in the bank

"They should do e-banking here," the woman behind me says loudly. "It's dangerous to be moving round with large sums of money this time of year."

 

I look down at my fistful of dollars: an advance payment on next term's school fees. Inside the crowded banking hall, I feel safe.

 

"It's getting like Jo'burg," she tells me. She is youngish, bespectacled, well-dressed. Spends six months of every year in the UK "where my parents are. Wandsworth. Do you know it?"

 

The night before last, she tells me, she found a taxi idling on Herbert Chitepo, the main street. It's a busy street, lined with flamboyant trees in full bloom this time of year, dotted with phone card vendors. It wasn't late. Glancing inside, she realised something wasn't right.

 

"The driver was dead. He had a bag on his head. His wallet was open on the seat. They'd taken everything."

 

She called the police, who confirmed the man had been murdered for his takings. It was a Saturday. Somebody -- some people -- must have reckoned that by the end of the day, he'd have made a pretty penny.

 

"The worse thing was, he was old. And from Malawi. His family are all there. There's no-one to bury him here."