Grace Mutandwa

Life goes on

Someone dies, someone disappears and later reappears in court or their body is discovered decomposing somewhere. More than 50,000 people are struck by cholera and 3,028 of them die.

We all worry about these developments, do what we can to help ease the pain butat the end of the day, life for those still free to move around goes on. We go out,we invite friends to dinner, get invited to share a curry or a drink and slowly we continue with our lives.

This is the reality of life. Even in war torn countries life of sorts still goes on.A toddler spends several weeks with an abducted parent and later becomes a guest of the state in one of the country's worst prisons. Still we talk about it for a while and soon enough we move on.

Several are starving but those with the means feast -their lives go on. Survival itself has become a major feat and those who still can drag themselves around do so with dwindling empathy and patience for the less fortunate.

Two 13-year-old girls incessantly ring my gate bell and when I answer, they tell me they are looking for jobs and that they have not eaten in days. They will work for food because being paid in local currency is useless. They have walked all the way from the high density suburb of Dzivaresekwa, west of the Harare.

I already have domestic help so I give them water and two slices each of bread. The food and water soon disappear. The two skinny-looking girls thank me profusely and ask me for old clothes.

My youngest and only daughter is an 18-year-old who is built bigger than the two. She is away studying but before she left home she cleaned out her wardrobe and gave various cousins some of her clothes - so there is nothing to give.

My heart bleeds. No child should ever have to go through what those two are going through.

All this gets me thinking about how really jaded we have become with political, economic and social situation in the country. Even as I spoke to the two girls it struck me how distant I managed to remain even as I gave them the bread and water.

There is something dead in us as a people. Several stories were written and appeals launched on behalf of journalist, turned activist Jestina Mukoko. She is a prominent person, so journalists tend to focus on her. The toddler who went missing with its parents got a mention every now and then if it was lucky.

Even when the toddler turned up at a police station with its parents being accused of banditry, we as a nation failed that child. We behaved as if it was the most normal thing for a baby to be incacerated. News that the baby too was beaten to force the mother to confess, just makes the whole story very sordid, and still no one raised a voice.

The Child Protection Society suddenly died - not a single word from them. The other so called children's rights organisations just disappeared off the earth. We have become damaged goods.

We are facing a bleak year. Politicians want power but they do not seem to realise that with power comes responsibility. When I sit through 16-hour powercuts it does not make me feel better to find out that the same is happening in Nepal. Citizens deserve the best from their government.

When people hanker after power they must realise and accept the fact that they must be accountable and that citizens expect improved standards of living and not to be taken back to the dark ages.

Zimbabwe used to be Southern Africa's breadbasket. It is shameful that today we produce nothing. Today we import turkeys from Peru and chickens from Uruguay. There is something very wrong and we can not even ask God anymore to put it right because God left Africa ages ago - in fact when he did he never even passed through Zimbabwe.

So in a way life goes on.

Posted at 12:04 03 February 2009 by Grace Mutandwa  |  Comments[4]

Two Philips Groaning

Monday morning. It’s been a weekend of doughnuts and I’m drinking too much again. A can of Namibian beer seems easier and tastier than water flavoured with the sulphuric tang of purification tablets. In Zimbabwe, alcoholism is a prophylactic for cholera. Not surprisingly after my excess, a certain tightness of my bowel suggests that I’d better visit the loo. But that’s not a pleasant prospect.

For some reason Harare’s  powers that be cut off the British Embassy’s water supply in December. It’s not clear if this was another sign of Zim’s water system failure or a protest at our policy of saying that Mr Mugabe’s government is not altogether the best thing since sliced bread. Now Harare’s water ain’t great for drinking, fortified as it is by large amounts of the charmingly named but deadly Vibrio cholera bacterium. But I do still find it helpful for flushing toilets and miss it now it’s gone. So my toiletry routine has taken on a semi-African form. I fill a bucket from a butt and carry it down the corridor, spilling a little to present a banana-skin-type walkway to my colleagues.

I should study Zimbie women, some of whom carry water buckets (not to mention tree trunks) on their heads with no spillage and a greater impression of grace than I offer at 8am on Monday, groaning as I heave my sloshing load of toxicity along. We’ll skip the next part of the story; suffice to say that I empty my bucket.  I try to shake off some of the associated effects by washing my hands using a ‘water-free purification liquid.’ This stuff smells like something a mortician would use, but succeeds only in making me feel like a dirty person with clean hands.

