{"id":178,"date":"2011-05-19T09:51:19","date_gmt":"2011-05-19T09:51:19","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue9\/?page_id=178"},"modified":"2012-05-22T17:17:21","modified_gmt":"2012-05-22T17:17:21","slug":"austin-kaluba","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue12\/writings\/fiction\/austin-kaluba","title":{"rendered":"Austin Kaluba"},"content":{"rendered":"

A Dream Deferred<\/h1>\n

Austin Kaluba<\/h6>\n
What Happens to a Dream Deferred?<\/strong><\/h6>\n

\u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0Does it dry up<\/em>like a raisin in the sun?
\nOr fester like a sore–
\nAnd then run?
\nDoes it stink like rotten meat?
\nOr crust and sugar over–
\nlike a syrupy sweet?<\/p>\n

Maybe it just sags
\nlike a heavy load.<\/p>\n

Or does it explode?<\/p>\n

(Langston Hughes)<\/p>\n

Shingi heard Mrs Johnson talking to her Alsatian dog Tarzan. He had somehow become used to these nocturnal verbal outpourings. When he first came to work for the white family in Eastlea many years ago, he found it strange for a human being to talk to an animal so emotionally. He knew that back home one talked to oxen to make the animal move fast. The kind of verbal exchange he heard between Mrs Johnson and her dog was too intimate. Even when Jackson, the Nyasa gardener who had worked for the family for many years explained to him about the strange ways of the whites towards their animals, he stilll could not understand. He now knew that whites valued their pets more highly than they did their African workers.<\/p>\n

Shingi remembered a story he had heard just when he came to Salisbury from Zvimba about a black man who had been shot dead for kicking a white man\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s dog. The dog had bitten his five-year-old son, leaving him for dead. The black man had merely kicked the dog to get it off his poor son. The white man got a gun and killed him. The story led to protests by natives and forced authorities to pass the \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcdangerous dog act.\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 The white man got away with a fine when a lawyer explained in court how attached he was to his pet. A cold chill ran down his spine as Shingi remembered the story. He could not sleep. He heard cicadas echoing in the distance. There was a faint sound of a police siren. It was a sound that reminded blacks who owned the land that the natives had claimed as their own only a few years ago .<\/p>\n

Sweat beads shone on his dark black face. His body felt sticky as if someone had poured glue on it. He opened the wooden window to let fresh air into his one-roomed servant\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s quarter. The room was sparsely furnished: a rickety wooden bed and a chair. There were a few old newspapers which he liked reading. Mr Johnson had encouraged him to read and improve his English. The white man\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s newspapers were full of stories about parties, fairs, picnics and concerts.<\/p>\n

Mrs Johnson\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s voice got higher and more emotional. Her bedroom was open, giving Shingi a clear view of his mistress as she poured her heart out to the poor dog. Since the death of her husband, a year ago, she had been acting strangely. She shouted more loudly at her servants and forgot to pay them until she was reminded. She had also become more cruel and quick to anger. Tarzan wagged his bushy tail and barked at some unseen object out of the window, his forelegs pawing at the window pane. Mrs Johnson pulled him back. The dog moved about restless, his ears erect.<\/p>\n

Shingi started fanning himself with a folded old newspaper. He suppressed the urge to cough. In the floodlights, Mrs Johnson looked gaunt and pale. The maroon nightdress she was wearing shimmered. Her lanky frame towered over the dog even in a seated position. She was wrinkled in a pleasant way and her face was still attractive despite being in her fifties. She held the head of the restless dog, steadying him and looking into his eyes.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Oh my good Lord. He is gone. Gone, gone… It looks like yesterday. Do you know how I feel Tarzan?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

The dog gazed at her as if in amazement, reminding Shingi of the dog he had seen on the His Master\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Voice gramophone. She wiped tears from her eyes with a handkerchief and continued.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I know you understand Tarzan. You know for sure how I feel. Don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t you? I never offended Dave\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6. No..not one single day.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

The dog jumped on bed and started pawing at his mistress\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 leg. Mrs Johnson shook with tears and cried hysterically, burying her head in her sinewy hands. Shingi lit a cigarette and drew at it as if sucking traditional beer from a straw. He saw Mrs Johnson stand up, still muttering, to herself but this time he could not hear what she was saying. Strange woman, he thought. Talking to a dog. Why can\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t she find a man to replace her late husband? Shingi remembered Mr Johnson as a remote figure who played a passive role in house maintenance, leaving the task to his wife. Yet whenever he intervened to protect a servant from some offense from his fault-finding wife, he always succeeded in defending them. The servants loved him for this, though he was usually taciturn. He only seldom went out with his shotgun, hunting birds.<\/p>\n

