Atkins Dube, Grade 11
UWCEA (Arusha)
One can only imagine how I felt when I received the news that I had accepted UWC. I was beyond exuberant. My heart brimmed with ecstasy, and I was rapturous, entirely unaware that the series of events that were to unfold would sink me into melancholy and cause me a Herculean deal of angst.
As the pandemic had begun to spread like wildfire in most African countries, Zimbabwe, like other countries, had to impose a hard lockdown so as to curb the spread of the virus. This meant the closure of all non-essential services, with the Bulawayo Immigration Services being no exception. I had applied for a new passport in August 2019 but due to the sluggish nature of the passport application process in Zimbabwe, receiving the new passport remained a castle built in the air. March 2020 arrived and with her bringing the glad tidings of acceptance to UWC East Africa and the requirement to travel to Tanzania. However, this could not be a reality, all thanks to the leaden-footed passport application process in Zimbabwe. Mother and I tried to find other ways to get the passport, but all our attempts were fruitless. Time and tide, waiting for no one, not even a hopeful young man, overzealous to attend a UWC, moved on, and before I knew it, it was July, and I still had no passport. I was frantic and gloomy at the thought of losing my scholarship because of a mere passport.
Just when Mother and I had thrown in the towel on seeking other means to get a passport, we received news that transmogrified our crestfallen faces into happier ones: the National Committee had conceived a way for me to get my passport. However, my joy was short-lived as I soon became cognizant of the fact that I had to travel to the capital to get my passport. All public transport had ceased operations, and the only means of transport were the illegal Honda Fit cars, which carried more than twice their capacity in their unkempt and squalid vehicles. I puzzled over this issue for a day or so and finally decided there was no way out--I had to take the risk, all in the name of UWC.
Fear engulfed me as I walked hurriedly through the streets of Harare. My heart thumped sonorously and speedily, and I quaked pitifully as goose pimples spread across my slim body. My skin had turned white and ashen. I was between the devil and the Dead Sea, stranded at 8:00 at night in the merciless streets of Harare with nowhere to go. As if my journey had not been horrendous enough, a six-hour trip turned into a ten-hour journey on a dusty road with a myriad of potholes in a vehicle with the pungent smell of sweat coupled with that of rotting fruit, wearing a mask and barely breathing. Closing the windows was a futile endeavor as the dust would always find its way into the car. One would think arriving at the capital would be a relief as it carried the prospect of getting a passport but being dropped off just at the first street of the city, on a dark winter night, having to make my way to the heart of the city by foot, I beg to differ. I barely knew Shona, let alone the geography of the capital.
Darkness had already crept into the city, and a notable part of the city was not illuminated. I disembarked the vehicle and started walking, following the directions I had tried to memorize from Google Maps on my phone just before I got off--using my phone on the streets was not an option. My mind was already in tumult, and I was heavily distressed. Having my phone stolen would just be the final kick into a grave of eternal depression. I just couldn’t afford to lose it. I walked around the city of Harare for two hours only to find out I was no closer to my destination. My mind stirred in confusion. Millions of thoughts whizzed around my brain. I even thought of acting as a street urchin and spending the night on the streets. Perhaps blending in would keep me safe, I thought to myself. I had been left high and dry in the treacherous streets of Harare. All ways seemed ill-fated, and I could find no way out of the tunnel of doom I was in. Amidst all the confusion, I thought about all the phenomenal UWC stories I had heard: the cultural diversity, meeting new people, volunteering options, debates, and service projects. All these seemed too good to give up. I just had to persevere and bear it all as I was certain it would pay off. Just as I was deciding on not giving up, my cousin called, and I cowered in a corner and answered it. He had hired a car and would come to where I was.
I could see in the vicinity Jameson Hotel, so I relayed that information, and he came and picked me up. I spent the night at this place, and the next morning, I met with Jenna, the NC Coordinator, and we went to the passport office where all the paperwork was completed, and I was told I would get my passport after three days. At this point, I was assured that nothing would go south. Little did I know that my bubble of happiness would soon burst. The passport was not done in the stipulated time; thus, I had to go back to Bulawayo, my hometown, after a week; the journey back still gives me nightmares. I was more than grateful to have arrived home, safe, and sound.
The passport was only done three weeks after I had left the capital, and Mother decided it was best we ask someone to collect it for us rather than risk my life yet again. Our plan worked, and I received my passport in early August. Traveling to Harare was inevitable as the only operational airport was the Robert Mugabe Airport in the capital city. As a result, I had to find a way to travel so as to catch my flight.
