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Lenox Mhlanga

In Zimbabwe we tend to take political correctness a bit too far. For instance, problems here are never referred as such but are wrapped in cotton wool. The correct term, we are always reminded, is “challenges.”

Problems, we suspect, are the direct result of some degree of incompetence or irresponsibility. Challenges, on the other hand, are a slight diversion from the norm and are to a large extent surmountable.

Well let’s steer away from that hard hat area and take a lighter look at this interesting phenomenon.

Sometime back, I did a bit of research on ways in which one could address certain deficiencies among us without offending the subject matter.
For example, I discovered that one is never referred to as short, but rather, “vertically challenged.” Now we are told that no one’s tall anymore.

They are “vertically enhanced” people, not implying of course that those of us who are tall are offended by their extraordinary height above sea-level. But one would if he were called a ‘tower-light.’

Quite a number among our student population would be glad to know that no-one fails in class anymore; you are merely “passing impaired.” Neither are you detained after school, you’re just one of the “exit delayed.” Your room at college isn’t cluttered; it’s just “passage restrictive.”

Nowadays, a worker isn’t referred to as lazy. He’s “energetically declined.” His or her locker isn’t overflowing with junk, but “closure prohibitive.” Kids don’t get grounded by their parents but hey merely hit “social speed humps.”

Do you remember when it was difficult to complete your homework?  And you had to stand before the teacher and lie through your teeth about how the dog came into your room and, promptly without provocation, ate your homework exercise book?

Take heart because there is a new term floating around these days. Yes, your homework isn’t missing; it’s just having an “out-of-notebook experience.”

Sleeping in class was not an unusual phenomenon, particularly when the lesson or the teacher or both, were boring you to death.

During our time we used to strategically position ourselves in the back row for that much sought after before-lunch snooze.  The teachers did notice or rather chose to allow us to exercise our “democratic right of non-participation in the lesson.” Those who are still in the practice (of dozing) will be glad to know that sleeping in class is now referred to as “rationing consciousness.”

Being late for school for some of us was the rule rather than the exception. So the prefects would put our names down in their books for the rest of the week in advance. They were cocksure that we would always crawl in late.

I should add that the school administration thought that my case was so exceptional that they made me a prefect in order to curb my bad habit of coming late.

If you are ever late, do not search for some far-fetched excuse. Just say you have only had a “rescheduled arrival time.”

Hair was another sticking point at school. If wearing an Afro was your preference you just had to have an afro-comb on stand-by.  The problem was that some of us lacked the energy needed to lift that comb to the head. One would look more like Don King’s illegitimate son.

Now here is a good turn-off for those bothersome teachers and prefects who make a fuss about nothing. Just tell them that your hair is not unkempt but that you’re suffering from “rebellious follicle syndrome.” In the area of personal hygiene, we always had those who were averse to water.

We used to refer to them as cowboys, after that famous local soap advert of old where a boy would wail to his insistent mother, “Mama, wake wabonaama “cowboy” egeza?” (Have you ever seen cowboys taking a bath?)

And that imp had a point. At boarding school guys wore their socks continuously until they could stand on their own when placed on the floor with stink starch.

Now they tell me you don’t have smelly school socks anymore, rather they are referred to as “odour-retentive academic footwear.”

You would will also be interested to know that at boarding school and later at varsity, that particularly overpowering pong was inexplicably referred to as “umsindo” (noise)!

At school I belonged to that select group of shy people. I would nearly faint when a girl spoke to me. I was “conversationally selective.”

But then something happened. I guess that is what they call adolescence. Now I am known to be “abundantly verbal.”

Then there was this irritating habit of passing notes in class. Teachers really detested this disruptive behaviour, especially when the teacher was the subject matter of these surreptitious missives.

I should add that this was another sure sign that the lesson in question was in intensive care.

So to add a bit of daring and excitement to the proceedings we wrote little notes which circulated in class faster than a rumour in Harare.  The problem was us getting caught after which, I dare say, you were humiliatingly asked to read it aloud in class.

About 99.9% of these notes were vulgar and reading it aloud was the toughest experience. Unless, of course, you popped the piece of paper into your mouth. Under these circumstances, the least you would receive was a thunderous clap, as compared to ‘six of the best’ from the headmaster.
Or better still you could get away with the explanation that you were “participating in the discreet exchange of penned meditations.”

Did I mention the dreaded trip to the headmaster’s office? At Fletcher High where I did my O’ levels, it was ominously called “The Office.” Our teachers would use it as a threat where they would hiss, “Ok my boy, I will report you to The Office.”

And one sorry trip to “The Office” was enough for you not to wish for another. Actually, “The Office” was so efficient that a whole class of errant pupils would be canned in one session!

It was so prevalent that some of us suspected that the teachers also regularly went for canning too!

We even renamed the area where “The Office” was located, “The Corridor of Death.”  The next time you are called to “The Office,” just tell your friends that you’re “going on mandatory field trip to the administrative building.”

I never thought they would find a phrase that would replace the word gossip. From now on it will be known as “the speedy transmission of near-factual information.”

This also reminds me of a recent meal at a local hotel that will remain nameless to protect the innocent. I wouldn’t dare call the food they serve at their restaurant, awful. It’s just “digestively challenged.”