He wore khaki shorts and spotlessly white shirts all the time. He would sit in his rocking chair smoking a pipe or reading a newspaper. He spoke a smattering of Shona and Ndebele. He was the only white man Shingi knew who addressed blacks by their names though he pronounced Shingi\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s name as Shing. The other whites, including Mrs Johnson, called their servants \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcJohn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcboy\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 or \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcgirl\u00e2\u20ac\u2122. It was always \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcboy do this\u00e2\u20ac\u2122, \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcJohn don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t do that.,\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcJohn, you are a lazy kaffir\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 and \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcboy this\u00e2\u20ac\u2122, \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcboy that\u00e2\u20ac\u2122.<\/p>\n

A mosquito had entered the room and was buzzing around Shingi\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s forehead. He struck out at it but missed. Just when he thought he had got rid of the bothersome intruder he felt a sensational pain on his calf. He patted the source of pain but missed only to see the mosquito flying off clumsily, fattened by his blood. He had run out of insect killer. Back home they used a special type of wood to drive away mosquitoes.<\/p>\n

Memories of his home came flooding back, filling him with nostalgia. Hot nights always reminded him of home. He remembered his late father, Choso. Shingi had learnt that his father worked for several whites before going home to settle. One white man had only given him a watch for a service of 20 years. The other chased him away, paying him nothing and complaining that he was a lazy and cheeky kaffir. Shingi remembered his father as a man who went to his grave bitter and broken. He walked with a limp and had bloodshot eyes. He ruled his household with an iron hand. It was only Shingi\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s late mother Ma Shingi, the oldest wife among cChoso\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s, harem who could tame him. She seemed to understand the source of his bitterness. The other maininis – lesser wives- feared him and ran away whenever he lost his temper, which was quite often.<\/p>\n

Shingi remembered how he beat Ma Chido, the youngest wife, for spending too much time at a church meeting. Her maiden name was Grace but she was called by her son\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s name, Chido. She had been forced into an early marriage, discontinuing school. She talked of going to Salisbury to join her Aunt who wanted her to continue her education using the night school programs available to natives.<\/p>\n

When the beating happened, Shingi was sitting in his hut, which he had built when he turned 17. His father had bullied him into building a hut of his own, arguing that it was not good for him to live in the main house at his age.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153During my time, we weaned ourselves from our parents even before our things started frothing. You good for nothing youths of today continue suckling even when you get married.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Shingi was eating sadza with derere – Okro – soup when he heard heavy footsteps coming at a quick pace. His father\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s large figure emerged carrying a log that could have dislocated the shoulder of a lesser man. His shadow passed Shingi leaving a smell of snuff and sweat. Shingi quickly finished his meal and put the plates away. He could however not move away at this moment for fear of a reprimand from his father, who had acknowledged his presence with a scornful look that spoke volumes. Shingi knew he was supposed to be cultivating the maize field. He had chosen to roof his leaking house, a task he found easier than the back-breaking job of tilling the land with a hoe. His father dropped the log at Ma Chido\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s hut and headed in Shingi\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s direction, a skimpy brown shirt that used to be white hanging loosely on his bulky body.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Where is Ma Chido?\u00e2\u20ac\u2122\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Gone to Church,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Shingi answered, relieved that his father was directing his attention at another person.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Church, church. This church business is getting out of hand. What these blacks see in a white God and a white Jesus I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t know.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d He shook his head and spread his palms sideways disappearing into the main house.<\/p>\n

Shingi heard him sniffing his snuff and later coughing asthmatically. He heard singing from the path that led to the well. Three women wearing chitenge – wrappers – appeared. Ma Chido was among them leading them in a song they had just learnt in Shona. Ma Chido sang in a beautiful and lilting voice. The song was about escaping this world to a place where there was no suffering. Ma Chido led the other women in singing:<\/p>\n

I am going home
\n<\/em>It could be today, tomorrow,anytime
\nI am going home
\nI am tired of this wicked world
\nO Sweet Jesus take me home
\nFor I am weary.
\nO Sweet Jesus take me home<\/p>\n

Shingi was touched by the message \u00e2\u20ac\u201c not because of the song\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s reference to the afterlife. He realized that for Ma Chido the song had an added meaning as far as her misery was concerned. Everyone in the village knew that Ma Chido was one of the saddest women. Choso beat her all the time and many people feared for her health. She was also too young to be married to such an old man. Her husband was very possessive and always feared she would leave him for a younger man. Shingi felt the song was not merely talking about the afterlife but implicitly referred to her unhappy marriage.<\/p>\n

When Shingi\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s mother was alive at least Ma Chido had a shoulder to lean on. The older wife felt for the poor woman whom she consoled whenever their husband beat her. MaShingi knew how to stand the beatings, which she understood as part of being an African wife. Now that she was dead, Ma Chido had no one to console her. There was great rivalry and even hatred between the other two women, who both despised each other and Ma Chido.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Ma Chido!,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d a voice cracked like a piece of canvas being ripped by hand. There was a tinge of menace in the voice. The women stopped singing in the middle of a verse.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Coming. Am coming,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Ma Chido answered sheepishly, and excused herself.<\/p>\n

