Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow

Written for the Fifth Round of:

ID: 1254279   (Rated: ASR) Project Write World  Winners Announced! by iKïyå§ama

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They came for the dogs at four o'clock in the morning. My alarm had been set 30 minutes earlier, but I'd not needed it to wake me. I did not sleep the night before I left Africa.

I'd heard the growl of the Toyota Hilux's diesel engine as they came around the bend on the road outside the house. The noise slowed slightly as the car turned into my driveway. I didn't want to hear the finality of the intercom buzzer, so I waited until I heard the car stop before pressing the access button on the intercom. I could hear the worn wheel rattle as the gate reluctantly slid open. Before I went to meet them I checked on the dogs. Chewy, my black Giant Schnauzer was standing at the back door, waiting excitedly to greet the early morning visitors. Indi, my German Shepherd, scrambled out of her basket, and immediately sat down and stared at me, a puzzled expression in her dark brown eyes.

The drugs I'd administered when the alarm rang had started to affect her. Perhaps it'll take longer for Chewy I thought, wondering if the drugs took longer to work on a bigger dog. I opened the door.

"Morning, Sarah! Hello Chewy!" Trevor greeted us. He rubbed Chewy's shiny head. "Well, I see this big boy is ready to go. You have quite an adventure ahead of you, Chewbacca."

Chewy's eyes were slightly glazed as he wagged his tail enthusiastically, before suddenly sitting down on the floor. The tranquiliser was taking effect, and his hind legs had given way. Alarmed, Chewy managed to get back up on his four feet, swaying slightly as he leaned against me.

In five hours' time Chewy and Indi would be on an airplane, flying north over Africa across the entire continent to England. The following day they would fly across Europe to Athens in Greece. British Airways restricted its live animal cargo to two per flight. Chewy and Indi were flying with me, while Chewy's younger brother Jabba and Matt ~ Indi's brother ~ would follow our route two days later.

"Their boxes are ready," I pointed at four large plywood crates standing against my office wall. Each one had been specially constructed for the journey, and I'd written an introduction from each occupant on the side and top panels. Thick blue wording from my marker pen proclaimed "My Name Is Chewy/Matti/Indi/Jabba" on each crate. Trevor complimented my efforts, and with his assistant Michael, loaded Indi and Chewy's boxes onto the back of his truck. After I'd lined the interiors with their bedding, the three of us managed to get the two dogs loaded. By now the tranquilisers were working, so despite Chewy's size and weight he settled into his crate without a problem.

I pushed the wire mesh doors down, closing the dogs into the crates where they'd stay for the next 16 hours. Chewy's big black shiny nose was resting against the mesh, and he wagged his tail as I touched him. Indi was already asleep.

"Bye Chewy. Bye Indi," I whispered. "See you soon."

But I would not see Trevor again. I was leaving with these two dogs, and he'd come to the house on Sunday to fetch Matt and Indi. He'd built the four crates himself; there were no conventional dog transportation boxes available in Zimbabwe. My dogs are my family. Trevor and his wife Marie had helped us with the complexities of shipping my family over and across continents with great care and consideration. I was confident they'd travel well and with minimal stress. Overcome by the moment, I hugged Trevor, thanking him for all his help.

"My sister-in-law Heather will be here on Sunday morning to help load Matt and Jabba," I told him. "She has the tranquilisers, and there shouldn't be any problems."

Trevor and Michael left, and I went back inside. I was exhausted, and turned on the kettle to make a cup of coffee. In little more than two hours Heather would collect me to take me to the airport. Waiting for the kettle to boil I looked around at the assortment of personal items and objects strewn over the counter tops. For three months I'd been disposing of the accoutrements of our lives in preparation for today. The day I was leaving the country I'd been born in 38 years ago, the place I lived my entire life.

Today I was leaving the continent I loved to start a new life on a continent I'd never visited. Perhaps the daunting prospect of such a huge change to my life was the reason I'd not slept all night, rather than the fact that I'd left so much to the last minute.

