Fun Thomas, a wolf in sheep’s clothing

FUN Thomas was just fun. But he was fun in a di erent sort of way. My Oxford Student Companion Dictionary de

ned fun as a joke or tease. Fun Thomas was fun, but in a di erent sort of way. He was our ghetto African version of Rowan Atkinson, Mr Bean. All the fun vibrated from his facial expressions and body movements. I don't ever remember hearing his voice. Maybe the day I would hear his voice, all would be doom.

So much for describing him! He was dark like a cattle herder in the grasslands of Wedza. If you know you know, but the texture of his skin put him in good stead. That he was handsome, you could not take it away from him. Fun Thomas was not yet on the wrong side of forty years of age. He was an easy going innocent chap, always dressed sharply.

I heard that he had two brothers overseas who took care of his needs.

He was popular with children and women.

He would get easily in people's houses and people would crack their ribs with laughter. That was him alright and had become a darling in many homes in our ghetto streets.

As it was a Saturday, and it was one of my o days at Amandwandwe Security Company, I was preparing to go out to the shops to try some luck of getting an extra dollar and maybe have a beer or two if the Gods smiled at me.

Marwadzo, his name in simple translation, Pain was crying for porridge.

Mai Maidei was still preparing it. And then Maidei, my daughter, her name in simple translation "What of it?" or "What Do You Want?" said, "Baba, I want bread." And by the way she was the only one of my children that called me "baba." The other two called me "dad" which I preferred and had a decent modern ring to it. I gave her a "talking eye" so to speak.

"There is no money for bread. Do you know how much bread is costing these days?" I asked her as if she would know.

"The price of bread is $750," I said in frustration.

"Matikuwadza nembambaira baba," she said. Out of the corner of my left eye, I saw Mai Maidei trying unsuccessfully to hide a chuckle.

It was at that moment I got a break. The demands were becoming unbearable. My child could never understand about our nances and this screwed economy. Suddenly in the street, there was a shout "Fun Thomas! Fun Thomas! Fun Thomas!"

I peered through the window and sure enough there was Fun Thomas and hordes of excited children were hot on his heels. He headed for our neighbour, at House Number 1444. I must say he was a frequent guest there. The husband was away most of the time. He was a truck driver, for long distance cargo. Our people simply said he was a gonyeti driver. Let me not say much about this breed of drivers as that would be a very long story with twists and turns.

My children, Maidei, Marita and Marwadzo quickly left the house and joined the other children for the fun at House Number 1444.

"I won't take long, I am going to see Baba VaTata at the shops," I said to my wife, Mai Maidei.

"And please bring me something nice, even a chocolate like you used to do in the old days," she said.

I swore under my breathe as I left the house. It was no wonder men had a short life expectancy. There were so many demands that triggered higher stress levels.

It was also on this day I had a big lesson. Never to trust anyone at face value! And this hard painful truth had to come through that doyen of fun and innocence, Fun Thomas. But before I come to that, I actually met Rasta by the shops. He was literally clinging to a brown bottle of Castle Lager as if his whole life depended on it, and when he saw me he tried unsuccessfully to hide it in his bomber jacket which appeared oversized on his slender body.

He did not seem to have that gift of giving and sharing that rang so well among ghetto beer imbibers, never mind the fact that more often than not, I bought him beers a lot in the past. If one was down on his luck, one could never count on Rasta for assistance.

Fortunately my good friend, Baba VaTata came by.

"Hello guys, ndeipi?" He said.

I gave him an infectious smile which must have prompted him to buy two Black Labels at once, one for him and one for me. That was one thing about Baba VaTata, he was not sel sh. He shared liberally. His borehole business was ourishing besides his extortionist money lending hustle.

I envied him. He was charging $50 for a 20-litre bucket of water to each and every resident who wanted to draw water, a scarce commodity the city fathers were failing to adequately provide. He controlled three borehole sites, which he never invested in and used his overzealous bouncers to collect the hard earned money. It was a puzzle he was never arrested for this. Someone big must be behind his hustle.

It was while we were each on our fourth or fth beer, I was fast losing count, that all hell seemed to break loose. Fun Thomas, half naked, passed by at break neck speed, just avoided being hit by a Honda Fit by a hair's whisker. All the while he was screaming, "Amai! Amai! Amai!" He was running for dear life and in hot pursuit was a mob of people, mostly men bent on instant justice.

At the speed he was running at, only a rocket could catch him. Fun Thomas was running like the wind.

"What is this?" I asked. One of the men, Tapera or Tarps as we called him, stopped by, breathing heavily. I thought I saw my neighbour, the gonyeti driver among the chasing crowd but I was not sure.

"Fun Thomas was caught red handed in his birth suit, naked in the bedroom of your neighbour," said Tarps.

"Ooh, this can't be true!" I said to the others. I could not believe this.

And Baba VaTata said: “I heard rumours before about him, that he was a womaniser. He took advantage of his fame as no one suspected him of mischief."

I looked at the faces of the men around me. I thought I could see a certain degree of worry.

There was no one to trust anymore. Fun Thomas was a wolf in sheep's clothing. And that was the problem of our people these days; deception was well hid under the surface. My good man of the cloth would always say don't live a pretentious life or "usaite munhu wefeki."

● Onie Ndoro is a writer, educationist and IELTS tutor. For feedback: oniendoro@gmail.com/twitter @ Onie90396982/0773007173