So that’s Monday in Harare. But this being Zimbabwe there’s always somebody a thousand times worse off than me. Today it’s Philip (another Philip), an Embassy security guard, who I find folded on his chair, in tears and groaning as if his chest is about to burst. He has just heard that his sister died in Mutare on Saturday. These are Philip’s problems in order of significance.  His beloved sister, a 35 year old mother of two, is dead.   Nobody knows what she died of. Philip worries she caught cholera which means his whole family is at risk.      

He wants to pay for her funeral, but has nothing like enough money.  His family needs to offer a minimal meal of sadza and relish at the wake, but does not have much of either.  He wants to attend the funeral but, again, has no money.  He is supposed to be working all week. Despite the coarsening effect of three years in Zimbabwe, I recognise Philip’s suffering to be infinitely greater than mine. I help as I can; knowing as I do that nothing can mend Philip’s broken heart or rescue his broken family from danger. Nor is there much prospect of anything mending his broken country anytime soon. 

Posted at 16:17 19 January 2009 by Philip Barclay  |  Comments[5]

All we have is hope in 2009

The year ahead, 2009, looks grim when looked at against the background of the past year. Many in Zimbabwe would like to forget 2008 but for a whole lot of reasons this is something we might not be able to do.

It is the year when violent elections were once again held. With the first part of the elections was hope for change which was quickly dashed when no real  government emerged from March  and then later after the presidential re-run in June.

From then things just went straight downhill. Inflation continued on the rise and by the time we came to the end of 2008, it was way above 200 million percent. Some economists said it was already in the trillions.

From political uncertainty we staggered onto the bizzarre - foreign currency shops, in a country where more than 80 percent of the adult population is unemployed.and foreign currency is in short supply. Long winding queues at banks became part of our lives.
We still have a short supply of our own local currency.

Now the central bank has decided that each person can withdraw Z$50 billion a month, starting this January. Public transport during the week of December 25th 2008, cost Z$1bn one way. This by the end of January will not be enough to cover transport costs, buy bread, milk or any other provisions. A week before Christmas an egg cost Z$300 million or 20 American cents.

This month the biggest note in our purses if we are lucky will be the Z$50 billion. Not only is this not safe in the sense that if you lose that note you are done for, but it is also not user friendly. No one ever has change. We saw this when a $50m note
was introduce in December and then followed by other ridiculously high notes.

Public transport operators and the local currency shops just increased their prices to avoid having to scrounge for change. A market was created for people who would give you change at a premium. This is the only country in the world where people sell each other their local currency.

The year 2008 also saw both our education and health system finally give up the ghost. Major government hospitals closed - there were no drugs, water, electricity and personnel went on strike.

Then came cholera in August. But it was to be forgotten about for a while and later to suddenly erupt with a vengeance.

A war erupted around cholera. The Zimbabwean Minister of Information went on the offensive. He shocked many when he announced that the British had buried spores of cholera in and around areas that were going to be established as residential
areas after independence in 1980. This is despite the fact that those areas were already built up at independence.

This would be hilarious were it not such a sad thing and unfortunate that with more than 20 000 suspected cases of cholera and more than 1,111 already dead, a whole government minister would find energy to come up with such bizzarre theories instead
of coming up with solutions or better still asking for much needed help.

Cholera, according to the minister, had  become a tool to be used by Western powers to effect regime change in Zimbabwe.

This is the tragedy of Zimbabwe - that we have such highly educated people who fail to put their intelligence and education to good use for the betterment of their country but choose to use it for destructive purposes.

While the cholera was raging, members of the civil society and opposition members were being abducted. The past year was indeed a negatively eventful and nerve-wrecking year.

Ruling party leaders felt caged and ceaselessly attacked the West and those African countries that had not been supportive of the reigning mayhem. The interim South African president claimed his government would be guided by what Zimbabweans want - but is he listening? Or maybe that translates to what the rulers of Zimbabwe want.

We are indeed a people with very little hope but all we can do is hold onto that bit of hope. We have to hope that while 2009 will not be a prosperous year it will be a year of positive change, a year human rights get space, a year when democracy and
good governance get a chance. It should be a year when Zimbabweans can feel secure again, a year when we can look our children in the eye and tell them with certainty that they have a future in this country. I wish you all a year of hope, love, friendship, empathy and good health.

