Boarding an airplane full of (mostly) Zimbos on my way back was no different from Kukura Kurerwa (affectionately know as KK) we patronized on our annual pilgrimage to rural manicaland in the 90s. First was the inevitable pushing and shoving in the queue to board. Then the knowing looks to younger people who sat down in that transfer vehicle, looks that said simukai vakuru vagare. When we got sight of the aircraft, whose livery was in the colonial blue and red colors of InterAir (i physically groaned) - complaints about the government started, how airzim was ruining the national airline by leasing routes to 3rd parties vachitoita havo musana, how maybe the national airline was here but parked somewhere waiting for some of the inauguration delegates to finish celebrating and shopping. Inside, women had filled up overhead cabins with both the allowable hand luggage and handbags - occupying space that others should use instead of fitting handbags under the seat. Could not help thinking how selfish we can be as a nation - and maybe a little foolish, like closing whole cities roads for carnivals whose proceeds may not even reach tokwe-mukosi. Then there is the lady who is already sitting at my seat. We discover we have both been allocated 15F, ground control comes up, asks for her pass, my pass, her passport, my passport and deduces she should actually be in 17D. But she has already buckled in and she is way older and seems to want that window seat. So I do the Christian thing-take her seat instead-but not before she has asked me to take her bag overhead and hand her something from it. I have watched enough episodes of Jack Bauer, oops 24 to know not to handle peoples business so I hastily and respectfully decline and settle on 17D aisle. (Window seats are of no use at night landing in Harare, unosvika kusina magetsi...esp kuine carnival so) meanwhile I pitied a middle aged white fella who had a boarding pass clearly printed 20F but alas the plane had no such seat. Takeoff was preceded by a couple of loudmouth know it alls giving an unsolicited flying 101 lesson and then a running commentary during takeoff including highlights like: handidzime phone anopenga, iye ngaagarewo pasi and havasi kuspraya nhasi hindava? Fate would have me sit next to some kids of the prophet complete with plastic hand bands, whom I would not have minded had they not kept up a lively conversation over my head, including exchanging war stories about past plane rides Hre-Joburg. (If I were less mature I would have interjected with ini ndiri kubva ku States, chinyararai! I think I need to do an open post about flying etiquette). The serving of food was my saving grace - hurrah for beef, mixed veg, potato salad. And ginger ale! (Klm is clearly benefitting from the Delta codeshare, all they served was coke in its various forms and sprite). Also a note to the caterer. Zimbos dont dig dessert when its stuff like bread pudding. Keep it simple cake, icecream. I avoided the coffee - I deal with jetlag decisively by sleeping normal time wherever I am. Being a city resident im crossing fingers there will be no noise. In conclusion, masasi emundege (overhead after the church pips had eaten and could talk) -mazviona here kuti varikunonoka kuserver -muskana uyu ngaatikwazise haazii here kuti ndiye Sisi vemundege - the last one, and this one irritated me the most: pssssss psssss - calling the waiter. Im like dude, there is a BELL above you! #gavehimthelook And as we descend I cannot help but think, truly that was a bus experience, albeit in the air. Chasara chete kunyorerwa change pa corner ye boarding pass! When the turbulence begins I begin to think on the potholes ahead and sigh contentedly : we are home! And, we, the ZimAssets; shall fix this, by the grace of God we shall. A country has no greater assets, than us, its people. It is good to be home. Harare selfie-ites your queen is back!
Posted on: Sat, 24 May 2014 19:05:43 +0000
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