Dumisani Charles Kufaruwenga

Opposite worlds.

There are two different types of Zimbabweans.

Those who have, those who don’t.

Those who don’t have don’t know what they don’t have.

Those who have live it. And flaunt it.

At Borrowdale Race Course on Saturday afternoon, those who have, they do crazy things.

They buy liquor and stuff it in cooler boxes and wear designer labels and ride their fancy cars to Borrowdale Race Course, to watch the car burn out and spinning show.

And most importantly, for themselves show off, in flesh and in wealth.

Crazy drivers speed into the arena of the Borrowdale Race Course with their BMW cars, cruising at supersonic speed, spinning, screeching, skidding, turning, making dangerous three hundred and sixty degree swerves.

The tyres burn, burying the spectators’ applause in a cacophony of the macabre.

But from the outside, the Borrowdale Race Course reverberates with excited roars of the frenzied crowd, reminiscent of the spectators of gladiators of the shows of ancient Roman times, as they cheer the cars that enter the arena to showcase their drifting skills in a dangerous duel of screeching tyres.

The announcer introduces each contestant and their sponsor through the public address system, as if the contestants are combatants in some bloodletting carnival hosted by primitive cannibals;

“Next is Cruel C with a
Gusheshe from the the
gory depths of hell,
sponsored by Phillip
Chiyangwa and
Mashwede Enterprises.
Watch him outdo the
devil at his own game”

And so those who have drink and shout hoarse at the daredevils, daring them to die, daring them to showcase their dangerous driving skills.

A group of motor cyclists parade their motor cycles in the arena, dazzling spectators with their loud and atrocious colours.

The crazy crowd went into a frenzy;

“Let them hear the wail
of the heart of your
engine.
Vape moyo!”

A very pretty lady in a very short black dress ran into the arena and mounted the pillion of one of the motor cycles, fastening her arms around the rider.

The crowd was ecstatic.

The motor cycle revved and raced around the arena, and the billowing wind blew the very pretty lady’s very short black dress, exposing her black underwear.

The spectators roared with pleasure.

The scooter stopped. The very pretty lady with a very short black dress and black panties disembarked and smiled confidently and waved at the crowd and walked away.

Pretty, calm, cool and hypnotizing, like the queen of vampires in a Dracula movie.

Onether uproarious applause from the crowd.

Danger and show off and naked flesh was theirs to feast.

It was thus a worship to nudity and bloodletting and show off, exhibited and understood only by those who have.

While those who don’t have display naked flesh and spill blood in the townships of Harare to get a dime to buy food to keep body and soul together.

While all the time glorifying those who have.

A paradox of opposite worlds.