The Final Deception

INTRODUCTION1

This is a true story that took place in Zimbabwe. The author tells of the last year in the life of one of the few loyal families who stayed on in the country, after independence.
Joy and her husband Bill loved Zimbabwe too much to give up their beautiful home and family businesses and leave, as many others did. They fall victim to a scam to drain them of their money, possessions and businesses. They suffer unbelievably cruel treatment from their captors and suffer humiliation and pain.
The final sentence is death for Winifred whilst Ole still an alcoholic, has survived to live out his life a near shadow of his former self.
This was a painful story to tell, but one that needed telling.
A bitter reminder that none of us are infallible. What waits around the next corner, maybe something we least expect.
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Chapter One
The Phone Call that changed it all3

It was a glorious summer’s day in Christchurch, New Zealand. We were having one of the hottest summers in two years and yet I felt a cold chill run down my spine.
As I stared out the window at the children playing happily in the garden, I thought about the telephone conversation I had just had with the stranger from my hometown of Bulawayo in Zimbabwe. The caller had been vague; stating only that he thought it would be in my best interests to go back there as soon as possible as my parents needed me. He claimed that things were not going very well. He warned me that danger was imminent. Then he hung up.
I called my mother immediately and she assured me that the only thing wrong was the fact that she missed us all terribly and that she hadn’t been feeling too well lately. I tried to persuade her as I had done often, that she should sell up and move over to Australia to be near her family. As usual she said she had too much invested in Africa and she couldn’t leave even if she wanted to. We said our goodbyes and I promised to plan a trip home when I could. I rang off and for some strange reason, I started to cry like I‘d not cried in a long time and it was hours before I felt better.
I can only assume that the mental telepathy we shared was telling me that something really was wrong. I knew I should get back there but I had no way of finding the airfares at that time.4

A few months later I received the call that changed everything. The same person rang me again and was far more insistent that I go back to Bulawayo as the situation had gone from bad to worse. Little did he realise that going back to Zimbabwe was easier said than done, as the circumstances behind my leaving in the first place was a deportation notice some four years before. I shall explain about that later.5

I contacted the immigration department and pleaded for the right to go over on companionate grounds.
I told them I had a family crisis and after many forms and much grovelling I was given a permit for four weeks only and that had to be good enough for the time being or until I got through the border and saw them personally for an extension.
I packed up my two daughters, sold everything I had to raise the return airfares and left for Bulawayo on January 1st 1990.6

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Chapter Two
The long Journey Back9


It was early morning when the plane touched down at the Harare Airport and already the heat was almost unbearable. Hot sticky bodies bustled past me as I dragged the kids into the cue waiting to go through customs. The customs officer looked at our passports and then gave me a questioning look, one that said ‘are you here to cause trouble?’ I smiled my best smile as my mind insulted his surly personality. He let us move through, reminding me that I had four weeks to stay before I must leave again. We collected our luggage and walked to the transit bus, which was to take us to the bus station and the long hot trip by road coach, down to Bulawayo some 200 kms south.10

The coach loomed before us big and uncomfortable and sporting open windows and no air conditioning. African women with baskets on their heads were climbing aboard lugging kids and bags with them. Oh no! Even bicycles were permitted these days, I groaned as a black man pulled his bike and load of chickens up the bus step. The chickens made hot tired hisses as they crammed together in far too small a space. The smell of sweaty bodies and animals was unbearable, but we had to control the desire to throw up.11

We had three seats near the middle, I put the children closest to the window and the fresh air, and I had an isle seat. Our luggage was placed on the floor by our feet leaving little room to move.
By the time we arrived at the Bulawayo Sun Hotel we were three very tired and hungry travellers.
We piled out of the bus and stood waiting at the bus stop. No one was there to meet us, I had sent a telegram notifying my mother of the date and time of our arrival and I was really surprised to find she wasn’t there full of smiles and excitement. After all, she missed us very much and this was surely a very special time.
Oh well that meant that we had to hire a taxi and load the entire luggage in the boot. Experiencing another death defying ride at well over the speed limit, in a car that would fail even the most easy going roadworthy inspector here in Australia.12

We left the taxi rank. As we headed towards the home I hadn’t seen for four years, my emotions were racing with expectations of all the old familiar family times and what we could expect now.
Yes, we were back, back in Zimbabwe with all those bad memories (yet another story I will write about) and yes, there was my mothers home, the family home I had spent so many years growing up in. 13