She trotted to the house, her rosary swinging around her slender neck. She was dark and smooth like a plum. She had just plaited her hair in a new fashion with mounds of braids standing beautifully on her head. Shingi heard his father shouting.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153How many times am I going to tell you that this church business should not take centre stage over your marriage. Are you married to the priest?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153No.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Then why are you always at church? Answer me. Today is not Sunday.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I have some roles in the women group.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153And those roles are more important than housekeeping.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153No Father of Chido.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153From today I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t want to see you anywhere near that damned church. Do you hear!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I do my husband.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Shingi was not surprised to hear his father stop his wife from going to church. He had not encouraged any member of his large family to attend any church services. His hate for whites and all their institutions was legendary. Shingi also remembered a confrontation he had witnessed between his father and a deputation that had come to tell him about the building of a house for a priest. The emissaries were led by Jeremiah, a bold and well-adjusted man who dressed like a townie \u00e2\u20ac\u201c clean clothes complete with a hat always worn at a jaunty angle, with a cigarette perennially dangling from his lips. He had worked in South Africa before coming back home. Unlike Choso, Jeremiah spoke reverently of South Africa. He said the place had more trains and cars than Salisbury. Some villagers, Choso among them said he had been a tsotsi- a spiv.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I tell you, you are wasting your time building a house for the black priests. It is these stupid black priests who are being used together with black policemen and teachers to kill our culture. I lived with a white man for a long time and I understand all his tricks in cowing black people. He can\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t penetrate our society without using some fools among us to champion his causes. Oh yes, he uses fools like black priests, chiefs and policemen. Since convincing Lobengula to sell our land he has continued to use blacks in whatever causes he wants to impose,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Choso said.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Aiwa, aiwa – No, No. You have got it wrong. These whites are not here to, \u00e2\u20ac\u009dJeremiah cut in.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153How well do you know whites?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d, Choso asked pointing his finger at Jeremiah. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I worked for them for many years until my hair turned grey. It is you young fools who think they are Gods to be worshipped.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I also lived with whites. I worked in Joburg, Durban\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153As a spiv-ta!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d, Choso shouted sarcastically.\u00c2\u00a0\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Was that your job when you lived in town?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153It is you who lived by robbing people.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Did I rob your mother of her knickers?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153What! How dare you insult my mother you bastard,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Choso said, glaring at his rival. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153You have wool between those big ears of yours and not brains like me! You good for nothing imbecile,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he shouted, saliva flying from his mouth. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153You could make a very good candidate for a policeman or even to be a white man\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s dog. You come here to insult my innocent dead mother and me. For what!? For what!?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Jeremiah could not stand the salvo. He stood up heading for Choso, his fists clenched. Several men held him, calming him down by invoking his son\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s name, Nyasha. \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcAiwa don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t fight, Father of Nyasha. We are only having a friendly discussion.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Mhata yako – arsehole! I can break the other good leg if you think I am afraid of you. I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t fear you like the other villagers,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Jeremiah shouted, but he was dragged away by the other men.<\/p>\n

Jeremiah and Choso had always been at loggerheads because both of them tried to outdo each other in reliving their experiences in town. Choso also suspected that Jeremiah was interested in Ma Chido.<\/p>\n

