Diary of the life of a son (teenager) of a President (extracts from my book)

It’s a lazy Sunday morning, yesterday I decided to sacrifice some of treasured time for study to attend a family birthday party, one of the many family meetings that have kept our family spirit going and bonded for the last couple of years since leaving Zimbabwe. Life has taught me some very tough lessons about family and friendship and society in general.

I consider myself fortunate to have had the opportunity to experience what I consider the most diversified life any individual can experience in a life time, however  diverse the life has been, it has also had its up’s and downs, perhaps in my own reflection more suffering than good from a certain point in my life.

In 1980 my dad the late Professor Canaan Banana was appointed the first President of Independent Zimbabwe. I had just turned 13 years old, the transition and elevation to this new high profile life style was an exciting moment for us as kids though we hardly understood the real history behind it at the time. The previous couple of years before independence had seen us travel across Zimbabwe as my dad was a missionary teacher and aspiring preacher for the Methodist Church. He later left the country without telling us to study in the United States as an exiled politician. I was too young to understand the reasons why we were all of a sudden left with our mother with no sight of our dad. Anyway months passed and I found myself on the road once again travelling with my mum and two brothers to Botswana. This trip was to become the first of many travels by air across continent’s, from Botswana to Kenya, then Kenya to the U.K before finally arriving in Washington D.C where we lived for the next 3 years.

Anyway let me jump back to the main reason why I have written this article, what life under a prominent name has been like. When we grow up we all aspire to be something in life, have a good job, buy a car, buy house, get married and have kids. When I was asked as a kid what I would like to become when I grow up, I used to say I would like to be a lawyer, obviously that never happened as per my childhood wishes.

From living in a high density location in Bulawayo (New Luveve), we were booked at Meikles Hotel in Harare for a few weeks awaiting the official Independence Ceremony which we apparently could not attend due to security reasons as the close security units had been exhausted by the visiting International Leaders who had come for the Independence Celebrations.  The exciting part is the opportunity of being at the right place at the right time, gave me a chance of meeting some of the great leaders like Indira Ghandi (daughter of Mahatma Ghandi) then Prime Minister of India and others who had also been booked at the same hotel as us. It was just a spur of a moment where we bumped into them in the corridors of the hotel as kids roaming around in search of activity.

After the Official Independence Celebration we were moved from the Hotel to State House Harare, what a massive Mansion, over 28 bedrooms and a guest quarters that was specially reserved for the Royal Family if they ever planned to visit, which never got used by them in the next seven years that we lived there. It was a bit scary for us kids though, as the bedrooms were massive probably the size of our whole house in Luveve, my mother resolved that I and my younger brother share one room and changes were made to put two beds in one room. It was a complete new world and experience for us and our life style suddenly had to go through some major changes.

Firstly we had to now get used to table manners,  7-8am was official breaksfast,1-2pm was official lunch time and 6-7pm official supper time. You were given a list by the kitchen staff the night before to select what you would want for breakfast the following morning. We had to learn table manners like how to use all the various utensils, fish knives, steak knives etc. and how to behave when there were visitors. We were not allowed to leave the table before everyone has finished eating this was turning to look like a military school.

Anyway with time we got accustomed to the house rules, and it was now time for school. The good side of it is being in the United States had given us the opportunity to experience what attending multi-racial schools was like, but Zimbabwean private schools were very different from the ones in the USA. The kids seemed ok, though you had the occasional rude boy amongst every group, but some of the teachers were evidently racially biased towards the new black kids that had now joined this elite group of rich whites. I automatically became close friends with some of the other new kids who were children of Ministers and prominent business people at the time, with time the white kids grew more interested in associating with us as with all young people and groups knowing someone from an influential family had its advantages. (It’s like being friends with Bill Gates kids)

