Happy Fucking New Year

“GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE!” Mrs. Moyo screams, throwing a book at Anna’s head. Anna ducks down, and the book grazes her skin, barely missing her.She sighs. Her joints hurt and feel stiff after working a double shift. She stands up and glares at her mother. Bad move, that earns her an attempted slap which she blocks by grabbing hold of her mother’s hand. 

“Stop hitting me,” Anna tells her. Mrs.Moyo’s eyes flare up furiously. Anna might as well have defied the devil.

“Get out of my house,” Mrs. Moyo growls. Her voice fails to mask the rising murderous undertones in her voice.

“You were yelling at me the moment that I got home, I’m sorry I yelled back,” she says.

“I WASN’T YELLING AT YOU, YOU UNGRATEFUL CHILD!” Mrs. Moyo screams at the top of her lungs. 

Anna sighs. This is not the first time that her mother’s outbursts and irrational behavior have caused her grief. She’s had to deal with this since high school. In high school, it wasn’t as bad, but she would be at school the whole day. Her erratic and abusive behavior started when Anna’s father died when she was thirteen years old. Anna and her mother had never been close. Everything became times worse though when her father was no longer there to act as a shield.

Mrs. Moyo tries for another slap which Anna dodges by side-stepping to the right. When she tells people about how bad things are at home, they go into their usual ‘defend mothers’ mode. They theorize that there has to be something wrong with the way that Anna behaves otherwise Anna’s mother would treat her differently. Traditionally, mothers are saints and love their children and would do anything for them. If a mother acts out it has to be because there is something wrong with the child. It’s maternal instinct. No one ever considers that parents choose to have children, while children are brought into this world against their will. The child is expected to be eternally grateful for something that was done without their consent even if the parent yells at them all the time, is physically violent, and is psychologically abusive. The most disgusting thing of all is that what it boils down to is that the child must be grateful that their parents had sex. 

That was where Anna found herself. Having to be grateful for her mother yelling obscenities and accusing her of whoring around when she had been working a double shift during the holidays. Her mother knew she needed the extra money. Fifty dollars wasn’t much, even by Zimbabwean standards. But Anna had a consistent dream since she was a teenager that one day she would move out. And now that she was twenty-seven and still living at home it is less of a dream and more of a nagging need. But a bad economy and a soft heart had kept her in this hellhole. There was that one time. That one glorious time that she had a chance to move out. She had somehow managed to bag a temporary job with a foreign company that paid her very well. Well, enough that when she was earning a large amount (by her standards anyway) of money. Her mother had been motivated to treat her better and forget what a useless disappointment of a daughter Anna was. Mrs. Moyo had been nice and sweet to the point that Anna had forgotten what a terror her mother was. Anna ended up using up all the money at home buying groceries and not planning to move out. As soon as that money had finished, Mrs. Moyo had gone back to yelling and telling Anna what a shit she was (without actually swearing because for a good Christian woman like Mrs. Moyo calling someone the s-word was demonic but yelling at her daughter like a banshee was not in any way sinful). 

The irony was that Mrs. Moyo was always chiding Anna for being a lazy child with no money but the moment that Anna took the initiative to make a bit more cash for herself, she got yelled at and told to leave the house. Her mother refused to believe that she was actually working at her job and not sleeping around and it wasn’t that crazy for a twenty-seven-year-old woman to be having sex in the first place. Many girls her age were already married with a myriad of children in their arms. It wouldn’t be a surprise if Anna hit the age of thirty and her mother asked her where her grandchildren were the way that strict African parents usually did. At first, they would repress you then boom when you hit thirty they’d be pressuring you for a grandchild as though they’re not the main reason that there was no husband and child. 

Mrs.Moyo takes Anna by the collar and thrusts her through the front door and locks it behind her. Anna staggers in the dark. It’s two in the morning. 

“Happy Fucking New Year to me,” she says tiredly. She takes her phone out and notices that it’s out of battery after a twelve-hour shift and has no chance to charge. It’s not like she has any friends that she could ask for help anyway. It’s two in the morning and there’s no transport anywhere right now in their isolated neighborhood. That has always worked in Mrs. Moyo’s favor because Anna has nowhere to go and no car. How would she get a car anyway with her meager and inconsistent salary?

Anna sits down on the doorstep and puts her head in her lap. Guess she’s sleeping at the door tonight. Three hours later the front door opens and an unapologetic Mrs. Moyo lets Anna in. They don’t speak to each other. Her mother will never condescend to give her an apology. Anna doesn’t expect one. She just drags her weary body to her bedroom where she sleeps on the floor. A few years ago her mother had had one of her religious revelations that Anna’s bed had been bewitched, so she had burnt the bed. That had been the first time that Anna had gone online and asked around if people also went through really bad experiences with mothers like that. She had been pleasantly surprised when people from South America, Indonesia, Korea, China and comforted her telling her that they also had neurotic and superstitious mothers who did crazy things that they were embarrassed to talk about in public. It had comforted Anna then, but years later and still no new bed, Anna was getting tired of this. 

Anna sighed as she got comfy in her blankets. Her bones and muscles are aching badly and she wants a glass of red wine to help her rest. She scoffs in her sleep. Like she can afford red wine let alone grape juice. She’s about to fall asleep when her door slams open and her mother is towering over her blankets.

“You forgot to pray,” she tells Anna. Anna sighs. She’s not ready to be kicked out of the house again so she joins her mother for three hours of prayers where she’s sprayed with water every time she nods off. Eventually, Anna finally gets a chance to sleep around six am. And by then it’s just four hours until she has to get up and go to work. 