Shingi only understood why his father hated white people at his deathbed. One day, his father, who had been bedridden for months, called for him. He was groaning on his reed mat. There were several bottles of traditional medicines that he had been taking. There were calabashes and gourds full of medicines and strange paraphernalia. The room smelled of decay and death. Someone had told Shingi that when one was dying, his ancestors held court unseen on his deathbed, discussing when he should join them. He had dismissed the story, but he now believed it when he felt a strange presence in the hut.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Shingi, is it you,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d his father called out weakly. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Shingi, the drop of my own liquid. You know Shingi\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6\u00e2\u20ac\u009d He was seized by spasms of coughing, which racked his already worn body. He was a shadow of his old bulky self. His ribs showed through the thin bed sheet that covered his now thin body.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153People think I am bad.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Not everybody father. We love you as a family\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Really? \u00e2\u20ac\u00a6I know, they think I am a monster but they don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t know who I am. Inside I am a kind person. Only your mother knew me well before the ancestors called her home. I changed when I came into contact with varungu – whites. I am dying without understanding them. They have also chosen not to understand us Africans. We cannot live together as brothers and sisters. Never! It is like mixing oil and water. However, I understand their cruelty and disregard for other races that are not white. Oh yes I do. I also do understand their hypocrisy. I worked for this white man\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6. Mr Cook. No Mr Cook was my first one, then Mr Petersen\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6 Oh I remember it was Mr Van Meer. I worked for him for many years and when I got old he chased me like a dog, giving me only a small amount of money, and when I complained he threatened to call Police to arrest me. I dared him to go ahead. He said I was a cheeky kaffir and hit me with a sjambok. He broke my leg and nearly killed me with beating. I called out to my ancestors because I thought I was dying. He later called the Police and lied that I had tried to kill him. I was taken to hospital and later imprisoned. Upon release I was stranded and had not chitupa – pass – to stay in town. I came back here with your mother and your elder sister Rambanai. With my handicap, I managed to start life afresh. I am telling you this not only because I am bitter about what happened but because I have seen the same streak of violence and rebellion in you. Outside you look humble, the qualities you have inherited from your mother, but inside you have my character \u00e2\u20ac\u201c that of a stubborn person with a streak of violence \u00e2\u20ac\u201c which you try to suppress. I have seen this in your eyes when I am shouting at you. I know you can obey orders but you do it with a scorn in your eyes that masks rage. I have always stopped you from going to work in town. I am now granting you permission to go after I die. Promise me one thing though: that you will be obedient to whites. I am not saying this because I am a coward but because I have had enough experience to realize the powers they wield over Africans. Even Africans like policemen, priests, clerks and even houseboys who work for them attain this mysterious power. Always say things that will please them. They are like children: you can fool them easily, but don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t try to be clever and challenge their authority. They can sense rebellion more quickly than flattery.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

He groaned and reached out his hands for Shingi\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s face. He spat into his son\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s face in a traditional blessing. Choso lay back on his mat, beads of sweat glistening on his face. Shingi tried to open his mouth to speak but his father stopped him with a wave of his bony hand. Shingi left the room tears welling in his eyes.<\/p>\n

Two days later his father was dead. The household and harem that he had kept together fell apart quickly. Ma Chido eloped with Jeremiah to Salisbury, taking her daughter with her. Another mainini, Ma Tapiwa, went to live with her mother in Chitungwiza. Ma Farai inherited some oxen from her husband and eked out a living by tilling the land. Shingi waited for a month, and left for Salisbury to look for a job. He had only been in school up to Standard Two.<\/p>\n

In Salisbury Shingi had bumped into Ma Chido several times in shady places like Mapitikoti beerhall. She hung out there with other loose women who indulged in casual sex. Ma Chido also sold chikokiana – local traditional brew- and had aged, and since age and beauty don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t mix, she now looked haggard, a shadow of her former beautiful self. Jeremiah had abandoned her shortly after arriving in Salisbury. He had been in and out of prison. This time he was serving a lengthy sentence for burglary.<\/p>\n

Thoughts about his father brought up memories of his own experiences in the town. Shingi had pushed them to the back of his mind; they now rushed to the fore and saddened him. He had worked for the Johnsons for many years without any serious incidents. In following his father\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s advice, he had masked his anger by working hard, cushioning himself from the countless injustices he faced. Now Mr Johnson was dead and Shingi was trapped with the man\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s cantankerous wife who treated her servants like mules.<\/p>\n

Shingi woke up late and rushed to have a quick shower. He wore his uniform: a pair of white shorts and a shirt to match. He had scrubbed his armpits and groin. Mrs Johnson had once told him to his face that he stank. Jackson had showed him how to bath properly.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t bathe like back home where you just put water on your body. Concentrate here and here,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he had said pointing at his groin and armpits. Moreover, Jackson had told him that the white Master\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s dogs did not like dirty black people. At first he had not believed him, but he remembered dogs chasing him each time he missed a bath for some days. Or was it just a coincidence. From time to time the Johnsons sent him to deliver letters in the neighbourhood. Some whites would set dogs on him until someone from the house recognized and identified him. And there would be the usual apology: \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Oh, it is Mr Johnson\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s kaffir. Basopo boy – be careful, boy. You natives are thieves.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

He found Mrs Johnson already awake, reading the Salisbury Times, which was delivered to her door every morning. She had eye bags and looked tired. She looked up from her newspaper.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You are late again John! But that is typical of you people!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d She looked at her watch and pulled a face that would have made the Medusa look pretty.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Sorry Madam.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

She kept quiet. Shingi felt her blue eyes boring through him. There was hate and contempt in those eyes. It was like a cat eyeing a mouse that was out of its reach. He went to the kitchen and started cleaning the plates. After finishing, he swept the house carefully, dusting all the nooks and corners. He saw Jackson cutting the hedge. Jackson lived on location like Beatrice, the laundry woman.<\/p>\n