I took my coffee over to the kitchen table, the repository for a small cactus I'd promised to Heather. Because I'm very forgetful I'd put the tiny plant on the table so Heather would see it when she came to collect me. The cactus was rooted in a small pile of dry sandy soil; I'd bought it just after we'd returned from an idyllic holiday in the Seychelles in January.

Good thing I didn't know then how much my life was going to change over the next few months, I thought, sadly tracing the outline of the little clay pot.

The Seychelles holiday had been the perfect ending to a difficult year; this was the third year of Zimbabwe's journey down the dark road the country had taken after the last fraudulent elections. I was working for a real estate agency selling houses, while my husband was production manager of British American Tobacco's (BAT) processing house. Since the forced eviction of farmers and occupation of the tobacco growing farms by government supporters, production of Zimbabwe's most valuable crop had dropped alarmingly. BAT had already begun laying off staff. My husband, as senior management, still had his job. I was still selling houses. We were ready to face 2003 and the challenges it presented.

The first "challenge" arrived two weeks after our return to Zimbabwe. I was hit by a speeding car on the way to show a sale house to a client. Neither driver was hurt, but my car was badly damaged. Eight months later the car was still not back on the road, because spares had to be imported from Japan.

In February my husband travelled to the south of Zimbabwe to represent the Zimbabwe Bass Angling team in an international tournament against South Africa. He called me on my birthday, with the news that his boat had been attacked by a hippopotamus. I was horrified, but relieved to learn he and the South African angler on his boat were not harmed. Despite the incident both men managed to land a credible catch on the damaged boat; in fact my husband's catch was the second largest of the day.

The day after the hippo attack I took my mother-in-law to the small town of Chinhoyi to collect her new passport. The renewal process took a couple of weeks in the smaller towns, whereas in the capital city applicants were forced to wait up to six months due to the sheer demand for the travel document. We had a pleasant lunch, and drove back into town. A small white envelope addressed to my husband had been delivered while I was out. Seeing BAT's distinctive blue logo on the top left corner I opened it, smoothing the crisply folded paper onto the very table where I now sat.

It was a notice of redundancy, signed by the chairman of BAT Zimbabwe.

Reliving that dreadful moment, I wiped my eyes. After 22 years of service my husband's loyal employment had been ended by a curt note delivered to his house while he was away. His superiors hadn't had the decency to call him into the office and give him the devastating news in person. I didn't want to phone him in the middle of an international tournament, and certainly not after the news of the hippo attack. I spoke to his mother, and she agreed there was nothing to be gained by telling him of the contents of the letter.

"It's not going to change anything, so leave it until he gets home," she advised. I also worried he might be so upset he'd have an accident on the way home. When he called that night I tried to sound upbeat. I succeeded, telling him I was just feeling really tired when he asked why I sounded down.

He called me the following evening, and asked me why I hadn't told him he'd lost his job. Shock quickly gave way to anger when I learned his boss had phoned him in the morning to ask him how he was feeling on learning the news of his redundancy. They'd expected me to tell him he'd been made redundant. He was upset I'd not told him of the letter, but understood my reasons.

I stood up, and put my mug in the kitchen sink. I wanted to experience one more African sunrise, and I could see the morning sky lighting through the kitchen window. I walked to the front through my empty house, footsteps hollow in the silence before dawn. Apart from my bedroom and the kitchen every single room was empty. On Sunday, when the last two dogs left, there would be no trace of me or my family left in this house.

The morning air was crisp on my face, and I sat down on the stone ledge around our swimming pool. The morning sky was streaked with clouds, painted pink by the sun's first rays. Strange to think I'd be in a plane in the very same sky in a few hours time, I thought.

After the redundancy my husband was invited to Italy for two interviews with different tobacco companies. Disappointed and desperate, he'd flown over to Europe at the end of March. The positions were very similar, and both jobs were based in Greece. He was offered both jobs, but the vast difference in the salaries being offered helped us make the choice. Fortunately the higher paid job was in Greece's second largest city, Thessaloniki. He went off to start his new job and secure a house for us. I stayed behind and began to pack away our lives.