Posted at 06:55 31 December 2008 by Grace Mutandwa  |  Comments[4]

Maybe Santa will visit Zimbabwe next Christmas

At 23:38hrs on the last Saturday before Christmas I finally walked out of the Spar supermarket in my neighbourhood. The shop had looked like a bomb sight.

Trolleys laden with people's wishlists (goods that never made it to the checkout) littered the sprawling shop. I riffled through some of the trolleys just out of curiosity. One kilogramme bags of sugar, packets of salt, exotic ciders, cans of imported beer, defrosting chickens and a turkey or two in one case, all left because money had run out.

The shop was seething with masses of people. It was almost like during past Christmas periods when Zimbabweans shopped till they dropped. The currency of the so called imperialists ruled. I saw people pull out wads of American dollars and British pounds.
Our neighbours, the South Africans have also given us a currency that makes better sense than our own Zimbabwean dollars. The Rand has also joined the various currencies we now trade in. Still even with seemingly so much money in sight, people were shopping very carefully.

I shopped with my mobile phone ringing all the time - my daughter calling to remind me of something else needed at home. I have always made Christmas special for  my children but have always tried to be careful not to turn it into a material holiday only. This year my children wanted to do something special for their cousins and our maid's children.

They went shopping using the allowance that they would have used to buy each other presents. They decided to give others. My daughter baked a chocolate cake, the only cake she can bake, so her cousins could have something special.

I have gone around preparing for Christmas in a distracted way. I have felt depressed and am finding it very hard to get into the spirit of Christmas. The office organised a staff Christmas party but this year was just too hard for me to go out and be merry. We certainly need breaks like that but at times it is very difficult to raise a smile, to forget for a while that things out there are getting worse or even to try and ignore that there is nothing merry about this year's Christmas. I did not attend the office party for I was too sad and was worried my sadness would spoil it for others.

So I am trudging along buying this or that, ticking the boxes to ensure that those few relatives I can help will at least have one decent meal on the day Jesus Christ was born.

I am not only struggling with the whole idea of celebrating Christmas I am struggling with my faith too. I am not sure I am still a believer. Too much pain has passed through the country this year. There is too much sadness, insecurity, fear and almost absolutely no hope for a future.

While those in the low density suburbs are trying to shop their hearts out, across the capital my cousins in the high density suburbs have given me a running commentary of how they are trying to string together bits and pieces to have a semblance of a Christmas lunch.

Over the past few years I have tried to co-ordinate through the office a collection of sorts to donate to the less fortunate. Last year we managed clothes, maize meal and soft drinks for families of some prisoners. This year was very difficult so we
were only able to donate a few clothes given mostly by colleagues from the United Kingdom who visited Zimbabwe early in the year.

When a colleague Blessing Seke and I visited Emerald Hill School for the Deaf and Orphanage, to donate the clothes we wished we had been able to do more. The children are always grateful for everything they receive and the nuns who run the school
and orphanage are amazing. In the face of all these hardships they still hang on to hope. They are true believers.

The staff at emerald Hill are truly blessed and full of warmth and love. This year Christmas will not be full of good cheer for them and most Zimbabweans. Some will starve and others will die of cholera. I wish I could write a story full of cheer but this Christmas it is not possible. All I can say is that I hope all Zimbabwean parents can give their children a better Christmas next year. Maybe God will remember Zimbabwe next year. Enjoy your Christmas if you can.

Posted at 08:59 24 December 2008 by Grace Mutandwa  |  Comments[2]

We Shall Overcome

We shall overcome - one day peace will prevail over brutality.

Zimbabwe has joined the international community in commemorating the 16 Days of Activism Against Gender-based Violence. All well and good but problem is, this is the same country where nobody who stands up to the regime is safe. In Zimbabwe this commemoration has lost meaning.

Jestina Mukoko, a former media colleague turned human rights activist was abducted from her home in the early hours of 3 December. A defenceless woman, clad only in her nightdress was forcibly taken by more than 10 armed men.

As director of the Zimbabwe Peace Project (ZPP), Jestina exposed and documented various human rights abuses before, during and after the Zimbabwean elections and subsequent disputed presidential run-off.

Jestina was working consistently and lawfully for the advancement of peace in Zimbabwean communities. Soft-spoken, Jestina is a warm, brave woman who went about her work in a  non-threatening way.

