Rhodesians Never Die, and other lies
We’re like mushrooms, I remember hearing my parents and their friends saying to each other, sipping sundowners and swatting mozzies by the pool, crunching peri-peri cashews from Beira. Mushrooms, us Rhodesians hey – kept in the dark and fed on bullshit. Another gin anyone? Castle?
The clink of bottles, the tinkle of ice.
Then the grown-ups’ conversation, previously so carefree, loud and laughter-filled, became a cobweb of whispers; did you hear about them, and they’re leaving for somewhere and he got caught doing that and foreign currency and passports and Jesus bloody Christ Steven haven’t you got homework to do instead of sitting here gormlessly eavesdropping?
Dusk wasn’t as relaxed anymore; helicopters whump-whumping overhead disturbed the evening birdsong. The news in black and white on the RBC a collage of grim and grimmer updates from out in the sticks and certain countries to the north of us. At PEfukkenS, the flag flew at half-mast more regularly.
So many lies. From Uncle Ian’s nasal assertion to his fellow Rhodesians of ‘a thousand years of white rule’, to all the people who said they’d be switching off the lights at the airport, before secretively flitting off into a never to be seen again except on Facebook 20 years later future. Liars, the lot of us.
So many lies we’ve told ourselves since: we’re alright, we’ve moved on, I think of myself as South African/ English/ American/ Australian/ Israeli now. So glad we left, got out at the right time, so sorry for the ones who stayed. So long, farewell, aufweidersein, adieu. The sound of moving.
But chickens, as June always told me, come home to roost. Do you know what that means my boy? Hey, do you fully understand? Understand chickens ma? Not really. It means that life catches up with you my boy. That’s what it means, not literally bloody chickens. Go do your homework. Ja ma, sorry ma.
And the biggest, darkest, loudest chicken of them all has come home to roost, flapping its wings, comb red as blood. Because contrary to anything Clem Tholet would’ve had us believe, we didn’t keep them north of the Zambezi and Rhodesians do die, and we have reached that time of our lives, and theirs, when they’re dying a lot.
Of course, a lot of Rhodesians of all colours have died already, from the many things that always killed us: malaria, bilharzia, flatdogs, nyokas, elephant, buffalo, rhino, landmines, bullets (sometimes self-inflicted), grenades, drunk drivers, tobacco, booze, drowning, stupidity, cancer and all the other slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.
But as time passes, I get more and more news like hey do you remember this oke, he died last night. A family announcing sadly that a beloved parent has gone peacefully and will be much missed. The guy who all these years later lost his war against his memories of the hondo and took matters into his own hands.
And every time one of us dies, no matter where they have passed on – Down South, or in America, Australia, Israel, England, wherever – who gathers round the bereaved but other Rhodesians. Messages of comfort, of love, of respect and remembrance from home; because as we get fewer in number, we need each other more and more. Because home just might be where one grew up, and not where one lives now.
Khona-manje the last of us, “The Last Rhodesian” who ever that may be, will die too. Before they do, could they please switch off the light at the airport?
Steven: Two things: 1. You should publish a book of your short essays from the past. 2. You should write a book about life in Salisbury at the time you were growing up. A lot of people would relate. I for one, would pay money for this.
Best, Cyril
Hi Cyril. Thanks man. I am working on a book. I have been working on it for maningi years now; one of these days, I might even write it…
Pleased to know that you’re still going; notwithstanding a less than promising start at Blakiston and then PE. Try being one of two yids in a working class school – Churchill. Every day was a nightmare.
At least you didn’t go to Mount Pleasant – who calls a school Mt Pissant anyway?
That less than promising start has yet to stop Arthur…
Cask strength is your answer to less than promising perpetual starts oubaas. Chiboolies bloat, and in gin u canna float.
He must! This is great stuff!
Simply brilliant and 😞 SADLY correct.humba gahle
Howzit bugger
Welcome back. We missed you. You are one of the last vestiges of the memories we all hold so dear. Thank you for your stories – they bring so many memories (good and sad) of a unique place that will never be repeated on this planet.
Thanks Greg. Glad you enjoy them. Take care.
“Jesus bloody Christ Steven haven’t you written your fukken book yet?” Seriously, though, welcome back!
sorry hey. now now. or maybe just now. or maybe never.
