glance at Zimmerlie; a slight nod in return. ‘You know you’re walking into the lion’s den?’
It is not difficult to guess what they are going to say next. ‘You mean Makaya … ?’
Zimmerlie nods. ‘Makaya is a dangerous, vindictive man. When he hears that you are taking his position …’
‘The political minefields in this campus are complex, Timothy, very complex. We have to watch our backs.’
‘We want to protect you from the kind of spiteful attacks that occur on this campus in the name of academia.’
Are you surprised? Where have you been anywhere in the world where spiteful attacks in the name of academia do not occur? But you widen your eyes appropriately.
‘We need someone to take over a very restless class of one hundred first-year students who have been left in the lurch and messed around by … by …’
‘That recalcitrant man.’
‘And the Honours class is … how can we put this? Rather … belligerent.’
‘Aggressive.’
‘Makaya tossed all textbooks out of the window. He had got them doing silly creative writing exercises instead of studying real literature.’
‘That’s the urgency. You could start on Monday?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Of course,’ says Mpofu. ‘He has all sorts of questions. Salary, accommodation, syllabus.’
‘The details we can arrange later. The important thing is—you can start Monday, get those students off our backs …’
‘Where will you be staying?’
‘Not sure. I was thinking of eSikamanga?’
Zimmerlie frowns. ‘Thami lives in Assegai, thirty k’s north, as do many of our faculty. A large city with all the modern conveniences.’
‘Professor Zimmerlie,’ says Mpofu, ‘lives in eSikamanga. He loves it there. By the sea. A small town right on the Indian Ocean, about thirty k’s south. Those are your choices. I can put you in touch with an estate agent … ?’
‘That would be good. How are the waves?’
Zimmerlie nudges Mpofu. ‘I told you he was an Australian. Now … I know this is very short notice, Timothy, but there is a requirement of any new faculty member to … to … er … present a lecture to the staff and faculty of the university, to introduce yourself, as it were.’
‘Sure. I can do that. When?’
‘Is next Friday too soon?’ Zimmerlie wrinkles his brow.
‘No worries.’
‘Marvellous! And do you have a topic?’
‘I will. Probably something like … “Playing with Words while Afrika is Ablaze”?’
‘Intriguing. And you can have this ready for next week?’
‘Yep. Too easy.’
Zimmerlie clears his throat. ‘Is that a yes?’
* * *
You march down the dark corridor to the EXIT sign armed with The Complete Works of Shakespeare, Chaucer’s The Canterbury Tales, Modern African Stories, a solid phalanx of literature to teach. The gist of it is, Makaya neglected—even dropped—literature from the syllabus, and taught instead Creative Writing. And you are here, so you gather, to put that all right.
It is no matter. You don’t care what you are teaching. You have already decided to humour these men, to glide along over these matters. Makaya, for all you know, might be quite a decent bloke. You are determined from the outset to remain above it all, as neutral as Switzerland, as wry, ironic, as Bantu himself, unsullied by politics of the academy.
But your sense of wellbeing is short-lived. A door to the left swings open, and a short, stout man bursts out and sends you sprawling. The books Mpofu has given you thud on the red polished floor. The man reaches out a hand to help you up. ‘Sorry, didn’t see you there, china.’
Double take, then smile, as if this is normal. The man has orange hair. You cannot stop staring. ‘Turner,’ you say. ‘The new replacement lecturer.’
The man pulls his hand away as if he is afraid of catching some contagious disease. ‘Wena?’
You scoop the books off the floor to make a quick exit. But it is too late. The man has seen. ‘Shakespeare? Chaucer?’
‘I’m teaching Shakespeare, yes. And Chaucer.’
‘Dead white males? To African students who are trying their hardest to throw off the shackles of colonialism?’
How do you respond to a loaded question? Point the gun away from yourself. You indicate the closed door at the end of the corridor. ‘Professor Zimmerlie …’
‘Zimmerlie!’ The man uses the word as an expletive.
‘Yes, Zimmerlie. And Mpofu.’
‘Mpofu! I should have guessed.’
‘And you are … ?’
The man ignores your outstretched hand and shoulders his way down the corridor. His footsteps echo past the series of dark office doors, and at the end of the hallway, framed by a halo of light, he turns and squints back into the darkness, sunlight setting his red hair on fire. ‘Bastards.’
It looks, on your first day, as if you have inadvertently made an enemy.
COCKROACH INTERVIEWER: Why do you not like humans?
COCKROACH: Humans are nasty pests, known for their insatiable greed. These parasites will feed on other animals as well as their own kind. Once they colonise a territory, it can be a real challenge to eliminate them. Humans carry many toxic diseases and leave a trail of destruction wherever they go. Their love of turning pristine wildernesses into sterile concrete nests and burrows is well documented.
– Sizwe Bantu, The Cockroach Whisperer, 2010
2. Supella longipalpa
Brown-banded cockroach
Often found in bedrooms and living rooms, brown-banded cockroaches (Supella longipalpa) are hardy creatures that shun the light, lay their eggs under furniture, and scavenge off humans. These creatures are the most common cockroaches found around the world. A popular misconception is that cockroaches are dirty creatures that carry disease: nothing could be further from the truth. Cockroaches are the garbage collectors of society and if allowed to go about their business, will keep a house clean and free of food waste. Toxic when eaten raw, they nevertheless are a popular culinary delicacy in certain parts of the world.