All efforts by her lawyer Beatrice Mtetwa to get the courts to attend to an urgent  application for a court order for the police, to produce Jestina if she was in police custody, or if not, to launch a search for her was only heard on the 9th December after a tortuous struggle by human rights lawyers.

Reports abound of female judges finding excuses not to hear it. One would have thought fellow women would be gravely concerned and falling over each other to get to the bottom of this savage abduction. But no, it seemed either too hot or not in their interest.

Yes a woman judge eventually heard it and ordered Police Commissioner-General Augustine Chihuri, to delegate a team of police officers to work closely with lawyers from the Zimbabwe Lawyers for Human Rights (ZLHR) to search for Jestina, to search all places as maybe within their jurisdiction in terms of the Police Act and Constitution of Zimbabwe and to report progress to the Registrar of the High Court by 1000hrs each day until her whereabouts have been determined.

What about all those female politicians who only a few months ago were urging fellow women, including Jestina, to vote for them. Where are all those women today when one of their own is in trouble? What do these women stand for?

Abductions in Zimbabwe as human rights lawyers continue to point out, have resulted in many deaths. Everyone is worried that she was not even given the opportunity to put on decent clothes, get her spectacles and medication. We are even more concerned that no-one in authority seems keen to get to the bottom of the abduction.

The people who abducted her identified themselves as police officers. The police say they know nothing of the abduction and also argue that they can not search for her in Central Intelligence Organisation or military centres as they have no jurisdiction.

The fact that the Zimbabwean government is a signatory to the African Charter on Human and People's Rights and the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights which recognises the protection to life and physical integrity of a person and is against arbitrary deprivation of liberty, has not in any way helped to protect those Zimbabweans who have stood up for what is right.

If anything, Zimbabweans have found themselves even more vulnerable. There is no protection for those seen as enemies of the State. And Jestina through her work had turned into an enemy of the State. A helpless mother of a 17-year-old boy and an aunt and guardian to a six-year old, Jestina was abducted at gunpoint - treated as a dangerous mass murderer.

That some people can actually live with themselves after being party to such brutality really breaks my heart. That some Zimbabweans believe life is worthless and can be treated with such disdain makes me grieve for my country. We have hit rock bottom, if we have lost all respect for the rights of others.

If anyone can wake up in the morning after participating in such brutality and look themselves in the mirror and still go around as if what they have done is the most normal thing, then the country has really hit rock bottom. We are in serious trouble.

It is indeed deeply, deeply sad, that Zimbabwe is stuck in a region where very few leaders have spoken up about the current brutality. What is going on here is happening on these men and women's watch and yet they are not moved. Where is the Southern African region's conscience?

It is a sad day indeed for all peace-loving and democratic Zimbabweans to wake up to the news that a group of armed men raided and abducted a defenceless woman in front of her shocked family.

What Jestina and several other activists who have been equally tormented stand for, is something that is so big that it scares some people. Scares them enough to get together a group of armed men to abduct one helpless, nightdress clad woman.

I am deeply sad but the more I think of what it took and how many people it took toabduct Jestina, the more proud I feel of this hard-working, soft-spoken woman. She is bigger than her tormentors. She is stronger than they ever will be.

If Jestina's abduction was meant to scare civil society then it was a terrible misculculation as this has made people stronger and even more determined to ensure that Zimbabwe becomes a country where human rights are respected and upheld and a place where ourguiding principles are of good governance and democracy.

People who use brute force and torture others, do so because they are scared of what their victims stand for. Wherever you are Jes, you are in our hearts, our trueheroine, a woman not afraid to stand up and be counted for the good of her country. We shall overcome.

Posted at 10:01 12 December 2008 by Grace Mutandwa  |  Comments[5]

Rights and Wrongs

ZANU (PF) has marked World Human Rights Day by kidnapping the country's leading Human Rights Defender, Jestina Mukoko. No one can know if she is alive or dead but many fear the worst at this stage. It would not be beyond ZANU to murder such a prominent and brave activist.

We don’t know much about the attack on Jestina: a dozen men came to her house in the night a week ago and dragged her away from her family in her nightdress. Since then she has not been seen.

I know Jestina well. She is Director of the Zimbabwe Peace Project, which reports human rights abuses. It is obviously a busy project, given the scale of abuse here, and Jestina is both its beating heart and figurehead: a clever, lucid woman who can turn statistics into compelling stories of the suffering that Zimbabweans are going through. Before the elections this year she accurately predicted where the hotspots of violence would be. She has also exposed the way that ZANU-PF denies food aid to opposition supporters. More recently she has told the world that ZANU-PF has resumed its normal practices of torture and murder, despite renouncing violence in the unity agreement signed in September.

