Sometimes it is easy to run into trouble unknowingly. Trouble has a way of knocking at your door when you are busy minding your own business.
That is exactly what happened on this day. I was in the company of Fatso, Rasta and Baba VaTata who was on the steering wheel. We were travelling back to Harare from Bulawayo, the City of Kings where we had gone to watch the soccer derby between Highlanders and CAPS United.
After the match which ended in a goalless draw, instead of taking to the road, we decided to explore parts of the City of Kings and we even had the opportunity to take each other pictures standing by the statue of Joshua Mqabuko Nyongolo Nkomo in the street by the same name honouring the liberation struggle icon.
The sun was almost touching the earth in the distant horizon by the time we departed the City of Kings.
We picked up one passenger by Grey Prison along Harare Road and we used the money to buy more beers.
The hitch hiker had a light backpack and looked young enough, most likely a university student.
We were all in a jovial mood. He refused flatly the beer we offered him.
“Have a beer,” I said, offering him a black label pint. He shook his head politely.
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“No, thank you,” he said. His name was Thulani.
We had a brief stopover in Kwekwe to stretch our legs and freshen up.
By now, it was already dark and the city lights illuminated the night sky.
I remember very well that it was while we were in Kwekwe that Thulani, our passenger made a very long call out of earshot.
By the time we left Kwekwe, there was a sprinkling of sparkling stars in the night cosmos.
I remember that when I was young I used to count the stars in the sky but would never get past one hundred because it was an impossible task and my neck always came out the worse.
This night I was tempted to play my childhood game of counting the stars but the car was moving too fast.
It was almost 9:30 pm when we had just passed the quiet town of Chegutu when Thulani made a request to relieve himself. He was quite apologetic. Baba VaTata screeched to a sudden halt.
“From now on, I am not going to stop until we reach Harare, so if you want to relieve yourself, this is the time,” said Baba VaTata. He also got out himself and I was preparing to disembark when another car approached very fast and blocked us on our right wing and three armed men rushed at us.
“Get out,” I was pulled out of the car. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw both Fatso and Rasta stumble out of the car like sacks of potatoes.
“Lie down on your stomachs,” said one of the robbers. All this happened in the blink of an eye.
Someone kicked me in the head and I saw all the stars at close range I had been trying to count before.
I felt someone search my pockets and to my horror I discovered that it was Thulani. I was in shock at this treachery.
“Give me your phone,” said Thulani. He was part of the robbers.
It all came back in a flash. It all made sense now. The long call he made after our brief stopover in Kwekwe had a lot to do with this robbery.
“Stop looking at me, I want all your phones and money!” said Thulani.
They removed all our shoes. Baba VaTata was kicked several times before his phone was found on the dashboard. We were made to remove our clothes and they vanished into the night. Thulani sped away with two other guys in Baba VaTata’s car. They robbed us of everything and left us stark naked on the highway.
After several hours a Good Samaritan stopped by and gave us a lift to the police station. Baba VaTata never recovered his car.
I know that if Thulani continues hitchhiking on the country’s highways, it will be a matter of time before he is caught.
And each time I see a hitch hiker on the road, I am reminded of Thulani carrying his light backpack and flagging for a lift.
