Welcome to Fifth Word's.
We Need New Stories.
Episode seven.
Lawrence's and Nyaradzai’s Story, As Fate Would Have It.
Written by Zodwa Nyoni and directed by
Anastasia Osei-Kuffour.
This episode contains references to racism.
Okay.
Uh, testing.
One, two.
Testing, one, two.
All right.
Right then Lawrence and Nyari, thank you both for agreeing
to take part in this project.
Thank you.
Thank you for having us.
Uh, let's just jump in.
Tell me where were you born?
I was born in Chitungwiza in 1977.
Me too, at same year, but in Bulawayo.
Matabeleland.
The land of the Ndebele.
I'm not Ndebele though.
I'm Shona.
Me too.
I grew up in Hillside, a suburban area.
We had a swimming pool.
Oh, fancy.
Chitungwiza is not the type of place most people
have swimming pools.
Ah, we didn't always live in hillside.
Before Independence, we lived in Luveve.
The townships were where all the black people
were segregated to.
It is still a high density area.
All the white people got to live in the fancy
neighborhoods like Hillside.
And even after independence, it didn't change the power
structures that played out in our daily lives.
In what ways were they still the same?
My high school convent was still being run by German
nuns, and all the teachers who taught vernacular
languages were black.
Was this the same for you, Lawrence?
Yes.
Growing up, I saw traces of the colonial
area in our church.
Mm-hmm.
Back in the days, Zimbabwe used to be part
of the Federation of Rhodesia and Nyasaland.
This included Zambia and Malawi.
So in our church we heard Shona and Chichewa.
And what was your childhood like?
Eventful.
How so?
I have epilepsy.
When the seizures first started at eight years
old, no one really knew what was going on.
The doctors tried everything to figure
out what was causing it.
But with no luck, my parents turned to witch doctors.
A witch doctor.
Why not stay with a doctor-doctor?
It was the doctor-doctor who told them to seek
spiritual help because modern medicine was failing me.
Um, tell me more about witch doctors.
Witch doctors, sangomas, practioners, traditional
healers, whatever you want to call them, they make
herbal concoctions or throw bones to receive messages
from the other side.
Bones speak to the dead.
Bones, predict futures.
Bones, cure illnesses.
Mm-hmm.
Bones cast out evil spirits.
Zimbabwean cultures exist on the border
of different realms.
Causes of things can't be explained here.
They will be explained on the other side.
The people who knew me, my friends and family,
always saw me as Lawrence.
They would take care of me if I had fits away from home.
Things went the same at high school, new environment, new
friends, old explanations being said repeatedly.
I used to worry that if I had fits.
No one would be able to help me.
That must have been upsetting.
People feared me.
They thought that if they touched the foam coming
out of my mouth, they would catch the epilepsy.
If something was not understood, it was seen as
strange, but they just needed a little more education on
the science before jumping into the demonic explanation.
Mm-hmm.
It's so interesting to hear how different
cultures understand the events in their lives.
For you, Nyari, what was your childhood like?
I mean, we moved back and forth between Harare
and I wasn't your typical boy crazy teenager.
Hmm mm-hmm.
My dad worked as a top executive and at one point
we could afford to send my older brother and sister
to university in South Africa, but when it was
my turn, unfortunately he had lost his job.
How did that change in economic status affect you?
I wanted the same opportunities as my siblings.
I wanted to go abroad for university too,
but we had to move to Masvingo a smaller city.
Bulawayo is the second largest city in Zimbabwe.
I had to look at local universities
to study accounting.
What did you study, Lawrence?
I did math, biology, and chemistry at a level.
I wanted to be a pharmacist, but there
was only one university, Harare Polytechnic,
that took a handful of students on the course.
As it turned out, I was not clever enough to get selected.
So what did you do then?
I got onto what was like an apprenticeship and worked
as a pharmacy technician.
I adjust drugs using the same math skills that didn't
get me into university.
At 20 years old, I was making good money.
Mm-hmm.
more than my older brother.
He was annoyed.
I can imagine.
Okay, so we're getting into your twenties now.
You're either studying or working.
Nyari, what did you do after graduation?
My dad did his best to make sure that I didn't feel
shortchanged when I graduated.
He got me an interview with an NGO.
The job was mainly, uh, managing people.
Like Lawrence, I was in a great position.
I was able to transfer to Mutare in the
eastern highlands.
My sister lived there with her son.
