Zambia
The final six months before leaving for Zambia were more relaxed because I knew I had a job. I can still remember the day when I rushed down the drive of Sutherland street to get the post with my contract from Zambia. How excited we were! Going back to Africa had always been a dream and as a Principal of school! In the meantime, we spent six months trying to get ourselves Australian citizenship This was because as a permanent resident should we leave Australia we would have had to return within a 2 year period or we would lost our permanent residence. In order to obtain an Australian passport, we were very fortunate to meet a federal government Labour member of parliament Mr. McClelland who assisted us.
Basically, I explained to him that I had to leave Australia because I couldn’t get a job in Australia.
We eventually got our citizenship and our photos in the local press. I was again impressed by the sympathetic response to our plight from an official –in this case a Federal Member of Parliament. Officialdom in Australia in those days was very much more in touch with ordinary people –much more so than in the United Kingdom or Ireland. This is an aspect of Australia which I really appreciated.
I’m afraid it has all changed in the past ten years . the ‘Liberal” Party and the people who supported them in the final decade of the twentieth century have destroyed the traditional connection between the less fortunate citizens and the Government. In my opinion those Liberal politicians and their supporters should be held accountable. The Liberal leaders, including Howard, should be tried as criminals for corrupting the middle class. The middle class, in particular the tradies have been seduced and enticed by Liberal poloicies which appealed to greed and selfishness, and are all now proud owners of an SUV and two houses worth half a million each while the rest of us can’t scratch two halfpennies together. That is the problem with our democracy–it encourages people to be selfish and has given them the moral legitimacy to be greedy...The media and even the civil institution such as Church and schools have been persuaded too.
Well, I packed up all my belongings into forty boxes and six suitcases and headed for Zambia –leaving Marie and the kids behind in the freezing winter in winter with skeleton furnishings eating off a few plastic plates. The plan was for them to follow in a fortnight after I gave the ‘all clear’ from Zambia. one thing was for sure: I was not going to repeat the same mistake I had made in Australia of arriving with all my family including a pregnant wife, without the resources to get out in an emergency.
I caught the plane to Harare via Perth. I had decided to pack everything in 44 boxes, leave them in Sutherland street ready for collection until I sent word from Lusaka.
The first shock was on my arrival at the airport in Lusaka. There was along queue waiting to go through immigration. I could see a white man at the front of the queue on the Immigration side who I assumed to be the Director 'Funky'. He seemed to be having an argument with some officials. Not perhaps surprising as it was Africa after all. As I got closer to the front of the queue I could see that the argument was becoming more animated. Moreover, Funky seemed to be swaying on his feet, back and forth from left to right. His face looked flushed and he was clearly under the influence of alcohol!
It struck me as a little strange to be drunk when meeting your second in command! but i dismissed the thought quickly. Undaunted, I put out my hand in greeting. To my surprise he didn’t even take it! He just started talking to me, complaining about some problem he was having with an official.
I had just completed a 24 hour journey and was not in the best shape myself.
He ushered me to the car park of the airport where a group of Africans descended upon the land Rover and lifted my bags into the back. It was pitch black. I knew I was in Africa again !
We left the car park at high speed in his four wheel drive with funky cursing and swearing at the airport officials. As we started down the road the next thing I knew I could see flashing lights approaching us. They passed us on the other side of the road and doubled back to follow us. The next thing I knew a police motorcycle had overtaken us and ditched us on to the side of the road. There then followed an altercation between the inebriated 'funky' and the policeman. It sounded quite ugly and I was worried about spending my first night in a cell. But funky seemed to win the argument in the end and we sped on home.
The first thing funky did was offer me a drink. He then proceeded to tell me that our house, which was being renovated, was not ready.
After about half an hour he took down a photo of the staff of the school and started to go through them one by one with his finger making comments such as “He‘s useless” or “She’s a bitch!”.
I was numbed by it all, eventually made my excuses and went to bed. I had been back in Africa for about three hours.
Anxiety kept me awake for most of the night.
In the morning I awoke to American hospitality-‘make your own breakfast’ . The coffee is there - the milk is in the fridge’ - that sort of thing. I can’t remember the details much.
I remember Tom taking me to the renovated house and announcing that there were no doors, windows, plumbing or electricity. What really concerned me was that there was little discussion as to where Maria and the three children would stay while all this was sorted out.
funky and his wife had no children-they therefore didn’t understand how a family man’s mind works. Wife and children come first, then me. Not that he was really a bad host –he had an expansive American generosity –but with the school’s money. He took me to restaurants etc-where we had to produce a ‘brick’ of banknotes to pay for the meal. There was hyperinflation.
The real problem was the school. It seemed like funky was in the middle of a fierce tussel with the Chairman of the Board. I was not able to get to the bottom of it properly –but I got close enough to know that I didn’t like the sound of it. The next thing I knew I was asked to attend meetings with funky and the half of the Board who was not on holiday. The chairman and the other half were on holiday.
It subsequently turned out that the board was split.Half supported funky, but the others wanted him out. After I returned to Australia, the anti-funky group contacted me and asked me if I would replace funky, if they got rid of him.
funky drank heavily and on one occasion he was quite rude to a newly recruited young female teacher who was staying in his house for a couple of nights because her accommodation wasn’t ready either.
I think this was the last straw-or I lost my nerve-I don’t know which. I never know. But I decided in my mind that I was not going to risk bringing the family out to this situation. I just didn’t have the confidence that funky could be relied on. I had three small children. I knew once we arrived we could not go back again-as I did not have enough money-just like in Melbourne.
“Once bitten twice shy”.
The problem was Marie had her heart set on coming to Africa – and it was such a disappointment for her to hear my news from Zambia. .It almost broke her heart when I told her how things were. She had already said goodbye to everyone and was counting the minutes till she could leave Melbourne forever.
Even getting back to Australia from this position was going to be difficult as I had no money. I used a bit of guile and persuaded funky to reimburse me for my baggage allowance – even though I had not actually ordered the baggage to be sent yet! I claimed I needed the local money until my salary was paid-which was true of course. I then used this money to purchase a one–way ticket to Melbourne.
After only five weeks I persuaded funky that because of the delay in the arrival in the family due to the house not being ready, I would have to return to Melbourne to sort out a problem with our rental accommodation. This was just an excuse –but he bought it!
When I got back it was to a very dejected Marie in an almost empty house in Sutherland Street.
We decided it would be too risky to proceed. I faxed funky. He called and was philosophical. He asked me ‘What are you going to do?’ He said.
‘I’m going to go underground for a while-disappear from the international school scene’ I replied.
My brother Roger called from Ireland. Being 7 years older than me, Roger and I had always had a formal relationship. I don’t think he had a high opinion of me and I think he had always thought me too adventurous. After all I had ignored his advice about going to Australia in the first place. But he has a sound heart and is probably the most straightforward, if conventional, of all the Nixons. Mother used to say "Roger would always try to do the right thing". He offered to help me out financially with the move from Melbourne and the search for a job. one thing in his favour was that having no children and a working wife, he was 'loaded', which I was not.
I could hear my voice breaking on the phone as we spoke. I almost broke down. This caused us both embarrassment. Nixons simply do not cry. My brother was certainly uncomfortable and I could hear the irritation in his voice. I have never seen a member of the Nixon family shed a tear, apart from myself. (although this was actually the second time because I had broken down in my office a few days before my resignation in Melbourne).
Within three weeks we were in Queensland and had left Melbourne forever.
.
No comments:
Post a Comment