The downside about the school environment was the expectations of the teachers and school mates, I could not under perform else I would be an embarrassment to the family and at the same time I could not come up tops all the time else there would be rumours that I was probably given special favours, so one had to try and stay above average and within reasonable levels of acceptance. When I started boarding school having enough pocket money was a big issue as my parent’s old fashioned as they were did not want to be seen as spoiling us, so they tried to limit the amount of pocket money we got which made life really uncomfortable for us at boarding school. I would see other kids coming with trunks loaded with foodstuffs like canned beef, biscuits and a load of other items that would act as a supplement to their school meals, but then when I look back I kind of understand that we all came from varied backgrounds, other parents didn’t mind spoiling their kids (giving them what they need) whilst other’s thought being too kind would hinder their progress. My friends could not understand why a son of a President never had enough money or at least more than most of the other kids. Perhaps my parents were just too hard on us and on themselves too. I had to struggle at times to get new uniforms; it was a process which had to be done through the Secretary (man) to the President who was responsible for our schooling. You know when you start going to High School that’s the time you grow the most, maybe my parents were too busy to notice the difference or the staff member responsibly was too scared to ask for a budget for our school equipment and materials.

I was what was called a weekly boarder, where I would spend weekends at home. 

I am going to sound a bit biased here, State House had a fleet of cars with a team of drivers, with one driver normally reserved to drive the President, however in the first couple years when the Controller of State House (House Keeper) was still a white man we got the most amazing service from him in many areas. What I enjoyed was the fact I could also be dropped off at school in the Presidential Mercedes which kind of made me feel important too (as a child), even when the official car was being used by my dad I still got dropped off by a reasonable looking car the lowest in value being a Peugeot 504. However this started to change when the old Controller was replaced by the new and aspiring black academics, somehow my dad’s Secretary managed to centralise all the roles so that he had final say in all the other functions which were previously shared responsibilities. As time passed things changed, within State House there was a gradual decline of service delivery.  From nowhere I would now be dropped off at school by a Mazda pick-up truck, you know when you get used to special treatment and suddenly it’s taken away all kinds of things start flashing through your mind. The Secretary also lived within the State House grounds, he had taken over the Controllers residence a mansion located a kilometre away from the main house within the State House grounds. He also had kids and by probing the drivers, his kids were now the ones getting this special service which was meant to be for us. Somehow we would have the pick-up and the Secretary’s kids have the Merc or Peugeot, this new information would lead to a deterioration of relations between us and the secretary and eventually also my mom and the Secretary. Anyway there’s little one could do but complain to mom and hope for the best.

One of the greatest nightmares of moving to State House was security, we were not allowed out of the grounds that were heavily guarded by police and army units. The furthest we could go was the neighbouring Morris Depot Training grounds, these eventually became our access to the outside world undetected. However having the food and grounds to run around was not enough for energy filled kids like us, we also wanted time to be with our friends, and the closest we could be was the phone. If we wanted to go for a movie or out with friends, we had to make a booking two weeks in advance so that security officials can be allocated to accompany us, imagine how frustrating this arrangement was if you wanted to take your girlfriend for a movie? State House became so frustrating that I ended up looking for ways just to get out of the house, one of them was having an interests in my dad’s activities.

Most people remember my dad not as President but as the number one soccer fan in Zimbabwean football. He started a soccer team called State House Tornados, initially composed of the staff and members of the army and police working there. I would go and watch them in their training and later would also travel with them to various locations across Zimbabwe to watch them play. As I grew older I also started taking part in the training and at some stage started playing for their reserve side, this was all a way of trying to spend time with my dad whom I had not had the opportunity to know most of my life. I remember there was a time when Peter Nyama who was coach at the time wanted to try me for the first team but my dad refused, I was devastated as I had really put a lot of effort in meeting the high standards that existed within the team, I was also aware at the time that for me to make it into the team I would need to do exceptionally well.

Just before my ‘O’Level exams my mom was invited to Mozambique by the late President Samora Machel and family. This was to become the first and only State Visit that we would have during my dad’s term in Office. We met President Machel and Graca Machel and their kids and had dinner at the State House, it is my most memorable occasion as son of a serving President. We spent two weeks traveling across various provinces including visiting the famous Belene Beach. During that visit I had to make time to study for my exams, and the best time was early in the mornings. My results were not too much of a shock as it had been really difficult for me to stay focused on my studies during a time I experienced the best kind of hospitality I have seen in my life time.  I got 4 ‘O’Level passes out of 6 and was one short of progressing to lower six, my High School had agreed to allow me to continue provided I re-sit the exams I failed in April of the following year.