Tarzan came out of the bedroom wagging his tail. He rushed into the kitchen sniffing at Shingi\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s legs. Mrs Johnson, who had gone into the bedroom, came out and called out to the dog. She went out to walk him along the Jacaranda trees. Shingi could not understand why the mistress was so angry. Beatrice came in carrying a giant bag full of washed clothes. Her face was bathed in sweat. She was almost the same age as Mrs Johnson yet she was called, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153girl.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Masikati,\u00e2\u20ac\u009dShe called out to Shingi, putting down the load with a sigh.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Masikati,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Shingi replied, wiping the book shelf.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153How is our queen?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Grumpy as ever. Gone out to walk the dog.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Ha. These varungu and their dogs.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I heard her talking to the dog last night.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Is that news to you?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153No this time she was talking to it so emotionally.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153How is your wife, Shingi?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I haven\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t been to the location yet. I hope she is fine.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t stay away too long now that she is expecting. She needs a man,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Beatrice said winking roguishly at Shingi.<\/p>\n

She always joked with Shingi about him staying away from his wife. The servant\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s quarters were only for single people. Shingi was given time off to see his wife regularly when Mr Johnson was alive. Shingi was afraid to ask the mistress for time off.<\/p>\n

Shingi was about to go back to his room when he remembered that he had not cleaned Tarzan\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s basket. Mrs Johnson had put it outside her bedroom. He quickly started cleaning it, working furiously. Jackson joined Beatrice who was washing some clothes in the yard, partially hidden by a mountain of dirty clothes.\u00c2\u00a0 Her head leaned into her left shoulder. Her large gnarled hands worked like pistons scrubbing stubborn stains. She worked diligently and hummed a soft tune in Ndebele. She had worked for the Johnsons for many years. She boasted of sending all her four children to school single-handedly since her husband left for South Africa and never returned. She now had one daughter in school.<\/p>\n

After he finished cleaning the dog\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s basket, Shingi joined the two in the yard. Jackson had been courting Beatrice for many years with no success. She kept teasing him, tantalizing him.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Heh Shingi. Tell this Nyasa how expensive Ndebele women are. He has no cattle to pay lobola – bride price – and yet he thinks because he has a thing dangling in his trousers he can get me the way you buy matches from Nagarji or CT Stores.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Jackson looked at Shingi, a mischievous smile playing across his mouth, expecting a favourable comment from his friend.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Give him a chance.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Shingi said, waving dramatically at Jackson.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You heard that. You heard that Beatrice,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Jackson shouted and jumped up with a loud triumphant shout. He went down on his knees and looked into Beatrice\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s eyes. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Please Beatrice give me a chance,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d he pleaded tearfully.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Voetsek – get lost!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Beatrice laughed, splashing Jackson with soapsuds. His blue overalls were wet. Shingi grabbed his stomach and let out a deep baritone laugh, his lanky body shaking.<\/p>\n

Oblivious to them, Mrs Johnson was standing arms akimbo, a contemptuous smile on her face. Tarzan was wagging his tail, his tongue hanging out. Shingi was the first one to see her when he opened his eyes. The others saw him freeze and looked up just to see the mistress.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Is this what you are paid for \u00e2\u20ac\u201c clowning like some wooden headed kaffir, which you are?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Finished cutting the hedge madam,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Jackson said getting up, more frightened than ashamed.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153And you boy. Is this the kitchen?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Shingi kept quiet.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I will cut both of your pays\u00e2\u20ac\u009d she said, walking away.<\/p>\n

Shingi was petrified. He needed money to buy napkins for the baby. A cut from his already paltry salary would be suicidal. He ran into the kitchen and started cleaning plates that he had already cleaned. Jackson moved a ladder behind the house. Shingi heard Mrs Johnson come into the kitchen muttering. She got all the cutlery and spread them on the floor creating a cacophony of clinking sound. She separated the spoons, forks and knives, counting them in tens. Shingi looked on knowing she had something on her mind. She continued muttering to herself. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153What do they need cutlery for. They use their dirty hands to eat.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Girl!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d She called out.<\/p>\n

These whites are strange people. Their dogs have names but blacks are just called \u00e2\u20ac\u0153boy\u00e2\u20ac\u009d or \u00e2\u20ac\u0153girl\u00e2\u20ac\u009d, Shingi thought indignantly. Beatrice who had just finished hanging clothes on the drying line came into the house rubbing her hands against her cotton dress. Mrs Johnson pointed at the cutlery on the floor. Beatrice looked at the utensils saucer-eyed. Mrs Johnson remained transfixed deep in thought, her eyes boring into the black woman. There was an awkward silence.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Some cutlery is missing.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t know anything about any cutlery.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Of course you do.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I am not lying. I swear!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Beatrice said passing her right forefinger over her neck.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153And since I can\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t keep a thief here, leave right now!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Please Madam, don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t fire me. I have a daughter who is still in school. If you fire me\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153If you knew that, you shouldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t have been stealing.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Oh mai-we\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Here.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Mrs Johnson threw a 5-pound note on the ground.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153You owe me more than that this Mrs Johnson.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Beatrice was now crying. Her big body shook with tears. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. Shingi felt a lump of anger stick in his throat.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153That is it. Go,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Mrs Johnson said, pointing at the door.<\/p>\n

