I left the city behind and listened as the horns faded. I turned onto the tree-lined road that led to my workplace. The air felt cleaner out here. The grass stayed slick with dew and the early light made the leaves shine. Sometimes I opened my window and let the fresh breeze come in. I breathed deeply because I wanted to feel different from how the city made me feel. Still, even that fresh air could not remove the heavy feeling in my chest as I approached the gates.
Two soldiers stood at the entrance. They wore camouflage uniforms and their boots looked clean and hard. They kept their rifles slung across their shoulders with serious but young faces. Their eyes stayed sharp above their collars. Every morning I saw a new pair that always watched and never spoke unless you made them. I slowed down and reached for my ID card. You had to hold it with the chip facing up and my thumb over the worn corner. I handed it out the window the way I always did.
One soldier took the card and ran it through the scanner. The device beeped and the sound filled the quiet morning. He looked at the screen and nodded. He gave a short salute. The boom gate swung open with a heavy clunk as I waited for it to rise and then drove through.
I always wondered what would happen if one day my ID did not beep. I thought about the machine staying silent or the soldier shaking his head. Sometimes it felt like my whole life balanced on that small card and a sound from a machine. I gripped the steering wheel and reminded myself that things could change quickly.
I parked in my usual slot C4 DEEP in the lot because it had to be in the right place. When I got out I admired the huge structure that stood in front of me which matched my status and my ride. I touched the bonnet of the car a bit just just so I could feel it then walked towards the entrance. With another beep at the entrance, I took the elevator down past the ground floor and the security offices until I reached basement level four which was the highest clearance. The elevator doors opened and made a soft sigh.
My office was at the end of a narrow corridor. The walls were painted off-white and the lights stayed too bright. My shoes echoed as I walked. Lisa, my secretary, sat behind her desk. She always arrived before me and looked busy. She wore big glasses with black frames, red earrings and even redder nails. Her nails annoyed me. They were too long and too bright. She waved them when she spoke and every move she made felt rehearsed. She pushed her glasses up her nose and gave me a small nod.
“Morning, Mr. Bisheau,” she said.
I grunted and set my bag on the desk. I thought about Jessica. Jessica smiled naturally and had gentle hands plus an easy laugh. Lisa looked too neat and too careful. It felt like she measured every hair and every nail before leaving home. Even her perfume smelled sharp.
I sometimes wondered if people would ever find peace if they told each other the truth. I wished I could say, “Lisa, your nails irritate me,” or, “Please do not wear your glasses around they make you look like a cartoon.” But in this place the truth stayed hidden. The more you were promoted the less you said because in this line of work secrets mattered more than stories.
I thought of Winky D, Wallace Chirumiko who I liked to call the Big Man from Kambuzuma. His songs told the truth. He used sharp words for people in power and those who hid behind tinted windows. Sometimes I heard one of his songs in my head while I walked through the building. Maybe peace was not the silence after shouting but maybe it took courage to speak the truth even when it hurt. If this was the case peace sounded like a song from a kombi calling out corruption and shaking the silence with its beat.
Maybe that was just another war. Maybe music only fought battles that could not be won in meetings and reports. The noise faded but the real problems stayed. If that was the case then even music was anti peaceful then?
I looked around my office. The whiteboard held notes and every note had a date. I had ticked them off in alphabetical order and neatly stacked my markers in their tray. I kept a blue, then black, then red. The shelves carried heavy files and labels stayed straight such nothing ever stuck out.
The walls held nothing except a small framed picture of the farm where I grew up. Sometimes I remembered that farm with the rows of maize and chickens that clucked in the morning before sunrise. That world had long disappeared. I started as a countryside boy and came to town for school and university for my first degree. Later, I started a writing agency and then started making connections and found myself in problem-solving. After a few lucky breaks, a government contract a few secrets kept and a few shared. Now I sat as a boss with a beep at the gate and a chair in a basement.
Even with all the badges and locked doors I kept thinking about peace. I saw so much injustice and I knew things that never made it into reports. I carried words that I would never say out loud, not even in this book. Maybe the real truth was that peace did not live in silence or shouting. Maybe it waited somewhere between the two and someone brave enough or foolish enough would have to find it.
Lisa cleared her throat and snapped her nails on the desk. She asked, “Will you be needing tea this morning, Mr. Bisheau?”
I shook my head. “Not yet, Lisa. Maybe later.”
I paused and checked the folders on my desk. I straightened a pen and said, “Lisa, please send Tadiwa’s homework book to his school this morning. Use one of the drivers. Tell them it is urgent.”
She nodded and her fingers moved fast on her phone. Her nails flashed in the light. She sent the message through her earpiece.
The office went quiet again. I sat back and listened to the air conditioner. I heard the distant echo of doors opening and closing in the hall. In all that order and security, I wondered if anyone else in the building still searched for peace.