The driveway to the homestead was long and spanned almost two of the five acres on which the house stood proudly supporting its castle like turrets and unusual style of an old castle. The big pool was first to catch my eye, looking most welcome after the hot trip. It was built amongst a large rock mound and I often marvelled at how any machinery could have got in there to dig the large hole.14

Again no one was about, no welcoming committee; no smiling faces to greet us. I was starting to really worry. Something had to be really wrong and we would soon find out what it was.15

I paid the taxi and stood looking at the front entrance to the large home. I was almost too scared to go in. The strange absence of familiar friendly faces was scaring me half to death all of a sudden. No I was being silly, I shook myself and picking up the smallest bag and telling the children to follow me I made my way to the front door which stood wide open.16

At last a face appeared that I didn’t recognise he was hurrying towards me and greeting me in his fellow language N’debele. I returned the greeting and asked him to help with my bags. He hurried past me and picked up the remaining luggage then turned to follow me inside.17

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I stood in the doorway hit by the familiar smell of alcohol, cigarettes and stale ashtrays, that always surrounded my stepfather on one of his drunken binges. He was nowhere to be seen but as I turned towards the long green corner lounge to my left, I saw my mother. She was sitting stiff as a board, hair cut short like a man's and greased down with Vaseline so that it stuck together like a skullcap. I’m not sure if it was the exhaustion from the long trip or the shock that drained my body and legs, but I found myself sinking onto the couch next to this poor creature that I had always thought of as a tower of strength.
What had happened to her why was she sitting here like this?19

‘Mummy’ I whispered, without turning she raised a hand and put it on my arm then up to my face. ‘Janice you’re here’ was her response. She sat there not saying anything just staring ahead and holding onto me so tight that my arm started to throb. ‘Char and Shell are here with me’ I said, indicating to my two girls to come forward. They had stood in the background hesitant and confused at seeing their Grandmother like this. They both came into view and hugged their gran reservedly. Neither was sure of how to behave.20

A young African girl of about 20 years old came in from the dining room clapping her hands in the greeting fashion, ‘hello madam’ she excitedly clapped again.
I was sure this girl would be able to tell me what I needed to know, so I addressed her in her own language. ‘Do you care for my mother, why is she like this, where is my father?’21

I couldn’t wait for her answers I was so shocked and in a state of fury at seeing such neglect of this human being that I loved dearly that I wanted the facts there and then.22

‘Mr J is in the bedroom’ she rattled off in her home tongue ‘he is sick he is drinking the beer all the time and Mrs J is very sick, she is not able to do anything for herself, I do everything for her now. I bath her and today we made her look very pretty for you to see when you arrived’. She was obviously thrilled with her efforts as she puffed up the pillow behind my mother’s head.23

My heart ached. If this was making her look pretty then what had she looked like on other normal days. I stood up prizing my arm free from my mothers grip and walked through the beautiful indoor courtyard made completely from large natural rocks around which the house was created, into the bedroom wing. This was a separate part to the house joined only by the paved walkway and flower gardens of the courtyard. My stepfather’s bedroom was the first on the right and there was no mistaking that he still slept in the same room as the stale smells of filth and unwashed body nearly made me sick as I walked into the room. I had make the children stay in the lounge room with my mother.
Bill was there alright, laying with the butt of a cigarette in his mouth and a full glass of half brandy and half beer a mixture he had invented because as I learned later it was easier to mix a few bottles together than get up and ask for another of the same kind when one got finished.
‘Bill’ I said looking at him in disgust. ‘Angie’ he replied as the butt dropped onto the bed. ‘It’s good to see you girl, yes it’s good to see you’ he reached out a hand and I reached back keeping the distance between us as far as possible. ‘Oh Ole, what has happened to you’ I almost wept. This had been a strong man, a good man with a heart of gold. A drinker, yes, but not like this. ‘Tell me what on earth has happened to you and Mum, what is going on?’ My voice shook and the smell turned my stomach. ‘Your mother has been very sick’ was all he said before taking a swig from the filthy glass and fumbling for a cigarette. He reached for a lighter but it fell to the floor, ‘pick that up and light my smoke’ he asked in a slurred voice.
I obliged and left the room. I knew there would be no answers from him right now.24

In contrast to the odours in the bedroom area, the smell now wafting from the lounge room was very inviting. The cook had bought in tea and his home baked cake. I learned his name was Johnson and later he was to become my best friend and Alai through the hell I would be facing.25