Beatrice bent down and picked up the money. Through her tears, she bade farewell to Shingi who witnessed the scene until Mrs Johnson turned in his direction with a look that clearly said \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Get back to work.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d He acknowledged Beatrice\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s farewell with a nod.<\/p>\n

It had been two weeks since Beatrice was fired. Shingi worked mechanically and found the job very routine. He thought of his wife and the baby that was due any time. Today was a Saturday, when he usually went home to see his wife. Those days were gone. He couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t continue working without a break. He knew however that Mrs Johnson was looking for a chance to fire him. He wouldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t give her one. He retired to his room for lunch after finishing his morning shift. He did not feel hungry but he had taken some bread and beef from the kitchen. He showered and retired to bed for a siesta. He had extra work to do in the evening since Mrs Johnson had told him she was expecting visitors.<\/p>\n

Later in the afternoon, a yellow Austin Morris roared in, raising a plume of red dust. The visitors were Mr Haddock and his wife. They lived in Mabelreign and were among the oldest farmers to have settled in the area. The rickety car cackled and groaned before stopping. Mr Haddock reversed, sticking his right elbow and head out of the window, looking for packing space. He ran over some red rose flowers and finally packed under an avocado tree. Mrs Johnson, who was standing on her verandah, looked on, expressionless.<\/p>\n

Shingi was standing at a vantage position in case he was needed to give a hand. Since the sacking of Beatrice he had become aware afresh of the injustices that had somehow become part of his life. He managed however to mask his emotions, albeit they troubled him. He knew a lot about Mr Haddock\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s reputation as very cruel farmer. The white farmer had once murdered a native and was only fined 30 pounds. In retaliation for his cruelty, a native farmer at the farm had poisoned a dozen cattle and run away to Mozambique.<\/p>\n

Mr Haddock struggled out of the car carrying a cane. He was dressed in a khaki safari suit out of which his bulky body seemed ready to burst. He was sweating profusely from the harsh October heat. He wiped sweat away with a dirty handkerchief and waddled into the house. His svelte wife followed him, holding her broad hat, which seemed to be too big for her head.<\/p>\n

Shingi went inside the house and started serving the visitors with drinks. He pulled the cork out of a bottle of whisky and poured some into Mr Haddock\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s glass. The heavyset man was more or less squatting on a sofa, panting, with his squinty-eyes almost closed. His wife was drinking wine and Mrs Johnson settled for a soda.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Your Kaffir has grown, Ethel. Bloody piccaninny when I first came here.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Shingi pulled a face. Mrs Haddock looked at him sympathetically. Shingi acknowledged her kindness by smiling. Rather than appreciating her sympathy he really detested it, but wanted to mask his anger. He discovered that Mr Haddock was still looking at him probingly.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t like your kaffir, Ethel. Just look at him. He is the dangerous type. I have lived with these people and I know it.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Stop it Phil! How on earth do you know he is dangerous?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Mrs Haddock said, nudging her husband.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153He looks shifty like a caged beast.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Dave was attached to him,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Mrs Johnson said. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153I couldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t understand what he liked in him. Poor Dave. He loved natives.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Shingi clenched his fist and gnashed his teeth, a lump rising in his throat. Mrs Haddock kept silent and sipped her wine fondling the neck of the glass. Mr Haddock poured himself another glass of whisky and dismissed Shingi with a wave of the hand when he tried to help. He gulped the liquor and closed his eyes tightly. Tarzan came into the room wagging his tail. Mrs Johnson stroked his back with her right hand while holding her glass of soda in the other. The dog sat on his hind legs and closed his eyes.<\/p>\n

Mr Haddock, who poured himself glass after glass of whisky despite protests from his wife, started singing For He is A Jolly Good Fellow. He sang drunkenly like a sailor. His wife shrugged her shoulders and chatted with Mrs Johnson. Mrs Haddock talked of her son who was in Australia and never wrote letters to his parents. She talked of her bad knee that had prevented her from playing tennis with her friends at the European Tennis club. She then talked of natives who were fighting over improved conditions for Africans. Mrs Johnson cut in, talking about her late husband and how he had spoiled the servants. She said she planned to go to South Africa where there were more whites than in Southern Rhodesia.<\/p>\n

