I stepped out of the elevator, onto the palatial splendour of the hotel lobby, and scanned the sea of faces. It was busy at this time of the morning, but most of the crowd were native Turkish. As a garrulous quartet of middle-aged Arab men sailed out of my field of vision, Jonathan appeared. He stuck out in these surroundings, but for all the wrong reasons. I felt a pang in my heart.
The rising footballer from Zimbabwe who, according to social media and online newspapers, was shaking up the Turkish scene. That is the person I had looked out for in this lobby. Instead, I found myself running my incredulous gaze over a sheepish, shabbily dressed man, the sort you saw loitering in the townships of Harare and other cities, and in far-off locations like Europe, America and other places. You took one look at them and saw their ethos summed up; life has been hugely disappointing, but I will hang on in quiet desperation, and if you can spare a cigarette or a plate of food, or a pair of jeans that you don’t need, that would be great.
His grin was enthusiastic though, and his embrace sincere. I pulled back to take another look, hoping to dear God that my disappointment did not show. It probably did, for there was that averting of the eyes again. ‘Tek-Tek!’ I greeted him, using his teenage nickname. ‘It is good to see you again after so long, man!’
‘You too, bro!’ said Takesure Gokora. ‘Look at you, flying around the world and attending film festivals and stuff!’ Was there bitterness and envy in that voice, or was that just my guilt seeping into my thoughts? Maybe.
‘I haven’t had breakfast yet,’ I said, already moving towards the restaurants. ‘Come on, even if you have already eaten. The Festival is picking up the tab!’
‘You artiste types always know how to get a free meal!’ said Tek-Tek falling in beside me.
‘With us, if you can’t afford it out of your own pocket, you don’t even think about entering a place like this.’
It was a buffet, but Tek-Tek had a couple of questions for staff. I was surprised at his proficiency in Turkish, he had only been here a couple of years. ‘You’ve gone native, I see,’ I said, as we sat at our table.
‘It sounds frightening at first, but Turkish is quite easy,’ said Takesure. ‘I was telling them I was now good at making beyaz peynir.’
‘What the hell is that, now?’
‘A type of cheese.’ He scanned the fare, and pointed it out to me, among what looked like olives. ‘We make it at the factory where I work.’
That awkward silence descended on us again, and we ate. It’s not that I was ready to confront him about the elephant in the room, but I was tired of changing the subject in order to evade it.
‘I hear Noma comes to Istanbul often, but I haven’t seen her yet,’ said Tek-Tek.
‘Yes, she gets her stock here, you know, for her boutique,’ I said.
I wondered who else from the neighbourhood he would bring up next. There had been a lot of success stories over the last few years, myself included. Cinema, commerce, science, music, virtually every field of human endeavour had someone from our neighbourhood making waves in South Africa, the US, Canada, the UK, Japan, India, Turkey and other distant locations. Anywhere, but in Zimbabwe. Since the turn of the century, young men and women had been leaving the southern African country in droves, seeking those opportunities. And finding them.
Observing Tek-Tek across the table brought home the fact that not everyone who went out had found them yet.
‘How about you, bro?’ I said, smiling affably, even though I could see from the look on Tek-Tek’s face, I might as well be plunging an assegai into his gut.
‘Need you ask?’ he said. ‘I have been here nearly four years and haven’t got past the door yet.’ This time there was no mistaking the bitterness.
‘What happened, bro?’ I said. ‘It can’t be because of your playing skills.’
‘When I came over, the FIFA agent had just left Turkey. I missed him by two days. So, I decided to wait for the next season. Got a factory job, played for the company’s club. A year later, I lost my job and I could not afford to come into town to meet the agent. The following year, I needed to raise funds for my visa application. I now have a residence permit, but let’s face it, time is not on my side, man.’ He shook his head slowly.
‘What do you mean time is not on your side?’
‘Do you know the career life-span of a footballer?’