Mungwanane from Perth, WA. Makorokoto for getting back in the saddle, shamwari! We missed your missives big time! Was worried you’d popped your takkies!!
Takkies (bata, white, size 11) firmly on feet shamwari! Chiz.
Good to hear! I still miss our darling Pam, or Pamehla as I used to call her, re Sacha Baron Cohen’s fillum that I can’t recall the title. She was a shamwari of note!
Pam really was a top gwarra.
Howzit Abo
So glad to hear from you again…..
<
div>Trust you and yours are well? I’m still
Wayno! Howzit man. All good here – hope your side too.
Howzit, a blast from the past. I thought you had hifaed, Have not seen your posts for yonks. What happened that you returned to my feed?
I wrote something after five years of not writing anything…
Thanks for returning us. You have a clever way of finding levity in the sadness of days long gone.
Write the book and not so long between posts… please.
sorry hey. had to have a little lie down
💯 % agree with this. Glad you are still with us.
Not as glad as I am!
So pleased to see that you are back at it
You are a wonderful writer and you give me what the world needs.a smile and a laugh
Zimbabwean/rhodesians are special
Would love to meet you sometime even though you are a shifty
Keep on creating
shifty as fuck man
That was a cheerful read to wake up to on a cold, dark Salisbury* morning. But well observed.
* Salisbury, UK. We moved here a year ago – the ultimate, futile whenwe manoeuvre. Beat that.
Hey Mike. Tell me there’s a local Guido’s!
Yissus Abramowitz, I thought you were dead.
Thx for this.
Rhodesians never die
I wake up here in the cold, and dark of Ongar (look back in Ongar) lost in meaning, and the UK and see some light as Mr Abramowitz has posted another enlightening, not to say poignant and truthful piece.
If I am the light, you are in deep kak hey. But thanks man.
Wow, so happy to hear your latest message! I thought maybe you had gapped it! Rhodesians do die, sure (after all we are not quite immortal, hey) but the ones that are left still have the sense of humour that we always had. And are united on the www thank God! Cheers and have another chibulie.
Cheers man
Well, just look what the cat bought in…after all these years.
Welcome back my friends to the show that never ends.
How refreshingly and brutally honest, Stephen. Thanks Bud 🙏🏾
Hey man. Thanks. Very kind of you.
We have missed you. Thank you for the article. Bitter/sweet.
Thanks man
Wow your heart speaks to us all – brilliant ❤️
thanks – what a lovely thing to say
Welcome back! Always loved your letters.Thank you.
thanks Maggie
Hey Steven – you’re the best. Love your unique ability to bring a big nostalgic smile to us Rhodies with you fine stories. Lovely to hear from you, mate!
Thank you; very kind.
Imagine my delight when I looked at my inbox this morning and saw my favourite word in the English language: wheniwasawhenwe. How incredibly lovely of you to send me my own personal copy. Thank you so much. Absolutely loved it as always. Didn’t cack myself this time – was too serious for that.
June was right about the chickens, hey. Give me strength: “I think of myself as South African/English/American/Australian/Israeli”. I mean, really, are they kidding?
Yes we gather round for comfort when we need to. I often talk about this phenomenon with Joyce Lasovsky. Remember her? 96, still glam, still talking.
Sending you maningi Rhodesian love and kisses. Take care xx
ag Marion. My best to Joyce and spans of love
Agonisingly true.
Ja. It really is.
Ya well no fine.
You it right on the skop.
And when you finish up in France it’s kind of lonely.
Not even any decent beer.
Ja. But so much good armagnac you forget about the beer.
Last year, when I passed through RG Mugabe airport on the way to Kariba, the lights were off.
hahaha! there’s a metaphor
Damn, you made my day with that. Just got back to canada from Netanya, with a dose of bronchitis, and my cough disappeared while readibg this.
And ya, okes are frekking like flies. Too bad.
frekking like flies is exactly what’s cutting man
Our way of life changed along with our changing country .
That’s nothing new in any country in the past or present.
We eventually adapt even if we did believe we would in the beginning.
Maybe its blind faith rather than lies.
maybe it is; this is just how I see it.
Lovely to read your story Steven
thanks Molly
Welcome back… Long time!
ja. has been. thanks
another amazing story, with the truth bitterly distilled from the years of experience. wish you well 🙂
thanks
Oh man – it’s so good to have you back. Have missed your stories spans – they’re so unmistakably you! 🙂
is that a good thing? Thanks for the lovely message.