I handed in my notice at work, and the last property I'd sold was my own. It didn't take long to secure a buyer, and it wasn't a comfortable process. I'd often heard from my own sellers how distressful they found having potential buyers walking around their homes. I understood people are very sensitive about their homes and possessions, but never appreciated how hurtful it is to hear murmured comments about the furniture, house and garden until it happened to me. After witnessing the first set of buyers examining my family photographs in my picture frames I put my pictures away from public view.

The sun's morning rays lit on my garden. I stood up, and said a silent goodbye to my garden ~ the pepper tree I'd planted just after we'd married, its feathered leaves lifting gently in the morning breeze. There was the cactus garden my sister-in-law Cindy had helped me design and construct the year before her first daughter was born. The collection of shrubs, trimmed back after winter, all bore the bud of spring. My favourite shrub, the aptly named and wonderfully fragrant yesterday, today and tomorrow... this year I wouldn't experience its delicate scent or its lilac, lavender and white blooms. I turned away, and walked back inside, past the potted azaleas and fuchsias my mother in law would be collecting later.

I bathed, washed and dried my hair. I'd finished packing my suitcase before Trevor arrived, so after adding my hairdryer and toilet bag I closed and locked it. My housekeeper Judith knocked on my door, and offered to take the case to the kitchen. She'd made me a cup of coffee. She'd been with me all my married life, and the sight of her red eyes brought forward my own tears.

"Please don't cry," she told me, putting her arm around my shoulders. Of course that only made it worse. She began crying again, and hurried out of the bedroom with my case. Despite the coffee I'd consumed over the last 24 hours I was exhausted, more from my emotions than excessive physical activity. I'd said goodbye to my three closest friends at dinner 12 hours earlier, and I still had to call my mother, who lived 400 kilometres away in Bulawayo. I wanted to say goodbye to her before anyone else arrived. Heather would be here in the next half hour, so this was really the only time I had left. I picked up the bedroom phone, and dialled her number.

It was a very draining and upsetting call. Mum and I are very close, and her whispered goodbye at the end of our conversation was as sad as her tears when she and Dad went back to their home at the end of their last weekend visit on Sunday. By the time Heather arrived my eyes were still red and swollen. She went along with my "lack of sleep excuse", because she knew how I was feeling. Heather, her husband and their daughter had moved to Malawi last August when he was transferred by his employer.

Heather thanked me for the tiny cactus. Judith had put my cases in the car. My tears as I said goodbye to Matt and Jabba also affected Judith. I was so worried about her; I managed to secure her a passport and she was going to try and seek employment outside the country. A divorcee with three small children, Judith's future in Zimbabwe was bleak. My mother-in-law and Courtney, Heather's seven year old daughter, were in the car. I looked back at Judith, flanked by my two dogs, and returned her wave as we drove out the gate.

I don't remember the drive to the airport. I know the sun was shining, and Harare appeared bright, crisp and clean. Cindy met us at the airport, accompanied by her daughters Megan and Caitlin. After I checked in my bags we went upstairs to the airport café. I didn't feel like any more coffee, so I followed my three nieces, and drank a large strawberry milkshake. I don't remember what we spoke about, but I remember wanting to capture the moment like a photograph and never take the next step on the road to my new future.

Finally the intercom announced boarding for our flight. My little family walked with me to the departure hall. I focused on the moment, not allowing myself to think of what I was leaving behind, nor what was waiting for me beyond the gates to the boarding lounge. Cindy's Megan began to cry, and none of us could hold back. Several other little groups of families were standing near us and going through the same emotions as they said goodbye to one of their loved ones.

They waited until I'd confirmed my passport and ticket details with the officials at the gate. I turned back. Megan, Caitlin and Courtney were waving frantically, shouting my name as they said goodbye. Heather's face was unreadable, while Mum and Cindy wiped their eyes and waved.

I waved back. Then I turned and walked away. I walked away from my home and the country of my birth. I left behind my family and my friends and the country I love.

I was beginning the journey into the future. To the next part of my life. The knowledge that my husband was waiting for me at the end of the journey gave me some comfort.

Saying goodbye that day is the hardest thing I've ever done.


2652 words


Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow is the common name for the garden shrub brunfelsia. This almost evergreen and wonderfully fragrant ornamental plant features three different coloured flowers: purple, mauve and almost white.

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