Mr Haddock suddenly sprang to his feet and grabbed his wife, enveloping her in a bear hug. He swung her from side to side yodeling a song whose words were inaudible. He spun her faster and faster until she freed herself from him. He complained bitterly, raising his arms theatrically. Mrs Johnson laughed, her blue eyes twinkling merrily. She looked very pleasant. Shingi had only seen her this happy when her husband was alive. He was surprised that she could still show such cheer. Mr Haddock became aware of Shingi, who was still standing, and went for him in two long drunken strides. Shingi was thinking of Beatrice and was indignant about her dismissal and all the injustices he had suffered at the hands of Mrs Johnson. Mr Haddock unleashed a punch that hit Shingi in his chest. Shingi felt pain run through his body but he was more angry than hurt.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Stop admiring white women kaffir!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d, Haddock shouted.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Stop it Phil!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Mrs Haddock shouted.<\/p>\n

Mrs Johnson kept quiet. Mr Haddock did a jig and lashed out at Shingi again, putting all his weight behind the punch. This time Shingi dodged forcing Mr Haddock to collapse against the cabinet, shaking the furniture. He got up quickly and grabbed Shingi by the legs. The two collapsed in a heap. Despite his weight, he got up quickly and kicked Shingi who was still on the floor. He kicked him all over the body.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Come on kaffir, fight..fight kaffir.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Shingi felt a sharp pain in his face as the bulky man kept on kicking him. He got up briskly and felt blood running down his face. He had done nothing but he knew of so many stories of whites beating Africans for no apparent reason. He remembered the story of how Haddock had killed a black man, and vowed that that wouldn\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t happen to him. He saw that the enraged and drunken man was aiming another punch but Shingi lashed out, hitting him squarely between his eyes. He felt pain shoot through his arm. Haddock fell back hitting his head on the floor with a thud. He gurgled once and there was silence.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153He has killed him..!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d the two women shouted in unison.<\/p>\n

Mrs Haddock knelt over her husband, turning him over, but there was no response. She collapsed over him and cried.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Oh Phil! Don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t give up on me!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Shingi stood rooted, confused and speechless. Mrs Johnson had turned pale and Shingi could not tell what she was feeling. Something told him to run. He dashed out of the back door and ran alongside two derelict barns, heading towards the white cemetery. It was the only deserted road he knew. This time of the night police would stop any black man and ask for his chitupa.<\/p>\n

He was bleeding from the nose and had a deep cut on his forehead. He could smell blood, which he tried to stop with the hem of his shirt. He continued running along the railway line. His heart was pumping rapidly and the heat made blood and sweat feel sticky on his face. He felt faint but he ran on.\u00c2\u00a0 He knew that if he fell by the roadside, he would be taken straight to the charge office before being attended to. His bones ached. The white shirt and shorts he wore were smeared with blood.<\/p>\n

He regretted having hit the white man so hard. He did not need to be in such a predicament. He then realized that it had happened spontaneously. His anger had been building up for many days. No, for many weeks or even years. Yes, for years. He avoided the main road that led to the white suburbs of Mabelreign, Eastlea, Greendale and Borrowdale. It was getting dark but he continued running. He could hear police sirens in the distance. It was a sound that was dreaded by any black man living in town. That sound, together with the figure of a policeman in a Black Maria, represented a system that was out to put a black man in his place.<\/p>\n

The prisons were full of Africans who had been jailed for minor offenses like looking at a policeman with what was\u00c2\u00a0 termed a \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcscornful eye\u00e2\u20ac\u2122. Some were jailed for talking to a white man or woman while wearing a hat. Even using a white man\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s toilet was a serious crime. Now here he was running away after killing a white man, a crime he had never even dreamt of committing. He would surely be hanged. He vowed to see his wife before they arrested him. All blacks in town were somehow a white man\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s property. You had to be some white man\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s property to live in town or you were declared a vagrant. A vagrant in your own country.<\/p>\n

The distance home seemed longer today because of his predicament. He was now far away from the white suburbs and approaching the area just below Harare Kopje. He neared Arcadia across the Mukwisi River on the right side of the railway line. He run on and came near the Harare African Township. Some educated black man who had studied in England had written an article in the now banned black newspaper,Chimurenga Tribune, about racial divisions in Salisbury, using the railway line and the river as boundaries. As he ran along the railway line, he realized how right the writer had been. The railway and the river separated the races confining them to different areas. The whites were on top, then the Indians, followed by the coloureds, and at the bottom of the hierarchy were blacks.<\/p>\n

He stopped running and turned eastwards to the Old Bricks. He wondered if his wife had given birth. He realized that it was nine months since she had become \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcin a family way.\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 He heard music from the locations and drunken singing from shebeens where half-Christians, half pagans sang both Christian and secular songs. He saw a man on a mule-drawn wagon carrying excreta away from the location. This man wore a cap and when he saw Shingi, he lowered his face and pulled down the cap. The mournful-looking mule moved slowly, rocking the excreta tank and its rider from side to side. Shingi understood why the excreta collector did not want to be recognized. Even the lowest African on the social ladder despised the hapless labourers who\u00c2\u00a0 did a job considered beneath any human being. Children mocked the excreta collectors, nicknaming them \u00e2\u20ac\u02dcchimbangus.\u00e2\u20ac\u2122 Chimbangus collected human waste in the evening because they did not want to be identified. Chimbangus were foul tempered and when they are sure of where a child who insults them lives, they take revenge by emptying a bucket of human waste at the doorsteps of that house.<\/p>\n