Wonderful to see you in print again, just a pity it was bit melancholic. I left in 71 before it got horrible and therefore never felt betrayed , lied to and whatever else the bitter enders felt. From ’65 onwards when I was 18 I just felt that the genie of African nationalism could not be put back in the bottle and that white Rhodesians basically just wanted to put the clock back. Your postings have made me cry with laughter at he accuracy of your school boy slang and the memory of how good life there could sometimes be. thanks very much
John
ja man. I guess we all feel our own things… thanks for the kind words
I always enjoy reading your posts, even though I’m no Rhodie and have no connection with Rhodesia or Zim. Thank you. Please keep writing!
Thanks mate!
OMGOSH!! Was talking about you YESTERDAY with Dan Todes and his lovely wife Adi and how much we miss not hearing from you!!, and then you popped into my inbox today! Totally wonderful!! Please don’t make us wait another 5 years. xxx
Hiya Sandy! Sorry about that hey. Punctuality never a strong point (school reports to prove it…). Lots of love
Good to have you back. I still reread your old stories regularly
I find the responses to my (sporadic…) rambling really heart-warming – thanks
I may not be a whenwe in the true sense but this resonated. Hope we won’t have to wait another 5 years to read some more stories.
sorry Manu. Time is a bugger hey.
Sooo glad you are back.
thank you Sue. Very kind.
thanks Sue – very kind of you
Ahhh… so good to see (read) you again! 🙂 Loved this one, thank you… bitter-sweet.
Cheers and best wishes from Harare (still here, powered by solar inverter most of the time. Sigh!)
Love to you all in Harare.
So we are still here & the kids are all over the world. I suppose that we’ll be the o es turning off the lights at the Airport.
Oh sorry, I forgot the lights are already off coz they have drained Kariba so no more hydro power until April next year.
Door read Steven
Thank you sir
Just when I realise you’re never coming back and there you are again, beautiful words as ever. As already said, get your thoughts down on paper, I buy many a copy. Take care man
Thoughts would a very formal way of describing things. Chiz man.
Ah Abo, thanks for this latest piece, a jewel like all the others. I recall vividly those “regret to announce …” preambles on RTV and RBC. Now we just see wishes of “long life” on Dave Bloom’s site, from our ageing community, Our generation is knocking on that door – oy! But at least the bokke flippin donnered the poms on Saturday – and even you acknowledged that brilliant performance – so life is good. Cheers mate.
Hey Todi! Ja – the Bokke were great.
You know Dave Bloom?
We were great mates when he went to Blakiston and I went to Highlands.
We last spoke about 5-8 years ago.
Is Dan Todes Mark’s boet?
Ja Bloom is a legend, and yes Dan and Mark boets
Dan, are you related to Mark? Do you see Dave Bloom at all? (Dunno if you’re in Israel)
My name is Arthur Barnett – both Mark and Dave will remember me from Salisbury and Habonim days
Sjoe, that was dark for you, but I am still stoked to see you on again. Our Rhodesian experience is such a good reminder that this world is not our final home. I am still so grateful that my character was formed by the unique upbringing we had, Anywhere we go in the world we add value to the the place
Thanks for the lovely comment.
Brought back memories. We had so much faith and belief!
ja we did hey?
Welcome back Abo.Are you still hiding out in the wilds of New Zealand?Good to see you’ve got your mojo back.Take care
Howzit bugger. Ja still in NZ, with summer intervals in France. Look after yourself mate.
At least the crappy NZ weather has made you put “pen to paper”. Best wishes from the top of the North Island
Always beautiful here in Tairāwhiti mate. All the best!
Thrilled to see your fukken kenge wizardry back online again Abo! A beautifully balanced and straight-to-the-heart piece. Had the pleasure of having David Pick and his wife to dinner last night as they passed through here … many names and memories were rekindled! Cheers
chiz man! Good bugger that Pick hey.
You capture down memory lane perfectly. A little melancholic but true as too many mates falling off the proverbial perch. What you can’t capture in your writing is the weather, which I can report is as wonderful as ever in the Zambezi Valley and Harare..
man I miss that weather hey? blue-blue sky, electric storms, pounding rain, blue-blue sky. chongalolos. stay well.