I shook my head. But I have never seen a footballer in his forties, or even thirties. Tek-Tek was now twenty-seven.
‘I can’t compete with all the kids coming in, not just from Zimbabwe, but all over Africa,’ he said. ‘There are these agents in Liberia, Nigeria etc. that charge these kids a fortune, promising to get them a lucrative deal here, and then bigger clubs in Europe. Do you know how many aspiring footballers actually get a professional gig? One out of a hundred. There are some two hundred and fifty young African men in Ferikoy, where I live.’
‘So, you are working a factory job? Tek-Tek, is that what is keeping you here in Turkey, factory job?’
‘I’ll tell you why I stay.’ He leaned forward. ‘I am ashamed to go back to Zimbabwe, Dumisani.’
I nodded. I understood perfectly.
‘It’s not always going to be a factory job,’ he said, resuming his meal. ‘There is a demand for translators, and I might be setting up a proper service once I can afford the fees and stuff. So, things might look up this year. Next month, the drafting agents will come. If they think I am too old, then I will focus on this translation business.’
I watched him eat, and some of that pity I had felt upon seeing him earlier dissipated. Zimbabweans were cruel enough in their judgement to make so many people prefer destitution in foreign lands than to return home to start again and maybe try another foreign land. At least he did not appear to have turned to crime just to make enough money to appear successful. And, he knew that I would never spread the truth about his career, otherwise he would have never agreed to meet me.
A month later, I did send him a message on WhatsApp, asking if the agents had come to Ferikoy. He replied that they had, but they said that he was too old. He was not too bothered. Tek Translations had been incorporated. I told Noma about him, and she said she needed some documents done. Tek-Tek later sent me a picture of himself attended by a lovely Turkish girl.
Two months later, I was back in Zimbabwe, and took a walk in the old neighbourhood. One stark feature about the area was the virtual absence of people of my generation. They were all away, in foreign lands. This was the reality of our country in the twenty-first century. We were a people transformed from home-comers, to permanent exiles.
‘Dumi!’
I whirled round, as a sleek black Honda pulled up beside me. The driver stepped out, and gave me a massive hug, then stepped back to look at me. ‘Dumi, the film director!’
‘Jane, the financial markets consultant!’
She laughed at the rejoinder. ‘I had no idea you were around, man. And I am sure Kuda did not know either, otherwise she would have stayed longer. She went back to Australia this morning.’
Kuda, her younger sister, was the same age as me. We had dated at school, then sort of grew out of each other. But she was still single, and so was I. Another time, another place and all that.
‘Well, thanks to social media, we are still in touch, although it would have been great to see Kuda again,’ I said. ‘Take you, for instance; I have just realised that I have not actually seen you for five years, yet I am sure I am up to date with what you are doing and were you are.’
‘I guess so,’ she said. ‘I am flying back tomorrow myself. There is nothing to stick around for, my life is in Sweden now. I only came back because Donny is also going abroad.’
Donny was the youngest of her siblings.
‘That is great,’ I said. ‘Is he coming with you? There are some really good Swedish sides.’
‘No, he’s going to Turkey,’ she said. ‘He is going to try to join a professional team there. It’s not exactly the UK or France, but he will still be making more in a month than he would hope to in a year here.’
‘Oh, that is great,’ I said. ‘Tek-Tek is there, you know.’
‘Yes,’ said Jane. ‘In fact, it is his agency that is sorting this thing. I paid him a large sum, and he will introduce Donny to the right people.’
My smile remained fixed on my mouth, but the good feeling had died in me, the way it does when you are watching a movie and the character you thought was charming and attractive turns out to be the villain just seconds after you have formed this impression of them. What replaced the good feeling was a conflicting set of emotions, like the snake heads of a hydra fighting with each other.