Everything was fine until 2002 when the economy crashed.
Inflation went up and my nice $2,500 a month salary went to
$120, and the situation was so bad that you had to spend the
money as soon as you got it.
Because that salary could easily become worthless
by the next week.
Is that when you decided to move to England?
I'd never planned on leaving Zimbabwe, but when my brother
had finished university, he applied to work in the uk.
He was settled and he was the one who planted the idea.
Did you think you'd end up in the uk, Lawrence?
I was comfortable, but if I did go anywhere, I
dreamed it would be America.
You know, how TV and pop culture crawls inside of you
and makes you think that maybe one day you'll be in New York,
standing in front of Times Square, eating Chicago Pizza.
The fantasy became a reality I’d have to confront when
everyone else started leaving.
Uh, who was the first to leave?
My brother went to Australia at first and
then ended up in England.
He couldn't stand the racism there.
Then some friends left too, and my girlfriend at the
time left without telling me.
A lot of people did that just left in silence.
I was alone in the end.
Was it like there was a drain sucking out all the people?
When Zimbabwe was hit with the sanctions, the
country was going broke.
The government made the country that way.
people had no choice but to leave
Nyari.
What was the process of leaving like for you?
The UK started limiting visas when the sanctions hit.
The embassy would only offer appointments to 200
people a day, and that didn't mean 200 people were
getting granted either.
The first time me and my sister went to qa,
we got there at 6:00 AM We were already late.
Can you imagine ? The line was around the building.
People started hiring others to stand in line
for them at 2:00 AM.
That's ingenious.
Ah, you have to be resourceful.
In Zimbabwe, I paid someone to wait in line for me too.
If it wasn't for that person, I wouldn't have finally
gotten my appointment.
Soon after my visa was granted.
Back then, applying for visas wasn't difficult.
Mm-hmm, all you needed was money.
Now you have a lot of people claiming asylum and the
process is very difficult.
I think a lot of people have assumptions that getting your
residency in this country is very easy, but as we
see and heard in countless stories, that is not the case.
What were your expectations of England?
Lawrence, you go first.
Orange juice.
Listen, uh, all I ever remember seeing on TV was
choice, choices of food, of drinks, of tv channels, of
internet providers of cars.
When things were hard in Zimbabwe, you
didn't get choices.
My mind was blown when I arrived and my brother
took me to McDonalds.
The menu was so long and the exchange rate so great,
so I thought I could work, indulge in my choices and
still be able to take care of my family back home.
Ah, I just wanted to be with my brother, but this
country is a grind culture.
He had to work away from home on the week that I
arrived, I had to stay with my aunt in London.
So I did what any foreigner would do in a new place,
became a tourist . I got on the tube in the wrong
direction at first, uh, but eventually found my way.
I hit all the hotspots in central London, Big Ben
Buckingham Palace, the guards with the big tall
hats, the red buses.
I took pictures of everything.
By the fourth day, my aunt was sitting me down and telling
me that I needed to get a job.
I was given a bus pass and the yellow pages
told to find a job.
Anyway, I eventually found one in Berkshire.
My first job interview was with a Zimbabwean woman who it
turned out was the mother of a boy I'd gone to school with.
Ah, a lot of new arrivals end up in care jobs.
They also share stories of British clients being racist
and vile towards them.
Ah, yeah.
I had that too when I worked in care.
Was that your first job?
No, my first job was working on the tills at, uh,
university Cafe in London.
I had no idea what I was doing, but I lied
and said I did because I needed the money.
Luckily, I didn't have to do it for long.
My brother was ready to receive me in Nottingham.
His two bedroom council house with exposed
floorboards became home.
Ah.
Caring was one of the jobs I did.
I also tried administration.
I didn't like that.
Mm-hmm.
there's this pressure to perform and if you're
not this machine, you're excluded from the culture.
I work in civil service.
I like people.
I might want to be a project manager at some point.
I like doing creative things too.
My granddad was a tailor.
Yeah.
So was my father.
He sparked my creativity.
I bought myself a soaring machine for my birthday.
Yeah.
Which she is yet to start using.
I will.
Ah, after I'm done executively producing your films.
Me and Lawrence also have that in common, filmmaking.
I guess we share a general love of the arts.
I, I did a college course in filmmaking, but now I mostly
do it in my spare time.
I like that we can do that together.
uh, let's get onto that.
Since you are jumping ahead of my question.