Jestina’s sharp analysis of gruesome violence is joined by an engaging charisma; she has a little gap between her front teeth, which makes her ready smile all the more charming.   

My heart fears the very worst for Jestina. Some abducted people are abused, beaten, stripped, driven to the far side of the country and left to make their way home. They turn up in a day or two. They are the lucky ones. For when people disappear for several days like Jestina, they most often turn up dead, or not at all. When the bodies of missing people are found, like Tonderai Ndira a few months back, it is apparent that murder came soon after abduction.

Nor can we draw many positives from the fact that Jestina’s body has not been found. In its malice ZANU-PF often denies its victims’ families the comfort and finality of a body to bury. Unidentifiable corpses sometimes bob up in Lake Kariba; hyenas sometimes chew on strange bones.

I try to imagine the combination of courage and sadness Jestina mustered to face her abductors. How her heart must have gone to her family, pitying the bottomless grief they may have to carry for the rest of their lives.

What should we do? The Police shrug – this is extra judicial violence by senior people – nothing can be done. The Government laughs its head off at the condemnations from ‘colonial’ governments, like my own, and their ‘puppet NGOs’ such as Amnesty International.

Perhaps we ought to pray, but Zimbabwe’s God died a long time ago. This is the land where fear defeats hope; cruelty trumps kindness; death consumes life. I will willingly do a deal with God if it will help. I will pray for the rest of my life if Jestina just comes back, her gappy smile intact, somehow miraculously unscathed. But this is Zimbabwe. There are no happy endings.

Posted at 14:39 10 December 2008 by Philip Barclay  |  Comments[5]

One big rubbish dump

I have just returned from a week-long training in London. It is good to be back home inspite of all the hardships but I came back when the country's sanitation problems had worsened.

I am running out of the little water I had stashed in containers. In the past I could count on my partner for water but now his taps have dried up too. The only friend I know who has a borehole can not help because she has not had power for two weeks now. I feel terribly despondent.

The whole city of Harare has no water. Our offices have no water and outside the cholera statistics are growing. Only a week ago we had someone from Population Services International (PSI) come in to tell us about prevention of cholera.

I remember vividly how she emphasised that we should wash our hands, keep ourselves and surroundings clean. she advised us not to shake hands. She spoke with passion. She made a lot of sense but today as I write this I am asking myself many questions.

Even Zimbabwe's health minister, David Parirenyatwa and president Robert Mugabe have taken turns to tell people about the importance of washing hands and general hygiene. But the question on everyone's lips is; "Where is the water?"

You can wash hands and keep your home and yourself clean if you have running water. We have had no water for several days and some of my colleagues have not had running water for months.

We have become innovative bathers but I do not know for how long we are going to be able to come to work without stinking the whole office out. There is a limit to how much perfumes and deodorants can mask body odours.

It will be very easy for cholera to wipe out whole offices. People are coming from waterless homes to waterless offices. Anyone who thinks cholera is under control is having one very big sad joke. The Zimbabwean government does not believe it should be
declared a national disaster.

And why should it? Hospitals are paralysed. There are no drugs. Some people close to the South African border are now crossing into South Africa for treatment. Of course it does not matter that some of these people will probably die on the way to South Africa.

The deputy health minister says 300 or so people have died. His boss, the minister of health puts the figure at 425. Doctors for human rights say more than 800 people have sucumbed to cholera and that more 11 000 suspected cases have been reported. Whatever the figures are we need to start taking cholera seriously and those saying it is under control should prove to us that it is under control by ensuring that basics such as water, sanitation and drugs are guaranteed.

With no water, no proper sanitation and more and more people having to dig shallow wells to get water, it will be a major miracle if half the population does not get wiped out in the next few days. It sounds dramatic but the truth is that our country no longer has a reliable water system, has failed to repair sewer pipes and completely neglected refuse collection so the country has become one big rubbish dump.

In the past around this time of the year, people are usually pre-occupied with preparations for the Christmas holiday. This year most people have no money, can not afford three square meals and are struggling just to make it through the day. Add on that we have crippling water and power cuts.

News agency reports say that some government offices have closed down due to lack of water and sanitation in the buildings.

