The Lonely Stranger
In the late 1970s, Mom and Dad were running the Lonely Mine Store and Post Office, about 50 miles north of Bulawayo, and living in the 1910-built house just a few yards from the store. The Nkayi road passed by in a sweeping curve 200 yards to the north of the two buildings. The nearest neighbours were miles away, and with ZIPRA attacks in the area increasing in frequency, these were tense times indeed.
Farmers and business owners in “hot” areas such as Nkayi were issued with semi-automatic weapons known as “Kommandos” for self-protection by the police (BSAP). The Kommando was a South African copy of the Israeli “Uzi”, somewhat less reliable than the original. The civilian version had a three-round burst capability.
One Friday night around 8pm, Mom and Dad heard the sound of a vehicle approaching from the Bulawayo direction. It was unusual for anyone to be out on the road after dark. The glow of headlights was obscured by acacia scrub until the car turned off the main road, and on to the track serving the store and homestead. Dad turned the house lights off and took up a position at the window, Kommando at the ready. The vehicle came to a halt and the ignition was turned off. In the silence, Dad waited for the stranger to identify himself.
The driver got out of the car and called out in English “Hello? Is there somebody at home?”
Dad motioned to Mom to turn on the external floodlight, and replied in isiNdebele “Ngubani lo? Wothi dandalaza sikubone!” (Who is this? Come into the open so I can see you!)
The man stepped forward, blinking against the glare. He knew Dad’s name. “Mnuzana Frost, ngingu Maphosa” (Mr Frost, I am Maphosa).
Dad stepped into the doorway, with the weapon in plain sight. Mom remained hidden behind the door.
“Kutheni wama phakathi kobusuku?” (Why did you stop in the middle of the night?) Dad’s speech was indistinct as a result of tongue cancer diagnosed three years earlier, but in the quiet of the night the stranger heard him well enough.
He explained that he was on his way to Nkayi to visit his elderly parents for the weekend. He had stopped near Turk Mine due to a slow puncture. There they had a pump but no tools to change the wheel. They suggested he try again at Lonely, twenty kilometres further on. By the time he got there the tyre was almost flat again.
“Wait there” said Dad, and handing the weapon to Mom, he went out the side door to the carport. This was pure bluff; Mom was no shooter, but if the fellow was out to cause trouble, the best she could do was stay out of sight in the hope of keeping him guessing.
Dad returned with the jack and wheel wrench. He stepped out and placed the tools on the bare earth beneath the floodlight. Retreating back into the doorway, he retrieved the Kommando from Mom and invited the man to pick up the tools and get on with the job.
It took a while in the dark. Dad thought the fellow was making rather heavy weather of it, but wasn’t going to risk putting the weapon down to help. His cancer had robbed him of the strength to be of much use in any case.
Watching from indoors, Mom could sense both men gradually relaxing as they conversed, alternating between English and isiNdebele. It turned out that our visitor was a school teacher, which in Dad’s mind explained his obvious unfamiliarity with hand tools.
Job done, the teacher took his leave.
“Ngiyabonga, mnuzana Frost. Inkosi ikubusise.” (Thank you, Mr Frost. God bless you.)
“Kulungile mfowethu, uhamba kahle” (No problem my brother, have a safe journey.)
As the vehicle’s tail lights disappeared into the darkness, the house lights went back on. Mom put the kettle on while Dad returned the tools to the carport. Normality was restored - almost. The Kommando would stay within reach for the time being.
More stories like this in my family history "How I Came to be Rhodesian", available on Amazon. Just search on the title to find it. All proceeds to
Zimbabwe Pensioner Support Fund (ZPSF).