Anna wakes up tired as usual with a bit of a headache this time because the amount of sleep that she got does not equal the amount of work that she did the day before. On the first of January, they promised to give them another fifty dollars. That would put her up one hundred dollars. Enough to rent half a room. Why were paychecks so low, yet living expenses so high? 

Anna goes to the kitchen and drinks five cups of coffee. 

“ I remember when this stuff made me hyper enough to run a marathon,” she says talking to herself. She chugs another cup and heads to work at Sam Levy Village. Sam Levy Village is the biggest mall in Zimbabwe which isn’t very big at all but it is located in the middle of the most elite neighborhood in the country, Borrowdale. It’s normal to see school kids from top private schools park their Range Rovers, Mercedes Benzes, and G-Wagons right outside the pizza parlor beside the restaurant where she works. The kids always look so carefree and happy. Chatting loudly and vibrantly while she works at her dead-end job. She hates those kids. They’re a sore reminder that life can be good for some people and some parents support their kids to the point of buying them nice cars and well those weren’t some very positive thoughts. 

Despite people having spent the entire night partying and celebrating the New Year, January 1st was still one of the major business days. Perhaps after all that drinking, no one was in the mood for cooking. Anna arrived at work to find that the two who had the morning shift were already busy and the tables were full. Anna has thirty minutes until her shift starts. Sneaking a donut before work starts sounds good to her, especially since she needs something to make her happy. Food makes her happy. She has a food blog called Goodu Foodu where she uploads all the times that she has something tasty and she defines how she felt while eating the food. She eats her donut discreetly away from the curious eyes of her co-workers, well one co-worker in particular. They got paid the same amount of money, but for some reason, Jessica thinks Anna has a hidden fortune somewhere. She always tells people that Anna eats so much and always asks Anna to buy her stuff. Anna finds it annoying as hell, especially since she has enough troubles in her own life. She finishes her donut and rushes back to the restaurant to change into her uniform. She doesn’t even both to wear it properly anymore. She constantly leaves her tie and barret at home. They’re uncomfortable and she’s underpaid to give a shit honestly. 

“Where’s your hat?” The Lebanese not-really-manager-but-acts-like-one asks her.

“I forgot it,” Anna tells him with her fake smile that she gives to people that she doesn’t like. The restaurant is owned by a Lebanese family or should she say Lebanese mafia. A lot of the clientele that eat there look like they belong to one mafia or the other. One of the most frustrating aspects of the job is that the owners of the business are always there. The father and son own it together while the father’s wife does the accounting. The wife is black but she’s racist. Anna and her workmates noticed that she makes sure the salaries for all the white people come in a week before she pays the other workers. The white workers aren’t that happy with her either because despite them getting their salaries earlier it’s still shit pay. The fact that they’re always there makes it hard to work for the waiters. The owner says one thing not knowing anything about the restaurant simply because he’s not day-to-day  management. The manager says another thing, being the one that handles the ins and outs of the restaurant,and knows what’s going right and wrong. And then there’s the Lebanese not-manager who is the owner’s nephew and does part of the cooking and orders everyone around like he’s the manager. Oftentimes they have three people telling them three different things, confusing all the workers and causing them to make mistakes that the owner blames them for instead of his bad management. 

Anna stands at the entrance, waiting for new customers to come in while the waiters from the last shift finish up. Jude, her shift-mate stands at the other side of the entrance. 

“This some shit,” he says, possibly to Anna, probably to himself. Anna murmurs in agreement. “I’m hungry, so so hungry,” he continues as he usually does. He takes care of himself and on the salary that he’s getting from the restaurant he can barely afford to live. Just lucky that he has an understanding roommate while he looks for something else to do.

“I’ve sent in my letter of resignation,” Jude tells Anna. Anna looks at him. 

“Dude, you’re the only thing that keeps the mood light here,” Anna whines and gives him puppy dog eyes. Jude nearly laughs. 

“I swear if this place lasts two years I’ll eat this fucking cap,” Jude tells me. Anna takes her notebook out.

“I’ll jot that down,” Anna tells him. “Do you prefer your caps fried or barbecued?” Jude rolls his eyes.

“Don’t act like you’re not bouncing the moment that your salary comes in,” he tells Anna. “I’ve heard you mention it more than once,” 

“But I live with my mom, what will you do to make money in this tough economy? Get a sugar daddy or a sugar mommy?” Anna quips.

“Whichever one pays that bills hey.” Jude tells Anna. Anna rolls her eyes. “Dude, it couldn’t be half as painful as this shit we’re doing and the pay would be so much better,”

Anna nods. “I wouldn’t want a sugar daddy per say, but a sugar buddy, like someone who’s like hey what’s up, how’re you, here’s five hundred bucks move the hell out of your mother’s house,”

“Living alone is not easy,” Jude tells her. 

“Living with an overly-strict and paranoid African parent is not easy either,” Anna explains to him. Flashbacks of last night play through her mind. 

The other waiters finish serving their tables so Anna and Jude starts to clean up the sections while seating new people. Soon the restaurant fills us with the lunch and dinner crew. It gets so full that many have to be turned back. There’s one man that persistently comes back asking of a table. He’s skinny and ratty looking, ratty looking not in a dirty, stay away from me sort of way but his entire features look like a rat.

“Sorry sir, we’re full. I can’t ask another family to leave in order to accommodate you,” Anna tells the ratty man. He keeps insisting though and out of pity Anna give him the first table that becomes free even though his family already have their food in takeaway bags. She gives them extra sauce and plates. When they’re done eating they leave their takeaway bags on the table and quite a considerable mess. And for Anna’s kindness and patience? They leave nothing, no tip at all. The ratty man was a rat in more ways than one. No good deed goes unpunished.

“Maybe a sugar daddy wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all,” Anna murmurs after her shift as she removes her uniform. Her bones are aching again.