The din from the location was maddening. It was two days after the month\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s end and many residents had money to buy local brew from the shebeens. He went to his semi-detached houses comprised of a bed-sitter and a small kitchen. This meant that each block had two families living in this bed-sitter irrespective of how big the family was.<\/p>\n

He knocked on the door lightly and stood back in the dark waiting anxiously. The candlelight gave some weak light. He heard somebody moving and saw a silhouette of his wife who was heavily pregnant. She coughed loudly and walked towards the door.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Who is there?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d his wife called out from semi darkness. Her shrill voice betrayed fear.
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Who else do you think would knock at the door this time?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Oh it is you.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153If I am being chased, I could get killed just here at my doorstep.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

She opened the door and backed away when she saw blood. He walked past her and sat on the bed taking off his shoes and shirt. He grabbed a piece of cloth from the table and wiped blood from his face.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Mai-we, mai-we. What happened? Oh my husband. Is it tsotsis who stabbed you? You have blood all over your body.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Get me some water!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

She rushed to the corner of the house and poured water into a basin from the bucket where they kept drinking water. She rushed back to her husband. She found a clean cloth and washed his face carefully: he kept\u00c2\u00a0 wincing from pain each time she washed his forehead.<\/p>\n

She cried silently.\u00c2\u00a0 He ignored her and after toweling himself off, he lay on the bed. She joined him. He blew out the candle and pulled the sheets up to his waist leaving his upper torso exposed.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153What happened?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153When nationalists say a white man is a dog, we should heed them.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153But you have always been against nationalists\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Shut up! You want me to tell you what happened and when I start talking, you interrupt me. What is wrong with you, woman?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

He narrated what had happened: his wife held her mouth when he said he had killed a white man.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153God help us. You have killed a murungu!\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153It was not intentional.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153All the same. Killing a white man. Au\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I would suggest you run away\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Where to?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Anywhere. Nyasaland, Northern Rhodesia\u00e2\u20ac\u00a6\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153No.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153No What?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I have surrendered myself to fate.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n“Are you mad?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Even if I run. They will find me.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153So you want to hand over yourself like a sheep before slaughter?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Shingi was silent. His wife started crying.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Oh who will look after my child if his father is hanged? Oh the world has no mercy.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Despite his pain, her cries acted like some cruel lullaby sending him to sleep. She silently joined him in bed.<\/p>\n

They were woken by a loud knock early in the morning. Already there was a sizable crowd outside. A Black Maria always attracted a crowd. Sergeant Dermott who was well known in the location was flanked by two black policemen. They wore khaki shorts and jumpers, brown boots and wrapped some putty around their legs. They wore funny looking small helmets on their heads. They usually rode bicycles to do their rounds in townships but today they were on special duty.<\/p>\n

Africans sometimes vented their anger on black policemen, whom they regarded as sell outs who had sold themselves to settlers for a paltry salary. Shingi came out of the house expressionless. His wife followed him rubbing her eyes with her right forefinger.<\/p>\n

Sergeant Dermott faced Shingi looking him in his eyes. He did not look hard like the rest of white policemen Shingi knew, though he had heard that Dermott had arrested more black people than other white officers. He looked at the crowd, and saw the same fear he had seen in the eyes of sheep when a dog was unleashed on them back home.<\/p>\n

\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Are you Shingi Chirenje, house boy for Mrs Johnson of Crested Crane farm?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Yes.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Are you aware that you have killed a white man, Phil Haddock?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I am aware.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d
\n\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Come with us to the charge office.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n

Shingi\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s face still registered no feeling as he was taken away with his hands held behind his back by two black policemen. His wife clung to him but the taller black police officer pushed her away. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153Don\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t take him away. It was all the white man\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s fault.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d The car drove off raising dust. The crowd dispersed and went back their business.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

A Dream Deferred Austin Kaluba What Happens to a Dream Deferred? \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0 \u00c2\u00a0Does it dry uplike a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore– And then run? Does it stink like rotten meat? Or crust and sugar over– like a syrupy sweet? Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"parent":96,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","template":"authorpage.php","meta":{"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-178","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue12\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/178","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue12\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue12\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue12\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue12\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=178"}],"version-history":[{"count":12,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue12\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/178\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1329,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue12\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/178\/revisions\/1329"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue12\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/96"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue12\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=178"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}