How did you meet?
Get more of her love stories, feelings.
2017, I had a solicitor helping me sort
out my immigration.
He shows me a picture of a woman and says, what
did you think of her?
Oh, Cilla Black would be proud.
Who is she?
Oh, uh, she used to host a show called Blind
Dates in the nineties.
Oh, oh, right.
Anyway.
I thought she was beautiful.
Still is.
He gives me a number and told me to call her.
I took a number, all excited, but when I
called, she was like.
Here we go.
Call me later.
I'm dancing.
I was, I was like, she's rude.
So I didn't go back.
Your friend had to check you for that?
Yes, he did, and I'm glad he did.
I, I still have a photo from the day we met.
You do?
Of course I do.
I'm the one who usually keeps the sentimental things.
I'm sentimental too baby.
I'm remembering coming up to, to Nottingham, um,
like it was yesterday.
She showed me around the city.
Miss Korea restaurant, the arrow, the oldest
pub, Highfields Park.
We had a really good day.
Uh, it just felt natural being around him.
He felt like home.
I didn't want him to leave.
We went out a few more times and then I asked
him to move to Nottingham.
Which I did in 2018.
When it's right, why waste time?
Start forever after now?
because you'll never know what life can bring to
cut your happiness short.
Your illness reminded you of how fragile
life can be, right?
Hmm hmm.
You were sick.
May I ask what happened?
This was before I met him, but before I came to
England, uh, around 2003, I had a thyroid problem.
My surgery was done in Zim, but not properly
as it turned out.
My GP in England told me that I had dangerously low calcium
levels, like this call came when me and my sister were
just perusing around Primark.
He called in a panic and told me to get
to the city hospital.
He was so confused about how I'd been living like this.
I was on a drip for a week.
I really am glad that I was able to get the help
I needed from the nhs.
Then if I'd stayed in Zim, I don't know what
would've happened to me.
Yeah.
And at, at the time when things are happening,
you don't always know what the why is.
But fate has a plan.
All roads have led us to our life in Nottingham.
I'm still exploring the city.
I have a British passport now, so we can also
explore abroad too.
uh, was your citizenship easy to get?
God, no.
No.
uh, what happened?
It used to be that you could change a visitor visa
into a student visa, but in the summer of 2003, the
government changed the rules.
I'd made my application before the changes.
The home office didn't care.
From 2009, I was in a legal battle for my residency.
I watched friends surpass me, they'd graduate, get
jobs and raise families whilst I was stuck in limbo.
I had to find non-traditional methods of completing my
masters all the while working and not breaking any laws.
It took seven years to get to my citizenship.
The ceremony was kind of a non-event.
I was neither extremely happy, nor said it was the
end of a long, hard process.
It's ridiculous how the government can just change
the laws randomly and not care about the catastrophic effect
it has on people's lives.
Ah, it doesn't just affect you emotionally
and psychologically, but it is a very expensive
process to go through.
It costs 2,404 pounds for each person applying for
indefinite leave to remain.
it's another 1,330 pounds for citizenship, not including
any solicitor's fees, biometric appointments or
fines if you miss anything.
These are the subjects that I like making films about.
Mm-hmm.
Looking into people's lives.
I, I made a film about postnatal depression
and my epilepsy.
Hmm.
We did one about the Black Lives Matter and
murder of George Floyd.
You can find it on YouTube.
It's like therapy for things we have been through.
I get to express myself.
I get to create a record of life with the
person I love the most.
So what would you say to your younger selves
or Zimbabweans after 20 plus years in England?
I would say seize every opportunity.
Don't listen to anyone that puts doubt in your mind.
Try and go for what you want in terms of jobs.
There is so much more out there than care work.
Learn to change your mind.
Experience, choice.
Get to explore elsewhere.
Sometimes you can get trapped into thinking where
you are is the best thing.
your only contribution to a country can't just be
that you were born there.
Move.
My outlook of life changed when I left Zimbabwe.
Do you get what I mean?
I understand.
Yeah.
Okay, good.
I, I'm, I'm sorry.
I, I speak too much . One of my weaknesses is that
I, I want to be understood, so it makes me talk a lot.
It's, it's a weakness.
I know.
No, not at all.
Thank you.
It's been great hearing your stories.
Yeah, thank you.
Thank you,
Thank you for listening.
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All episodes in this series are available on major
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The next episode in this series is Magline's Story.
A second class citizen.