‘Anyway, I have to rush, I only got out of the house to meet a visitor arriving at the bus station in a few minutes,’ said Jane. ‘If you are still around, drop by and let’s catch up. Then you can tell me what it’s like to meet Tongayi Chirisa and all the other Zimbabwean movie stars in Hollywood!’
I mumbled a response, and stared bleakly after her car until it reached the top of the road and turned right.
His grin was enthusiastic though, and his embrace sincere. I pulled back to take another look, hoping to dear God that my disappointment did not show. It probably did, for there was that averting of the eyes again. ‘Tek-Tek!’ I greeted him, using his teenage nickname. ‘It is good to see you again after so long, man!’
‘You too, bro!’ said Takesure Gokora. ‘Look at you, flying around the world and attending film festivals and stuff!’ Was there bitterness and envy in that voice, or was that just my guilt seeping into my thoughts? Maybe.
‘I haven’t had breakfast yet,’ I said, already moving towards the restaurants. ‘Come on, even if you have already eaten. The Festival is picking up the tab!’
‘You artiste types always know how to get a free meal!’ said Tek-Tek falling in beside me.
‘With us, if you can’t afford it out of your own pocket, you don’t even think about entering a place like this.’
It was a buffet, but Tek-Tek had a couple of questions for staff. I was surprised at his proficiency in Turkish, he had only been here a couple of years. ‘You’ve gone native, I see,’ I said, as we sat at our table.
‘It sounds frightening at first, but Turkish is quite easy,’ said Takesure. ‘I was telling them I was now good at making beyaz peynir.’
‘What the hell is that, now?’
‘A type of cheese.’ He scanned the fare, and pointed it out to me, among what looked like olives. ‘We make it at the factory where I work.’
That awkward silence descended on us again, and we ate. It’s not that I was ready to confront him about the elephant in the room, but I was tired of changing the subject in order to evade it.
‘I hear Noma comes to Istanbul often, but I haven’t seen her yet,’ said Tek-Tek.
‘Yes, she gets her stock here, you know, for her boutique,’ I said.
I wondered who else from the neighbourhood he would bring up next. There had been a lot of success stories over the last few years, myself included. Cinema, commerce, science, music, virtually every field of human endeavour had someone from our neighbourhood making waves in South Africa, the US, Canada, the UK, Japan, India, Turkey and other distant locations. Anywhere, but in Zimbabwe. Since the turn of the century, young men and women had been leaving the southern African country in droves, seeking those opportunities. And finding them.
Observing Tek-Tek across the table brought home the fact that not everyone who went out had found them yet.
‘How about you, bro?’ I said, smiling affably, even though I could see from the look on Tek-Tek’s face, I might as well be plunging an assegai into his gut.
‘Need you ask?’ he said. ‘I have been here nearly four years and haven’t got past the door yet.’ This time there was no mistaking the bitterness.
‘What happened, bro?’ I said. ‘It can’t be because of your playing skills.’
‘When I came over, the FIFA agent had just left Turkey. I missed him by two days. So, I decided to wait for the next season. Got a factory job, played for the company’s club. A year later, I lost my job and I could not afford to come into town to meet the agent. The following year, I needed to raise funds for my visa application. I now have a residence permit, but let’s face it, time is not on my side, man.’ He shook his head slowly.
‘What do you mean time is not on your side?’
‘Do you know the career life-span of a footballer?’
I shook my head. But I have never seen a footballer in his forties, or even thirties. Tek-Tek was now twenty-seven.
‘I can’t compete with all the kids coming in, not just from Zimbabwe, but all over Africa,’ he said. ‘There are these agents in Liberia, Nigeria etc. that charge these kids a fortune, promising to get them a lucrative deal here, and then bigger clubs in Europe. Do you know how many aspiring footballers actually get a professional gig? One out of a hundred. There are some two hundred and fifty young African men in Ferikoy, where I live.’
‘So, you are working a factory job? Tek-Tek, is that what is keeping you here in Turkey, factory job?’
