quotes

Getting quotes isn't always easy. Not because people don't want to talk, but because they don't want to talk about what you want them to talk about. I stride into the stadium, suede heels slipping on the rocks. I haven't had time to change from the funeral. Trevor stops me at the gate while I'm bodysearched. "Are you married?" "Yes." I flash my left hand. Best not to be too standoffish in these cases, you want people to be loquacious. "I've seen you before," he says. I've got my eye on the heaving mass of people, a good 200 metres away. I need to get there before Biti starts talking. "Have you got a sister then?" asks Trevor hopefully. "Yes but she's in Sweden." I throw over my shoulder (At least it's not Britain: then I really would be identified as a colonial relic). I make it to the stadium. There are old men in ties and braces, women with MDC fabric wrapped round them as zambias (skirts), youths with red rags tied round their heads as a sign of mourning. Calvin flops down beside me, plus friends. "Hi Madam," he says. "Are you married?" "Yes," I say. "Isn't this a sad occasion?" "Do you have a friend?" he persists. "A husband," I say. "What's that guy on the podium saying?" No quotes coming from that source, I can see that. I edge away from Calvin. Lawrence, in a shabby yellow T-shirt, pats my arm. "The thing is Madam, we're doing a film. About marriage. About the difference between Western ideas and our local ideas. Would you like to be in the film?" "I'll ask my husband," I say. "Don't you think it's so terrible what's happened?" "Prudence Katomeni is on the board of directors," Lawrence says. "Wouldn't you like to help correct the script? Trapped, I put on my sunglasses, a gift from the sister in Sweden. As I run out of the stadium after Biti's speech, Trevor catches up with me. "When will we see you again?"