My children were famished and got stuck in, eating a few slices of cake each. I watched and nibbled on my slice, which although delicious, just wasn’t sitting well with my churning inside. I realised that Johnson was probably the closest to this whole situation and the man to talk to about it all. I found him in the kitchen cleaning up after his quick cooking spree.
He looked up and smiled as I entered. ‘Johnson’, I gestured a chair, ‘please come and sit down, I need to talk to you’. Johnson moved uncomfortably and stayed standing. ‘Miss Angie, this is a bad situation’ he said in English. He then sat down with a heavy sigh. ‘Your parents are being robbed by a man named Matthew. He is giving Mr Jason much beer and brandy and he tells Mrs Joy that he is a doctor and is giving her medicine. I am not sure what it is but Mrs Jess just sleeps all the time. There is no one to stop him so he just takes Mr Jess’s money and the car’. He looked at me with the look of a wise old owl. ‘Miss Angie’ he stated, ‘you will see very soon, Matthew will be here soon, he will have heard of your arrival and will come to make sure you do not have time to talk to anyone about him’.26

I looked out of the window and saw the old truck and the small beat up jalopy my parents had had for years, ‘that’s the reason I didn’t realise a car was missing’ I thought to myself.27

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Chapter Three
The Villain Show His Face30

As if on cue, the sound of a car coming up the drive made my nerves stand on end. Was this the person responsible for the fragments left of the puppets I used to call my parents?31

I watched the car pull up and felt disgust and anger as a black man who closely resembled the picture one has of gang leaders. dressed in a pin stripe suit with a tie and a confident bullying stature, climbed out.
I realised I had to keep calm something I was not sure I could do after the long journey and shock findings here, but I had to, in order to win in this obvious power game.
Matthew was good. He marched straight in, grabbed my mother and hugged her. He patted her hand, asked her how she felt and then turned to me. He stretched out a big hand and grasped mine, shaking it vigorously. ‘Welcome, welcome,’ he gushed at me smiling. He then became solemn. ‘I am very glad you have come, as your mother and father have been very sick and they need you’. My mind raced, was Johnson wrong, maybe he was trying to throw me off the track, maybe Johnson was the villain I should be watching out for, if indeed there was a villain in the first place.
Maybe this was a genuine doctor and maybe my mother was really sick and my stepfather was now a complete alcoholic.
But I had to ask myself, what was this man who still had hold of my hand, doing with my parent’s car?32

I pulled my hand free and sat down opposite him. ‘Who are you’ I found myself blurting out, before I had time to gather some composure. ‘My name is Matthew,’ he answered, I am a good friend of your parents and as a doctor; I have been helping your mother with her illness. He paused to gauge my reaction. ‘What illness’ I asked, ‘when I spoke to her a few weeks ago she sounded a little off colour but not sick and she mentioned nothing of an illness’.
We stared at each other, ‘and’ I went on not giving him time to answer ‘why are you driving around in their car, they would never loan out their vehicles before when did this start?’ Matthew shook his head. ‘I am their friend and without my help they cannot get food from the shop, so they let me use the car to come out each day with food and other things they need.’ This man was far too sure of himself. ‘Why can’t the gardener of Johnson go to the shop like they used to?’ I asked.
The shop will not sell to them anymore because someone has run up a bill of $4,000 there and now they will not deal with anyone but me. Matthew made it all sound so convincing. Why would my parents run up bills of that amount?
It wasn’t like them at all.
My mother never had accounts; she was very particular about paying cash. 33

I gave Matthew a smile, which was strictly for his benefit and far from the way I felt about him. ‘Well I’m here now so you can leave everything to me from now on.’ I stood up ‘I’ll drive you back to town and bring the car back here for my use’.
Matthew jumped up ‘But how will I get around? I need the car.’ He looked shocked. ‘The same way you did before you started borrowing my parent’s car’ I informed him. He muttered something under his breath and lost the friendly attitude for a moment. At that point something inside me said ‘Be very careful you don’t know what you are dealing with yet’. I decided to be a little kinder until I was sure of some facts. ‘If you need help just call me’ I said ‘I will help if I can, but right now I do have to have the car back. I then left the girls talking to their grandmother and drove another 10kms to and from town to drop off Matthew.34

On the drive back, I ran through the events of that day many times. Nothing made sense. I felt as if I was suspended in space and nothing was real any more. This wasn’t my life. My mother was strong, active and very well. That was the way it had always been. My father was not a drunk he was a strong businessman with a great head on his shoulders and a wiz with finances. He was the one who sat on the veranda steps with us playing the guitar and singing all our favourite songs.35