Cholera has become an epidemic but not many are taking it seriously. Certainly not  the authorities. Vendors are still selling all manner of fly infested fruit and vegetables from the backs of their vehicles. People are hard pressed for cash so they still buy from the vendors because it is cheaper, even when they know they are putting themselves at risk.

In Zimbabwe today, you invite friends for dinner provided you have water and power. If you use gas for cooking you can still invite people but you warn them about a possible cancellation due to lack of water.

You phone your hairdresser first not to establish if he or she can fit you in, but to ensure there is water and power. There is however no guarantee that by the time you arrive they will still have one of the two or both.

The office has promised us water treatment pills but I hope when we do finally get them, water will be flowing again from our taps otherwise it will be a wasted effort.

Posted at 13:32 03 December 2008 by Grace Mutandwa  |  Comments[5]

Inspired but deeply sad

Watching American President elect, Barack Obama, speak after winning, brought tears to my eyes. Earlier I had watched John Mcain concede defeat graciously and I said to myself, "democracy is truly amazing. Here is democracy at work."

I felt greatly inspired but sad too. Inspired that Americans could elect a president without killing each other and embracing each other and be mature enough to concede defeat and pledge to work together. Deeply sad because something that big would never happen in Zimbabwe, where those who rule believe that only they should rule forever. Sad because in Zimbabwe as in most African countries rivalry is not tolerated, it is reviled and seen as treachery.

For nine months now we have gone without a government. Robert Mugabe believes his ZANU PF should continue to call the shots, while Morgan Tsvangirai would like to see his Movement for Democratic Change bring in change. Here you can and you will certainly be bashed and abused for your believing in change.

We are a sad long way from democracy. We are struggling in the wilderness, with no hope in sight that we will get a government that believes in and trusts and respects its people.

Inflation continues to soar at an alarming hourly rate now. Hospitals stand as a reminder of our past glory when the sick actually used to visit and get proper treatment. Cases of cholera are on the rise!

Water taps have become a home design appendage that helps make the house look attractive. No water comes out of our water taps. Whoever designed the water tap, had a vision. That person had a dream that people in a more civilised world should never have to scrap the ground for murky water to drink.

Schools hope to provide decent education again another day but for now they provide space for poorly paid teachers to sell sweets or engage in various money-making schemes in order to put food on the table one more day.

We have political leaders who refuse to take responsibility for their failures. They heap blame on countries that have thriving democracies and economies. They see enemies everywhere. Paranoid does not even start to describe their state of mind.

Thousands of hapless Zimbabweans flock into neighbouring countries everyday in search of jobs and food. The only country that appreciates how dangerous our situation is, is Botswana, which has given refuge to thousands of Zimbabweans.

Botswana is the only country in our region that has the courage to speak out. For that trouble, Botswana has now been accused of training opposition youth so that they can effect violent regime change. ZANU PF leaders have a very fertile imagination. They are capable of coming up with conspiracy theories that no sane person could ever dream up. 

They revile western leaders and yet we are now allowed to buy food from local shops using American dollars. They take every opportunity to tell us how brutal America is, but now their money is good enough for almost all our transactions. The streets of Zimbabwe have more American and South African money than the worthless Zimbabwean dollars.

I know I paint a story of dark and gloom but that is the way it is. This could easily be the story of any one of our neighbours. 

Driving down from South Africa my partner was recently twice asked for a bribe. First a South African policeman stopped him and told him he had to pay a 500 Rand fine for  abscuring his rear view mirror. The car was packed to the gills and the mirror was indeed obscured. If you live in Zimbabwe, you learn to shop and pack your car as if your life depends on it and in most cases it does.

My partner was told that since his car was registered in Zimbabwe he would have to drive  to the nearest police station to pay. This was on the highway and the nearest police station was several kilometres back. He was offered an alternative, pay 300 Rands instead and continue on his way.

When he got to the border on the South African side towards the exit to Zimbabwe, he once again got hit for money. Tucked between lorries and cars of various shapes and sizes, he was asked if he had a declaration form for the groceries he had bought in South Africa. This was the first time this had been demanded of him. He was told to turn around and go back to the offices of the South African Customs and pay R500.

He was blocked an could not make the necessary turn so he was offered an alternative - pay R400 and proceed.

Both times he felt cornered and paid but was angry. Getting into Zimbabwe he expected the usual pain of waiting several hours, being harassed by louts and lack of co-opeartion from customs officials.

