Police stations in Zimbabwe always have their own kind of clock. Time seems to stretch and fold in odd ways. It didn’t matter how urgent you thought your story was; you would sit and wait, listen to the shouts from the holding cells and watch the officers moving in slow motion, cracking jokes, eating their sadza and finding any excuse not to work too quickly. The air inside always smelled a bit of sweat and old paperwork and somewhere behind the counter, there was always a radio playing gospel or soccer talk, low and distant.
That’s where they found themselves now. The charge office was cold, the walls stained and scratched by years of arguments and arrests. A broken fan whined somewhere above their heads, making a lazy circle in the thick musty air. The benches were hard. Phillip stood tall, his hand resting protectively on Temba’s back while Temba struggled to explain what had happened, his speech slurred by pain and the gap in his teeth. He kept one hand over his mouth as if to hide the missing teeth from the world but it didn’t help. His shame felt bigger than the pain and he could hardly look the officers in the eye.
The officer at the desk barely looked up. He was tapping his pen, smirking as Temba spoke. “So you want to say, grown man like you, you were beaten by a kombi conductor? For what, did you try to run away without paying or you insulted him? Eeeh, kombi life is tough my friend, you should be careful next time.” He laughed as he spoke, not bothering to hide his amusement. The pen in his hand clicked on and off, tapping out a lazy rhythm as if he had heard this story a hundred times before.
Phillip tried to explain, anger rising. “He was attacked for no reason. My father did nothing wrong. The man is violent, he should be arrested.” His voice was sharp, echoing a little in the big cold room. Still, the officers seemed not to care.
A second officer leaned in, grinning at his colleague. “These kombi fights, every day we get these cases. Next time, just walk old man. Kombis are for the young.” He nudged the other officer and added, “At your age, old man, you should be driving your own car by now. How do you still use kombis at this age? Is it not time you got yourself some wheels?” The joke hung in the air but no one laughed except the officers.
Temba felt small, shame burning in his face. The sting of their words was worse than the pain in his jaw. He stared at the desk, wishing he could disappear but Phillip pushed on, insisting they record the report. The officers shuffled their papers, finally finding a half-empty Occurrence Book and a blue pen running out of ink. They wrote down the story slowly, asking for details, sometimes laughing at the way the events were described. The number plates, the color of the kombi, the conductor’s name. Sometimes they would stop, ask Phillip or Temba to repeat themselves and make side comments to each other about how these kombi men never learn.
MaSibanda listened from behind, biting her lip, her foot tapping nervously on the dirty floor. She tried to seem invisible but her mind was racing. When Temba started describing the combi, the paint, the way the conductor shouted, the battered bottle in his hand, MaSibanda’s heart thudded in her chest. The number plates matched, the voice, the attitude, there was no doubt. She kept her head down, saying nothing, fear and anger mixing in her stomach. If they fetched that conductor now, everything would come out, everything she’d tried to keep hidden. She squeezed her hands so hard her knuckles went white. Every sound in the room felt louder to her, every laugh from the officers, every footstep outside, every shout from the holding cells.
The officer laughed, “That’s easy. We can get that conductor from the rank right now. Kombis don’t run at this hour without passing here. He’s probably there now. We can have him here in five minutes.” His confidence made the others nod along. The night outside was cold but inside the charge office, the air felt heavy with tension. People came and went, doors creaked but the focus in that moment was on Temba’s story and what would happen next.
MaSibanda’s face went tight. She glanced at Manoti who was fiddling with his phone, pretending not to notice. His thumb slid over the screen again and again but his eyes kept darting to the officers, to MaSibanda then to the floor. The room felt smaller every minute, the bench under MaSibanda growing harder as she waited for whatever was coming next.
But just as they were finishing the report, another officer entered the room, holding a folder and looking around. He stopped when he saw Manoti.
“Ah, you! Come here!” the officer barked. “You are wanted in the next office. We have a case—fraud, connected to Nyasha Lays, that VID officer who was caught. Your name is on the list.” He pointed at Manoti and waved him closer, his voice rising above the other noise in the office.
Phillip, Temba and MaSibanda all turned to stare as Manoti’s face changed, his smile freezing in place. He opened his mouth to protest but the words stuck. The room felt smaller, the noise from outside fading. For a moment, it seemed like everyone else in the charge office was watching.
Manoti tried to protest but the officer was already pulling him away. “Let’s go, you will explain yourself inside. We don’t want stories out here.” The officer’s grip was firm, his eyes hard. He did not care about protests or explanations.
Just like that, secrets started to unravel, the night twisting in ways no one could have expected. In the silence that followed, MaSibanda chewed her lip even harder, staring at the door where Manoti had disappeared, wondering how much longer her own secrets would last. She wanted to stand up and run after him but she sat frozen, afraid that even a single movement would draw too much attention. Outside, a siren wailed and inside, the officers’ laughter slowly faded into whispers. Temba sat back on the bench, closing his eyes, letting the ache and humiliation sink into his bones. Phillip watched everything, anger and confusion fighting for space in his chest.
In the charge office, the clock ticked on, slow as ever as secrets shifted and new trouble waited just outside the door.