The driveway was once again in view and I came down to earth with a thump.
My thoughts jumping ahead a few days to the arrival of my friends from Australia who I had invited when I was sure my parents would welcome them and give them a good holiday. The plans were for a trip to Whange Game Reserve and the Victoria Falls and then down to Kruger Park and the garden route trip through South Africa before returning to Australia.
Well how I could handle that, was something I would think about tomorrow. Right now the girls would need supper and we would all need a good nights sleep. If sleep was possible with so much to think about.36

My daughters’ father would be turning up the next day to take them down to South Africa for three weeks holiday with him.
I parked the car and walked back into the house becoming very aware of how tired I felt. My body ached and I longed for a hot bath and bed.37

It was around three o’clock in the morning when my Stepfather woke me by yelling out for the young black girl who cared for my mother. ‘What was it now’? I thought climbing out of bed. I walked down to my stepfather’s room just as the girl wrapped only in a blanket walked out of the room my mother was in. ‘Mr Jason he wants me to stay by him’ she said ‘he always wants it’. My father was holding out a drunken hand, ‘come lay down here with me,’ he was saying. My stomach turned once again. Was this young girl my fathers’ mistress?38

The thought sent shocks through me. ‘You go back to your own bed’ I will sort Mr Jason out.’ I ordered her. But this is where I sleep’ she whimpered. ‘Do you have a room in the servant’s quarters’ I asked always addressing her in her own tongue. ‘Yes’ she replied ‘well go to it now’ I ordered. She grabbed the blanket around her half naked body and left the house. My mother must have woken up with the commotion because she started yelling my name. I went into her room and she settled down drifting back to sleep, happy in the knowledge that I was still there. I looked around the room and noticed about five bottles of tablets on the dressing table. Examining them I saw they were all for current use and prescribed to my mother. Why so many for someone who was just tired and run down? Tomorrow I would start investigating and hopefully sort out this mess.39

My children left for South Africa. They promised to phone me twice a week and they left me feeling very alone and lost. Suddenly I felt totally vulnerable. No back up, just me (not that kids could have been much help) but at least I felt that I wasn’t alone. Now having waved them goodbye, I had to return to this house of horrors, with
no-one I felt I knew anymore. It suddenly made me very nervous. I shook myself and turned my attention back to my Mother and the events of the night.
I would have to take things one at a time. I realised that I was dealing with a lot of different issues here.
I remembered the tablets in the bedroom and decided on a course of action. First I would call Harare Medical Registration Board and check out Matthew. Then I would go and see the local chemist I have known for years (if he was still around) and have these pills analysed. I wanted to know exactly what my mother was taking. I had breakfast and settled my mother in her favourite chair. She was much better than she had been when we arrived. I told her not to take any of her tablets and she became very distressed telling me that Matthew would be furious if she missed her dose. ‘I don’t care mum’ I said I’m here now and I am going to get you better, so forget Matthew. I phoned the Medical Board at 9am when they opened and told them I wanted information on a Dr. Matthew who practiced in Bulawayo. After sometime, the lady came back and informed me that Dr. Matthew had been struck off the medical register for reasons she could not give and that he was not a practicing doctor anymore. Well Johnson did know what he was talking about and if that was the case this medication needed checking quickly. I told mum I was going to town and taking the bottles with me. I drove as quickly as I could, feeling as if the world would stop if I didn’t have my answer immediately. The pharmacy was still there and so was the pharmacist. He was happy to see me and after a careful examination of the bottles and their contents, he informed me that further testing was not necessary as he was quite sure that the bottles all contained nothing but very strong tranquillisers. I asked him to destroy them all and headed back home.
I was going to have another talk to Johnson and go into my parent’s businesses and see what was going on there. On the way I stopped off at our local grocery store and was greeted with much excitement. Everyone remembered me and was very happy to see me. ‘There have been some strange things happening since you went away, and we have had to stop your father’s credit’ I was told. ‘What has been going on’ I asked Jay, who owned the store. Jay took me to one side. ‘Angie’ she confided ‘that Matthew, always uses the car and comes in here to buy things on credit. We have had to stop your father’s account because Matthew spends nearly $500 on each visit and the account is very high, as he never pays the bill. I am sure that the things he buy’s are not for your parents. But because he has your father’s signature, we couldn’t refuse before.
Now the account is too high and we have stopped it’ Jay was most embarrassed as we had been friends and good customers for 15 years or more.40

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TO BE CONTINUED42