Imagine his surprise when he went through all the necessary processes without any problems. There were short queues and the attendants were actually smiling and quite chatty. Driving all the way from the border, he was amazed to go through several roadblocks where no one hit him for money but actually told him to drive carefully as the roads are bad. This was refreshing as normally some of the roadblocks are set up as personal fundraising ventures for some of the policemen.

Zimbabwe got to where it is today because people got greedy and started asking for bribes. For simple tasks to be carried out one has to pay a bribe. My landline at home has not  worked for several months and it will remain defective because I refuse to pay a bribe. I have been told point blank that I must pay up or forget about having a phone.

I have two mobile phones, an office issue and a private one. Both used to be contract lines, with bills paid on a monthly basis. As of this week they have both ceased to run as contract lines. The mobile service provider says it is economically unsustainable for them to continue providing that service. Both my lines are now pay as you go.

With no phone at home and two mobiles that are likely to run out of credit while I am talking, I am not even going to try and communicate with anyone. I am mentally and emotionally drained. Zimbabwe is a country that can make you feel that way. And I guess so many other Zimbabweans hungry for change feel that way too.

So many times people ask me why Zimbabweans are so docile and why Zimbabweans do not stand up to riot police when they get beaten for marching against ZANU PF. And so many times I have had to tell people that Zimbabweans by nature loathe violence but that does not mean they are docile.

Zimbabweans would never have fought a liberation struggle if they had been docile. Today Zimbabweans seem cowed but this is only because they would like a peaceful solution to their  political problems. They have witnessed firsthand blood being spilt and if Zimbabweans can find a way of getting out of this madness without spilling blood they will do it.

Like the Americans, Zimbabweans too would like to stand up and say; "Yes we can". And do so without maiming or killing each other. Do so without looking at colour, race or tribe. We too, like Martin Luther King before us, have a dream. We want  true democracy in our time. We want our children to be inspired by selfless leadership.

Posted at 12:21 12 November 2008 by Grace Mutandwa  |  Comments[4]

Remembrance day: At The Going Down of the Sun

The Foreign Office has an enthusiastically amateur choir. As our poppy day service begins in Harare, I remember standing with fellow diplomat-cum-choristers on the steps of the FCO’s grand staircase in Whitehall and singing the ethereal anthem ‘For the Fallen’:

They shall grow not old,
As we that are left grow old,
Age shall not weary them nor the years condemn,
At the going down of the sun,
And in the morning,
We will remember them.

The audience for our annual efforts in London is the families of diplomats killed while doing their jobs. Diplomats like Charles Morpeth, killed in a helicopter crash in Bosnia in 1995 while trying to establish peace there.

We have formed a similarly hit-and-miss choir in Harare and stand singing the same anthem. It is baking hot in Harare’s small garden of remembrance, though the last blossoms of the jacarandas give a little shade. The air is tense with the foreknowledge of the monsoon, which will hit us any day now, washing dust from the air and creating new life from Africa’s fertile red soil. Around the country, impala stand poised to drop young into the exploding grass. Storks are arriving from Morocco, ready to harvest juicy frogs.

But somehow, as we sing, Zimbabwe’s human inhabitants are not taking up nature’s offer of new fertility. Doug Taylor-Freeme, one of Zimbabwe’s last large-scale farmers stands looking at fields which the police have – insanely - ordered him to leave fallow. A local ZANU-PF man believes it will be easier to steal Doug’s farm if it is first rendered economically worthless. Likewise, ten thousand communal farmers stand wondering what maize they might have produced had they been able to buy seed.

We are pledging, by our song, to remember, and we have many dead to think of in Zimbabwe this year. We are thinking of Colonel John Kane, a hero in war and peace, who died here earlier this year. John was our defence attaché. His job was to work with and help local armed forces, though this was obviously difficult in Zimbabwe. But John never stopped planning for and longing for a better Government he could work with. He might have died in the first gulf war if a shell had flown the wrong way. But he died in Zimbabwe, waiting for a peace that he strived to achieve. Today I miss the splendour of his dress uniform and the acidic wit with which he cut to the heart of any problem.

I can’t help also thinking of the victims of Zimbabwe’s almost civil war this year. I can’t help thinking of the MDC activists burned to death in Zaka in June. Of Ignatius Mushangwe, an election official who we fear has been cruelly killed because he tried to tell the world that he was being ordered to pervert democracy. There is no remembrance - or justice - for these dead. Zimbabwe’s authorities even steal the corpses of these victims to cover up the horror of their crimes.    