I left home on the thirteenth of August in a private car on my way to Harare in the afternoon. This time the traveling conditions were not as abhorrent as the first, and I would go so far as to say they were decent at first. They gave the impression that the journey would be fairly bearable. However, that was not the case. After a puncture twenty kilometers from Kadoma, it started to sink in that this journey, too, was probably doom-laden. We drove on a flat tire all the way to Kadoma from 6 in the evening at a snail’s pace and arrived two hours later. We had sought a place to change the tires, but all the places had closed down. The few that were open were charging exorbitant amounts in cash, something which is a rare commodity in Zimbabwe. We spent another two hours in Kadoma, the car driver trying to call relatives, friends, and acquaintances that could offer them succor. All their endeavors to get help were futile; none of the people whom they were calling were available to assist. This meant we would have to sleep on the road, wait for assistance from their friends in Harare the next morning, and I would miss my flight. I was in a pit of despair. I trembled uncontrollably as tears trickled down my gloom-ridden face. My eyes, which used to sparkle, were like two black orbs sunk into the deep holes of my face, and my lips quivered uncontrollably. The thought of missing my flight was unbearable. It was a somber and pitiful sight. The catastrophe was nothing unusual in my journey to UWC but this was certainly the nail in the coffin. This menaced to mar everything I had worked immensely hard for at the eleventh hour, and I just could not allow it.
It occurred to me that I had some money at hand, which I had been given as pocket money, so I decided to lend some to them so that we could get ourselves out of the heart-rendering situation we were in. After receiving the cash, the mechanics did their job, and in thirty minutes, we were back on the road. We did not encounter any more hurdles on our journey and reached Harare just after midnight. They first went to their place so as to reimburse the money I had lent to them; thus, I arrived at my cousin’s place an hour later. Rhapsodic doesn’t even begin to describe how I felt when I arrived at my cousin’s place--I was euphoric. I barely slept that night as I recapitulated all the unfortunate events that had fallen upon me on the way and began to imagine how my UWC experience would be. I boarded the flight in the early afternoon the next day, and after a transit in Addis Ababa, I arrived in Tanzania the next day. I was welcomed by two of the UWC staff members at the airport who took me to the school.
After receiving a warm welcome from my boarding parents, I dozed off to sleep and woke up to a striking campus and a diverse population of students. The boarding house I am in, Jacaranda, has beautiful pictures of the famous purple tree, and this added luster to the boma. As I progressed outside the boma, I was welcomed by an expanse of school buildings, verdant lawn, and vast, tall trees that were slightly bent over as if exchanging secrets with each other. Mount Meru towering over us was just the final flourish. I had met a lot of people on my first day, and I had already begun to appreciate the diversity in the school. Indubitably, the campus is breathtaking, but what has really made my UWC experience the most special would be the cultural diversity. Learning about the manifold cultures of the world has been the most memorable part of my UWC experience. I have learned a lot from my peers from all the corners of the world. My perceptions of the world have been challenged and changed. I now see the world from a wider view, and I’m more aware of certain issues transpiring all over the globe. We engage in debates on controversial issues at UWC, such as religion, and this broadens our knowledge of the world. I can boldly say that all the tribulations all paid off.
As the pandemic had begun to spread like wildfire in most African countries, Zimbabwe, like other countries, had to impose a hard lockdown so as to curb the spread of the virus. This meant the closure of all non-essential services, with the Bulawayo Immigration Services being no exception. I had applied for a new passport in August 2019 but due to the sluggish nature of the passport application process in Zimbabwe, receiving the new passport remained a castle built in the air. March 2020 arrived and with her bringing the glad tidings of acceptance to UWC East Africa and the requirement to travel to Tanzania. However, this could not be a reality, all thanks to the leaden-footed passport application process in Zimbabwe. Mother and I tried to find other ways to get the passport, but all our attempts were fruitless. Time and tide, waiting for no one, not even a hopeful young man, overzealous to attend a UWC, moved on, and before I knew it, it was July, and I still had no passport. I was frantic and gloomy at the thought of losing my scholarship because of a mere passport.
Just when Mother and I had thrown in the towel on seeking other means to get a passport, we received news that transmogrified our crestfallen faces into happier ones: the National Committee had conceived a way for me to get my passport. However, my joy was short-lived as I soon became cognizant of the fact that I had to travel to the capital to get my passport. All public transport had ceased operations, and the only means of transport were the illegal Honda Fit cars, which carried more than twice their capacity in their unkempt and squalid vehicles. I puzzled over this issue for a day or so and finally decided there was no way out--I had to take the risk, all in the name of UWC.
Fear engulfed me as I walked hurriedly through the streets of Harare. My heart thumped sonorously and speedily, and I quaked pitifully as goose pimples spread across my slim body. My skin had turned white and ashen. I was between the devil and the Dead Sea, stranded at 8:00 at night in the merciless streets of Harare with nowhere to go. As if my journey had not been horrendous enough, a six-hour trip turned into a ten-hour journey on a dusty road with a myriad of potholes in a vehicle with the pungent smell of sweat coupled with that of rotting fruit, wearing a mask and barely breathing. Closing the windows was a futile endeavor as the dust would always find its way into the car. One would think arriving at the capital would be a relief as it carried the prospect of getting a passport but being dropped off just at the first street of the city, on a dark winter night, having to make my way to the heart of the city by foot, I beg to differ. I barely knew Shona, let alone the geography of the capital.