 I was disappointed when the Secretary told me my dad had refused to consider that option but had suggested I join the police force since I wanted to be a lawyer. He went on to suggest that as children of a head of State their will was to design our careers like the British Royal family (hogwash), so I should choose where I would like to serve between the three forces but he recommended the police as progressing to a career in law would be easier from that platform. He told me I would then go to University through the Police Force after completing my training and induction period. That was the initial destruction of my career ambitions.

I was coerced to joining the Police at the lowest rank of constable as my ‘O’Level results fell short of me being attested as a Patrol Officer, I hated this whole idea but how else could I say no to the highest office in the land, after all I was still living under my parent’s roof and who was I to decide my future.  This is one of many occasions where I felt I was commanded rather than guided. I hated the uniform, hated the types of duty’s allocated to constables and also hated the fact that I had to salute senior officers and no one saluted me.  The nice part is I earned my own money and found I could do a lot with my newly discovered riches, but not for long. After a few months in training I wanted to quit and starting questioning why I was never given the opportunity to re-write my ‘O’Levels, my squad mates in training would ask why I was not allowed to train as a Patrol Officer as a son of a President, surely my status should have been able to start me off as a commissioned rank. Well I was also confused by the whole process just like they were and just had to conform to the President’s request just like everyone else. My two year probation in the Police was a painful experience, forced to try and appreciate something I never liked. I decided to use the opportunity to get my driver’s licence before later buying myself out of the contract to join the Intelligence Service. Just before that my dad had also resigned from the Presidency to make way for a new Executive President which was to accommodate the partners of the leaders of the liberation movements. This also effectively affected all career pathways that had been planned for us as children of the Head of State.

Intelligence work was more interesting and challenging too but very life threatening. After my initial training I was posted in Mutare to work with Police and Army in counter insurgency operations in the border areas of Manicaland province and occasionally in Mozambique. I came across some of the most horrific images of war committed by RENAMO, what made matter’s worse is at some stage I was the only mobile operative in the area and any incidents that took place I would find myself arriving before the Army or Police, I think because of the sporadic attacks and traps some of the unit’s would not go to the scene of attack without prior support from the other services for obvious reasons. The challenges I had during my school days came back to haunt me in my working career where I had to perform above average and not outperform other’s as quick promotion would be seen as favouritism and underperforming would be seen as taking advantage of my label as a son of a prominent individual. I was conveniently left out of promotion several times even though I had risked my butt off in war torn Mozambique  for over 2 years and virtually attending to most of the districts incidents as the only driving officer.

Things took a drastic twist when Mugabe became President, we became less important for obvious reasons and suddenly it seemed like, any contribution any one of us had made to government since independence was not important to the new system of government (hierarchy). The Presidential Bill was effectively changed in the constitution to exclude the President and Family from 1980 but to only include all serving Presidents and their deputies and families from 1992. It’s not like I benefited anything from the time my dad was in office, as I did not know what rights and privileges we had as children of a former a Head of State, but when a close friend shared the current Presidential Bill I see a lot of opportunities I could have used had I known I had those advantages. Though I feel my mom and dad have been robbed of what they fought for in their lives and deserve better, I’m glad I have had to experience and learn life the hard way.

I resigned from Zimbabwean government in 1992, a few months later I was involved in a close to fatal accident a few meters from my former work place, this resulted in a dislocation of my right leg, which now has a recurring pain. After recovery I left Zimbabwe for South Africa just before Mandela became President in 1994.

Next Chapter

A new life and a new beginning.

 Life in South Africa without the label of being known as former son of the President of Zimbabwe, a life where I felt a sense of belonging and being part of a society where social mobility is dependent on personal performance and dedication to work. My new family.

 http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2002/jan/23/zimbabwe.features11