One of the things I care about is technical mastery and the first time I realised this was at the age of 15. I was walking out of a supermarket with my uncle, we were both holding the takeaway lunch boxes we had just bought and then, abruptly, he stopped, turned his head, and then he started yelling the words: “battery terminal!”. But a few memorable things had happened that day.
My uncle, Sekuru George, and I were coming from the workshop where, he was working as a foreman and managing several diesel engine mechanics. His job was partly berating those worked under him and because problems in the construction industry flow upstream, the other part of his job was fixing those mechanical problems that everyone else has failed to fix. The company had so much outdated equipment, each day brought with it new opportunities for both.
These two different kinds of jobs also brought out his two different personalities: When he was working with is hands, he was more alive, he was kinder to staff, he would tell stories (and he was a good story teller BTW), he smiled more. And when he was giving instructions and dressing down his subordinates, he was more mean and ruthless. I don’t know why, but I equally liked both sides of Sekuru George. I liked how the mean Sekuru that could find the meanest, funniest but most creative way to tear someone down. Perhaps this is because I was never at the receiving end of his scolding. And even though I also liked the story teller Sekuru, it wasn’t just for the stories: I was also found fascination in watching someone who had mastered his craft doing it and at the same time enjoying it. It showed me that it is possible to have a job you enjoy and also be good at it. This exposure was one of the most important moments of my education.
On this particular day we woke up to a bulldozer that had a faulty gearbox. The bulldozer is the machine that was printing money for the company so everyone stopped whatever else there were doing as nothing else was more important. The first step, before removing the gearbox, is to remove the belly plate that protects the gearbox. To do this you need several men one of which is a Sekuru George who is prepared to not just shout at people but also prepared to physically assault anyone who is not pulling their weight. I’ve seen that belly plate dropped a hundred times and I’ve also seen people lose their limbs a couple times because the the belly plate got too heavy for someone let it slip so even though I don’t normally condone violence, I’ve seen people carry more than they could otherwise bear because they were afraid of getting a beating if they let that belly plate slip. Or maybe they though the damage to their bodies would be less than that of the beating.
We dropped the belly plate, then the gearbox, then we used some ropes and two fronted end loaders to carry the gearbox onto a workbench and as the gearbox started to slowly touch the workbench, one of the more senior mechanics, Charles, had started flipping through the Caterpillar manual for that bulldozer. With the posture of a Silverback Gorilla and his eyes on the manual, Sekuru walks towards Charles, picks the manual (which BTW, is twice as big as a bible and looks like it weight as much as a concrete block) and then throws it at Moses, who was a shy junior mechanic who spoke with a stutter. He was an easy person to pick on and usually slow but not today.
Had Moses not flinched and lifted his right hand to block the manual that was coming for his face, I shudder to think what would have been happened to his face. I should have been relieved that Moses was going to be ok but I was still anxious from not know to expect next so I turned my head back towards Sekuru George and at this point he was throwing his hands up as if to throw a tantrum and declaring that: “We don’t use manuals! All our knowledge is in here” and then he tapped the side of his head with his index finger. In my mother’s tongue, Shona, you use the plural “We/They” rather “I/You” as a form of respect. Often it’s to respect your elders, whom you never address with a singular pronoun, and it’s also acceptable to refer to yourself as “We” if you you’re the highest ranking person in that circle.
While Sekuru was still holding everyone’s attention (and I must add, he was also very comfortable being in the limelight) he yelled: “Give me a 22 spanner!”. Moses was lucky this spanner was was the one starring at him on top of everything in the toolbox and as he wasted no time picking it up and handing to to Sekuru we realised his mistake when Sekuru George instead of accepting the spanner was lifting his hand to slap Moses with the backend slap but being the showman that he is, Sekuru George knew that he didn’t need to follow through with the slap to point out his mistake. Just a feint of the slap was enough to make Moses repeat the flinch he did with the manual. He also didn’t really need to point out what the mistake Moses made was. He just needed to point to the to the first bolt that needed to be unscrewed sending the message that he was too important to unscrew the bolt when Moses was present. Without waiting to see if Moses had gotten the message, Sekuru George than turned towards me and in a calm but conceited tone began talking about how every good mechanic should be able to tell what size spanner you need by just making a glance at a bolt. Even though he was addressing me, I knew he wasn’t just talking to me.
He then shifted his attention back to Moses. He mentioned he was taking a lunch break but gave instructions on what to do next and what he wanted to see completed when got back and then he said: Tawanda, let’s go to the shops.
I didn’t talk much when I was with my uncle. He was captivating storyteller and did enough talking for the both us. We jumped into his bakkie (people like him always drive a bakkie), got to the shops, ordered our lunch for takeaway and as we’re walking back to the car, he abruptly stops talking and walking, he turns his head and at this moment I’m now also curious about what it is that has gotten his attention and as I’m looking towards where he’s looking I start hearing the sound that caught his attention. There was a lady who was turning her ignition key to start her car but even though the lady kept cranking this car, the car just wouldn’t start. Sekuru George shouted “Battery Terminal” a few times, but she either didn’t hear him or just ignored. She kept turning that key. Sekuru George then handed me his lunch so I can hold it and then he walked towards the lady’s car.
What he did next impressed me: First he stood right in front of the car, lifting one hand to get the lady’s attention as if she was a waitress and making a subtle but forceful gesture with the other to tell her that she should stop cranking her car. She obliged. Now she could hear him. He then told her that it’s her battery terminal. He then pointed towards the bonnet as if to say: “open it”, but his body language was communication that he wasn’t expecting her to say no because the other hand was already moving in a way that showed that he was getting ready to open the bonnet as soon as the driver had unlocked it from inside. As soon as she unlocked the bonnet, he opened it, identified the problematic battery terminal and while pressing the cable attached to it firmly against the terminal, he instructed her to start the car. She turned the ignition key and with one kick, the started. He then slammed the bonnet back down to close it, told her to get the battery terminal checked or replaced and like a protagonist who is walking away from an explosion in an action movie started walking back towards me.
The reason this event is an important part of my education is that it not only taught me a lot about technical mastery and leading with no authority but gave me inspiration for the kind of Computer Scientist I wanted to be when I grew up: the kind that is as good as his craft as is a mechanic who can tell from the sound of starter that the battery terminal is not fastened correctly.