Famous for nothing

It was a small settlement of white folk in a large expanse of rural land in Rhodesia in the early seventies. Marty's husband Peter, had the job as an agriculture officer, teaching the natives to do modern farming, the goats who ran amok were very destructive to the vegetation, to the point of turning the bush land into a dust bowl. The natives were taught how to pen their goats. Contours had to be placed in the maize fields so the rains would not wash the top soil away. Maize is the staple food of the people, called sadza once cooked, with a relish it is quite delicious. Ground maize meal is added to boiling salt less water, a little at a time, till its in a consistency of being able to form into a ball, in the hand, and dipping it into the relish or stew.

There were about forty white civil servants employed. In the center was a block of offices for the various departments, agriculture, veterinary, the district commissioner, he was the big boss. I forget now all the other departments, then there was the post office, and a little way away from all this was the police station, and in between was a well run clinic by Francis, he was a medic, a very tall distinguished looking black man, and extremely good at his job. Cal, a young police man, who was bitten on the elbow by a crocodile, one day whilst having a tube race on the Buhera river, was treated by Francis, with no infections. A crocodile's teeth is so full of bacteria, everyone was very worried, but he was back on his feet in no time. The home steads, not very big houses, three bedroom, one bathroom, standard government issue, with huge gardens were widely spread around the office block and post office. All the roads were dirt and and quiet dusty. About a kilometre away was a general store, that sold tin goods, fabrics, school uniforms for the rural schools, blankets and some clothing. There was no electricity, a generator for all the home steads was switched on every evening at 6 o'clock till 10 o'clock in the evening. each house had what was known as a Rhodesian boiler, this was a forty four gallon drum, filled with water over a fire, this served as the geyser. The coal from the fire was placed inside a cast iron iron, which was swung around a few times to get it heated, and that is how the ironing was done.

The club house was the hub of the community, which had a swimming pool, tennis courts, pool table and a dart board. The club was built out of large granite stones, and had a thatched roof, the fire place was big enough for a man to stand in, in winter it warmed up the entire room. The bar beautifully crafted out of mupani wood, spread right across the the back of the room, with mirrors the length of the wall. It was a happy little community, once a week on Wednesday evening they would all get together for a game of darts, and all the wives brought pot luck for dinner.

Marty's younger sister Kemp was visiting with her for a few weeks. It was mid-morning when they heard a commotion out the back garden, the house maid and gardener were screaming and shouting. Marty and Kemp ran out the kitchen door to see what all the noise was about. The gardener had a long shiny bright green Boom slang on the end of a long stick, with its head badly bashed in. He placed the dead snake on the ground, and told us he had found the snake in his bathroom by his cottage at the end of the garden. Kemp was quite fascinated by the serpent, for one does not normally see them up close, because they live and slither around high up in the tree canopies. She picked up the snake by its tail to straighten it out to see how long he was, as she lifted the snake, he woke up, puffed his neck out, swung around towards her with a very loud hiss. Kemp very quickly dropped the snake and jumped back. A boom slang is back fanged so he would not have been able to do any harm. They both felt very sorry for the poor snake, and did not want to see it suffer anymore, Marty went to the gun cabinet and got out the .22 rifle. Feeling very squirmish about having to shoot the reptile. Marty held the gun about two feet from the head of the snake, then turned her head away looking in another direction. Kemp quickly advised her not to shoot like that, it would be so easy to miss, or just nick the snake. Marty realizing the folly of her way, held the gun right up to the head of the snake, and pulled the trigger. The shot resounded right around the village.

That Wednesday evening during a round of darts at the club, Rob, a young police officer asked what that shot was about earlier that morning. Marty not thinking much about it, told him that she had shot a boom slang. We only heard the one shot, he said, did you hit it, and she casually replied yes as she threw her carefully aimed dart. Where did you hit the snake? Rob asked, and she replied, in the head. There was a hush in the club house, as everyone was now listening in awe and unbelief to the conversation. Marty looked around as she heard the hush in the room, and saw the admiration in everyone's faces , and started to feel quite important. It would take a super shot and eye to spot a boom slang high up in the trees and moving at quite a speed too. Marty glanced over at where Kemp was standing with darts in hand and about to burst out laughing, she quickly slipped over to Kemp, and told her not a word to spoil her street cred.