Ngaa screams when he sees the hamster.
My son misunderstands, tries to put the scrabbling thing on the child's leg. Which only leads to more terror. Sid is two months old, a grey teddy-bear hamster. It's a measure of the improvement in Zimbabwe's economic situation that you can buy teddy-bear hamsters (and toy remote-controlled helicopters and Greek yoghurt and imported Vanish soap powder) in this small eastern border city. There was a time -- was it really just two years ago? -- when the shop shelves were filled with nothing but lone loo-rolls.
Ngaa, 3, writhes in my arms. "He doesn't like it," sister Fadzie says. She's not that enamoured either, but is sufficiently used to Auntie and her family's strange white foibles to remain quiet.
"It was a culture clash," I explain later to Mai C. "I don't think Shona kids have hamsters." (Strictly speaking, that's not true. The posh woman who owns the baby shop and imports Twister wax crayons told me at great length about her 6 year-old son's hamster last month).
"No - " Mai C laughs (and she's the one who read Famous Five to her boys).
"If we see a mouse in the house, we will get a broom to kill it. Just the thought of touching it -"
She shudders.
No comments:
Post a Comment