should we be scared?" I was now feeling less sure.

"I can understand your anxiety Danai. We are all uncertain about the outcome, but all we can do is wait and see. People moving about freely and an army on our side are good signs. We should be thankful that there is no blood flowing in the street."

"So, Dad, do you think I can go back to school tomorrow?"

"No, no, no. These things take time. We don't even know what has happened to the President and his family. There may be a siege. Then there are the negotiations over who is taking control of the country. We've never done this before. It may turn ugly with those forces loyal to the President retaliating. Let's just stay put. Don't you have anything to do to keep you occupied at home?"

I replied, "Please may I use the phone so I can call my friend Molly? She lives in the township, and I'm sure she would want to know what's happening in the city centre."

"Make it quick and don't say too much on the phone. You never know who is listening," said Mum.

That evening after supper, Dad called us to listen to the 6 o'clock news. I didn't fully understand about the coup which was reported as not a coup. Dad provided a running commentary, explaining what the newscaster meant about a transitional unity government, deals with the opposition, the army going back to the barracks once there was law and order. All this information became overwhelming. However, I sensed a continuing tension as Dad explained to Mum that the President had escaped abroad in his private jet. Dad speculated about the President's loyal men's fate; the ones he had left behind, to face the army's wrath and possibly the crowds. Mum wondered whether things were going to improve under a new government. I understood what she said about the need to reduce prices in the shops, the end of queues for money and fuel. She reminisced with Dad about regular bus services and the high standards of health and education they enjoyed before Independence. It was a world I had never experienced since I had grown up in a city where the streetlights no longer worked; refuse collection was intermittent, street vendors had invaded the high streets, spreading their wares in front of prominent department stores. However, my main concern was when I could go back to school, meet my friends, and talk about the day when the army came to town.