I drove slowly. My eyes drifted to the showgrounds up ahead. You could always find someone there. Whether it was a lone gardener walking with a hoe on his shoulder or a goat chewing near the old fence. The city of Gweru hovered in the distance, a hazy outline against the pale sky, its taller buildings rising out of the earth like old teeth. We weren’t in town yet. I could see the line of cars bunching up ahead, a tight knot of brake lights and exhaust fumes.
The morning sun sat just above the buildings, still not too bright. Just before the city, the road narrowed and curved a little. On the side, a few sidecab vendors were already setting up balancing crates of tomatoes. A boy carried a sack of onions over one shoulder and dropped it with a thud. The air smelled like dust and frying oil and the cold promise of morning. My window was closed, but I could almost taste the smell of roasted maize.
Jessica leaned forward. “Police block,” she said softly, more to herself than to me. The kids quietened down in the back. Even they knew what that meant. I slowed the car, feeling the familiar knot in my stomach. My hands tightened on the steering wheel, but I tried to keep my face calm.
The traffic police stood out clearly along the roadside, their fluorescent lime reflector vests catching every ray of morning light. Each vest had a blue POLICE patch on the front, bold and unmistakable. Most of the officers wore light grey shirts with navy blue trousers, while a few had khaki hats set firm on their heads. The line of heavy orange cones and drums marked out the roadblock, and the officers moved with quiet authority among the waiting cars.
One leaned against the rear of a parked Honda, talking to a woman in a headscarf. Another wrote in a small notepad and a third signaled the next car forward with a practiced wave. Their faces were open and alert, eyes steady as they watched the slow flow of traffic. The bright vests and orange cones made the whole scene look official, impossible to miss.
I rolled down my window as we reached the front of the line. The officer stepped up, taller than I expected, his hat perched perfectly on his head, his shoes too shiny for this dusty place.
“Morning, officer,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. I always tried to sound both respectful and confident, never afraid.
He nodded, taking his time to look over the car. “Morning. License, please.” His words were practiced and automatic. I handed it to him, feeling the weight of Jessica’s eyes on the side of my face.
He held the card up to the light, then lowered it, glancing again at the GD6 Raptor, lingering on the shiny finish, the clean lines. He looked at the number plate, then at the stickers on the windscreen then back at me.
“Where are you headed?” he asked, eyes never leaving the car.
“Into town sir, I replied.”
He nodded, looking past me to Jessica, then at the kids in the back. “Nice car,” he said, with a faint smile. “Very nice. You know, not many drive cars like this around here.”
“Thank you,” I said, voice flat.
He leaned in a little. “People see a big car and they think big man. But sometimes the car is bigger than the man, isn’t it?” The way he said it made Jessica shift a little in her seat. It was meant to sting or maybe to remind me who was really in control.
The officer tapped the roof lightly almost in time with my heartbeat. “Pull over there,” he said, motioning to a patch of gravel just beyond the block.
I looked at him directly. “What’s my offense, officer?”
He paused, let the silence grow heavy. Then he said, “I’m Sergeant Mupuranga from Peace. I said park over there for a moment.”
I nodded, signaled and pulled the car off the road, parking on the patch of gravel just beyond the drums, putting the Raptor in park. The sun crept higher, warming the dashboard, but everything outside the car seemed to slow down.
For a few seconds, I just watched the world. On the side of the road, the police officers moved around, busy with other drivers, their voices sharp and low. My mind drifted.
It struck me how ironic it all was that the people meant to give us peace are sometimes the very ones who take it away. They call themselves peace officers. There’s even a department called Peace in the police. Yet, sitting there with my car parked, the city still just out of reach, I didn’t feel any peace at all. I felt tension and uneasy. Maybe peace, I thought, is something you’re given. Something you cant find for yourself. Maybe the people who are supposed to protect peace are also the ones who decide whether you can keep it.
Sometimes I wondered if peace was just another permission, handed out to those who fit the script. I stared at the dash, my hands resting still on the wheel. I thought of all the different ways peace could be lost just like that, on an ordinary morning.
My thoughts were interrupted as Sergeant Mupuranga finally walked over, slower this time, like he had all the time in the world. He looked at the car, then at me, then back at the car.
“You know, sir, these are dangerous roads. Anything can happen. Sometimes, when you’re driving something like this, you need a little… extra peace. You get me? You need a few other friends.” His words were slow, carefully laced with a soft warning.
I kept my face calm. “I know the law, Sergeant.”
He looked at me a long moment. “Ah, so you are clever. Maybe you are a lawyer, or just someone who likes to argue.” He smiled, but the smile faded fast.
He called over his shoulder. “Constable! Come here.”
A younger officer jogged over, uncertain, eyes darting between us.
Sergeant Mupuranga leaned down, voice low. “This car, it should go straight to VID right now. Or maybe just take him to traffic.” He was still looking at me, not at the constable.
Jessica turned to me, silent now, eyes fixed ahead. The kids sat quiet in the back, watching, not daring to move. I reached into my dashboard and pulled out an ID card. I handed it to him watching his eyes as he read it.
The change was instant. He straightened up, all the old swagger gone. “Ah, sorry, sir. I did not know. Please, forgive me.” He almost stumbled over the words, glancing at Jessica, then back at me. “You know, sometimes it is just the job, sir. Just the job.”
I shrugged, letting it pass. “It’s alright, officer.”
He stepped back, all apology and caution now. “You may go, sir. Safe journey.”
I rolled the window up and started the engine, feeling the tension finally slip away. That was when Jessica turned to me, her lips curving into a smile. “You and your surprises,” she said, half-proud, half-mocking. I glanced at her and grinned, shaking my head but I said nothing.
As we drove on, I felt the thin line between power and peace settle quietly in the car. Gweru still waited ahead, the day not yet spoiled. Is peace just the pause between one authority and the next. For the rest of the drive, no one said a word. We all just watched the city as it grew bigger in the windscreen, knowing that whatever peace we found that day would be ours to hold on to, no matter what waited on the next corner.