Darkness had already crept into the city, and a notable part of the city was not illuminated. I disembarked the vehicle and started walking, following the directions I had tried to memorize from Google Maps on my phone just before I got off--using my phone on the streets was not an option. My mind was already in tumult, and I was heavily distressed. Having my phone stolen would just be the final kick into a grave of eternal depression. I just couldn’t afford to lose it. I walked around the city of Harare for two hours only to find out I was no closer to my destination. My mind stirred in confusion. Millions of thoughts whizzed around my brain. I even thought of acting as a street urchin and spending the night on the streets. Perhaps blending in would keep me safe, I thought to myself. I had been left high and dry in the treacherous streets of Harare. All ways seemed ill-fated, and I could find no way out of the tunnel of doom I was in. Amidst all the confusion, I thought about all the phenomenal UWC stories I had heard: the cultural diversity, meeting new people, volunteering options, debates, and service projects. All these seemed too good to give up. I just had to persevere and bear it all as I was certain it would pay off. Just as I was deciding on not giving up, my cousin called, and I cowered in a corner and answered it. He had hired a car and would come to where I was.
I could see in the vicinity Jameson Hotel, so I relayed that information, and he came and picked me up. I spent the night at this place, and the next morning, I met with Jenna, the NC Coordinator, and we went to the passport office where all the paperwork was completed, and I was told I would get my passport after three days. At this point, I was assured that nothing would go south. Little did I know that my bubble of happiness would soon burst. The passport was not done in the stipulated time; thus, I had to go back to Bulawayo, my hometown, after a week; the journey back still gives me nightmares. I was more than grateful to have arrived home, safe, and sound.
The passport was only done three weeks after I had left the capital, and Mother decided it was best we ask someone to collect it for us rather than risk my life yet again. Our plan worked, and I received my passport in early August. Traveling to Harare was inevitable as the only operational airport was the Robert Mugabe Airport in the capital city. As a result, I had to find a way to travel so as to catch my flight.
I left home on the thirteenth of August in a private car on my way to Harare in the afternoon. This time the traveling conditions were not as abhorrent as the first, and I would go so far as to say they were decent at first. They gave the impression that the journey would be fairly bearable. However, that was not the case. After a puncture twenty kilometers from Kadoma, it started to sink in that this journey, too, was probably doom-laden. We drove on a flat tire all the way to Kadoma from 6 in the evening at a snail’s pace and arrived two hours later. We had sought a place to change the tires, but all the places had closed down. The few that were open were charging exorbitant amounts in cash, something which is a rare commodity in Zimbabwe. We spent another two hours in Kadoma, the car driver trying to call relatives, friends, and acquaintances that could offer them succor. All their endeavors to get help were futile; none of the people whom they were calling were available to assist. This meant we would have to sleep on the road, wait for assistance from their friends in Harare the next morning, and I would miss my flight. I was in a pit of despair. I trembled uncontrollably as tears trickled down my gloom-ridden face. My eyes, which used to sparkle, were like two black orbs sunk into the deep holes of my face, and my lips quivered uncontrollably. The thought of missing my flight was unbearable. It was a somber and pitiful sight. The catastrophe was nothing unusual in my journey to UWC but this was certainly the nail in the coffin. This menaced to mar everything I had worked immensely hard for at the eleventh hour, and I just could not allow it.
It occurred to me that I had some money at hand, which I had been given as pocket money, so I decided to lend some to them so that we could get ourselves out of the heart-rendering situation we were in. After receiving the cash, the mechanics did their job, and in thirty minutes, we were back on the road. We did not encounter any more hurdles on our journey and reached Harare just after midnight. They first went to their place so as to reimburse the money I had lent to them; thus, I arrived at my cousin’s place an hour later. Rhapsodic doesn’t even begin to describe how I felt when I arrived at my cousin’s place--I was euphoric. I barely slept that night as I recapitulated all the unfortunate events that had fallen upon me on the way and began to imagine how my UWC experience would be. I boarded the flight in the early afternoon the next day, and after a transit in Addis Ababa, I arrived in Tanzania the next day. I was welcomed by two of the UWC staff members at the airport who took me to the school.
After receiving a warm welcome from my boarding parents, I dozed off to sleep and woke up to a striking campus and a diverse population of students. The boarding house I am in, Jacaranda, has beautiful pictures of the famous purple tree, and this added luster to the boma. As I progressed outside the boma, I was welcomed by an expanse of school buildings, verdant lawn, and vast, tall trees that were slightly bent over as if exchanging secrets with each other. Mount Meru towering over us was just the final flourish. I had met a lot of people on my first day, and I had already begun to appreciate the diversity in the school. Indubitably, the campus is breathtaking, but what has really made my UWC experience the most special would be the cultural diversity. Learning about the manifold cultures of the world has been the most memorable part of my UWC experience. I have learned a lot from my peers from all the corners of the world. My perceptions of the world have been challenged and changed. I now see the world from a wider view, and I’m more aware of certain issues transpiring all over the globe. We engage in debates on controversial issues at UWC, such as religion, and this broadens our knowledge of the world. I can boldly say that all the tribulations all paid off.
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