The Whistleblower Simbarashe Steyn Kundizeza (bio) It began the day I bumped into Silas Chikwama at the Eastgate shopping mall in Harare. It was raining quite heavily that January afternoon. A sizeable crowd of people had gathered under the cover of the mall's high roof. Most were milling aimlessly around, taking each other's pictures or going from one shop to another wistfully looking at expensive goods that their meagre salaries didn't allow them to buy while they waited for the rain to subside. Taking advantage of the thick crowds, a few informal and illegal currency dealers mingled unobtrusively amongst the public, recognizable only by the large wads of cash they held, muttering from time to time "maUSA, maRand"—they were exchanging United States dollars for the South African rand and vice versa. I had just come out of a bank on the ground floor when I ran into him. The last time I had seen him prior to this day was when I was in high school where he had been my teacher for three years. I felt a bit awkward seeing him now because since then I'd had a brief relationship with his niece Agatha and I wasn't sure whether he knew about this or how he felt about it if he did. He started balding and had gained weight considerably too, but on the whole he still looked the same. He spotted me first and greeted me with a very firmly grasped handshake and his characteristic rowdy, exuberant laughter. After that he launched into an endless stream of questions, which I answered as briefly as I could. I was doing quite well, thank you. Oh, my grandmother was fine. Yes, really. Yes, I'd already graduated from university. Thank you. A Bachelor of Science Honours Degree in Computer Science. Yes, that's right. A job? Well, yes. Sort of. I mean I am working, but I am still looking for something better. No, they weren't paying me much. Yes, I was sure. Chikwama shook his head in sympathy. "It's hard to find a good job these days, Frank. I feel sorry for you young people; back in our day you [End Page 239] knew you had a reasonable chance of getting a job after college. But these days …" he nodded towards a passing forex dealer "That's all you can do. Wheeling and dealing. University graduates like you are driving taxis or selling second hand clothes in flea markets. Can you imagine?'' "The situation is really bad," I agreed. "Let's hope things will get better soon," Chikwama sighed. "So how's the job? Are you still at Houghton Park High?" I asked. He looked scandalized. "No, I quit two years ago! I'm no longer in teaching. Didn't Agatha tell you?" "No, she didn't tell me," I said. Chikwama smiled at me, a lewd look on his face. So he knew about Agatha and me. "Yes, I decided to resign. Teaching is a very frustrating job nowadays, Frank. And poorly paid, too. My wife and children deserve to eat rice and chicken, not just sadza and vegetables every day, until their intestines start turning green, don't they?" They certainly did, and I said so. But what was he doing now if not teaching? He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and looked at his watch before he said shortly, "I'm working in security these days." Security? I looked closely at him, and decided that his suit looked far too expensive for him to be a security guard. "Do you now own a security company?'' I asked. Chikwama laughed and said, "No, not that kind of security. I meant national security. For the C-Tens." C-Ten, the man on the street's nickname for the Central Intelligence Organization. If Silas Chikwama had shouted that single word, the whole Eastgate shopping mall would've frozen instantly, save perhaps for the money dealers who would've almost certainly started to flee, with visions of beefy men clad in dark suits and wielding brick-sized fists (which reputedly could knock a man senseless with just...
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