‘I’ll tell you why I stay.’ He leaned forward. ‘I am ashamed to go back to Zimbabwe, Dumisani.’
I nodded. I understood perfectly.
‘It’s not always going to be a factory job,’ he said, resuming his meal. ‘There is a demand for translators, and I might be setting up a proper service once I can afford the fees and stuff. So, things might look up this year. Next month, the drafting agents will come. If they think I am too old, then I will focus on this translation business.’
I watched him eat, and some of that pity I had felt upon seeing him earlier dissipated. Zimbabweans were cruel enough in their judgement to make so many people prefer destitution in foreign lands than to return home to start again and maybe try another foreign land. At least he did not appear to have turned to crime just to make enough money to appear successful. And, he knew that I would never spread the truth about his career, otherwise he would have never agreed to meet me.
A month later, I did send him a message on WhatsApp, asking if the agents had come to Ferikoy. He replied that they had, but they said that he was too old. He was not too bothered. Tek Translations had been incorporated. I told Noma about him, and she said she needed some documents done. Tek-Tek later sent me a picture of himself attended by a lovely Turkish girl.
Two months later, I was back in Zimbabwe, and took a walk in the old neighbourhood. One stark feature about the area was the virtual absence of people of my generation. They were all away, in foreign lands. This was the reality of our country in the twenty-first century. We were a people transformed from home-comers, to permanent exiles.
‘Dumi!’
I whirled round, as a sleek black Honda pulled up beside me. The driver stepped out, and gave me a massive hug, then stepped back to look at me. ‘Dumi, the film director!’
‘Jane, the financial markets consultant!’
She laughed at the rejoinder. ‘I had no idea you were around, man. And I am sure Kuda did not know either, otherwise she would have stayed longer. She went back to Australia this morning.’
Kuda, her younger sister, was the same age as me. We had dated at school, then sort of grew out of each other. But she was still single, and so was I. Another time, another place and all that.
‘Well, thanks to social media, we are still in touch, although it would have been great to see Kuda again,’ I said. ‘Take you, for instance; I have just realised that I have not actually seen you for five years, yet I am sure I am up to date with what you are doing and were you are.’
‘I guess so,’ she said. ‘I am flying back tomorrow myself. There is nothing to stick around for, my life is in Sweden now. I only came back because Donny is also going abroad.’
Donny was the youngest of her siblings.
‘That is great,’ I said. ‘Is he coming with you? There are some really good Swedish sides.’
‘No, he’s going to Turkey,’ she said. ‘He is going to try to join a professional team there. It’s not exactly the UK or France, but he will still be making more in a month than he would hope to in a year here.’
‘Oh, that is great,’ I said. ‘Tek-Tek is there, you know.’
‘Yes,’ said Jane. ‘In fact, it is his agency that is sorting this thing. I paid him a large sum, and he will introduce Donny to the right people.’
My smile remained fixed on my mouth, but the good feeling had died in me, the way it does when you are watching a movie and the character you thought was charming and attractive turns out to be the villain just seconds after you have formed this impression of them. What replaced the good feeling was a conflicting set of emotions, like the snake heads of a hydra fighting with each other.
‘Anyway, I have to rush, I only got out of the house to meet a visitor arriving at the bus station in a few minutes,’ said Jane. ‘If you are still around, drop by and let’s catch up. Then you can tell me what it’s like to meet Tongayi Chirisa and all the other Zimbabwean movie stars in Hollywood!’
I mumbled a response, and stared bleakly after her car until it reached the top of the road and turned right.
Masimba Musodza was born in Zimbabwe, and has lived most of his adult life in the United Kingdom. His short stories, mostly in the speculative fiction genre, have appeared in periodicals and anthologies around the world. He has written two novels and a novella in his first language, ChiShona. His collection of science-fiction stories, The Junkyard Rastaman & Other Stories, was published in 2020. Masimba also writes for stage and screen. He lives in Middlesbrough, North East England.
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