In truth the Second World War means little to young, black Zimbabweans.  In African textbooks, Europe’s great struggle looks like the rutting of failing imperial powers. Even Zimbabwe’s liberation war of thirty years ago seems like old news. The struggle Zimbabweans face is to stay alive, to find food. This time of year should be a time of hope, of new planting, of renewal. But Zimbabweans have a dread sense that the promise of change offered by the elections in March is being choked to death by old men who seem to be living in the past, not just remembering it. 

Other Zimbabweans – then Rhodesians – sacrificed greatly, giving their lives for wars on other continents. An amazing number of veterans are with us today. The oldest fought in the Second World War, while others served in Korea, Germany, Egypt and other points round the world. They are tough and spirited and wiry, despite advancing years. It is impossible to look at them without admiring the lives they have led. Sadly for some, memory offers more pleasure than living in the present. I meet a dispossessed farmer, Buster, who tells me about his mother who served throughout the Second World War as a Wren, before returning to Zimbabwe. She is now 84 and has no pension from the UK or Zimbabwe. Buster is struggling to afford her medicines. 

So we stand in Harare, remembering the dead and hoping for a better future. Others are sitting elsewhere trying, with varying degrees of earnest, to draw up a just and workable arrangement for a new government, which we all hope for, even if that hope is getting weak. As our anthem ends, the thunder rumbles in overhead.

Posted at 11:45 10 November 2008 by Philip Barclay  |  Comments[2]

Godliness is With God

Cleanliness is an aptly-named cleaner at the Embassy. I bump into her on my way out of the building, dressed in a very smart, black outfit. She tells me that her sister Godliness has just passed. Zimbabweans like euphemisms: people don't die, they pass, they became late or they go to be with God. 

The wake is in Epworth about 20kilometres from Harare. Cleanliness has no transport and no cash for the bus. Now what's in my mind is a quick trip to the one cafe in Harare that still serves a weirdly delicious Afrikaans variety of doughnut. These are going for US$1 – everything is priced in US dollars now. The Zimbabwean dollar is late, like poor Godliness.  But I won't be able to enjoy a doughnut knowing Cleanliness is still standing by the road waiting for a miracle. So I give her a lift.

Bumping out through a dodgy suburb, I ask more about Godliness. "She lived next to me before we were married. But her husband lived in Epworth, so she moved there. She was 22 when she had a baby, but then the sickness came. Her husband died last year, then her baby and now she is late too".

Cleanliness is composed.  I say she must be upset. "Ah, it's alright". She's not unfeeling, death is just so much more everyday here and her sister's was expected.

Godliness had HIV, I suppose? "Sure. But we don't mention about that. It's our African taboo. Nobody says that anyone has HIV". This is disappointing to hear. Harare is plastered with posters urging people to be open about their HIV status. But attitudes have not changed yet. How can a wife persuade her unfaithful husband to wear a condom if she can't mention the possibility that he has HIV and may pass the lethal virus to his family?

We're into Epworth now. The town is named after John Wesley's Lincolnshire birthplace and the Methodist mission is still active. But the mission hospital is overwhelmed by the health disasters hitting Zimbabwe. The ripe stench of sewage is nauseating – the collapse of Harare's formerly excellent water supply and treatment infrastructure has caused a cholera epidemic. And diseases like cholera quickly do away with vulnerable people like Godliness and her poor family.

We pass the cemetery. There are three basic wooden coffins waiting their turn. Each funeral party is pointed towards the next empty hole when its turn arrives. Cleanliness will be back here in the morning with her sister's body.

The road runs out and I drive across an eerie wasteland around a flooded quarry. "This is where people come to kill themselves", says Cleanliness, "there are many who use it because it is deep and you drown quick".

By this stage I am seriously depressed. We get to the house – breeze blocks and long-legged chickens. Cleanliness is keen for me to join the wake, it's quite a coup to get driven to the event by a fat white man. But I've seen an HIV corpse before, and  if I have to look at Godliness' stick-like bones wrapped in failing, papery skin, I'll be ready to jump in the quarry too. So I escape.

I get lost in the maze of muddy streets and stop to speak to an old timer. He asks about the talks and is not surprised nothing has happened. "They don't care about the people. They won't care if we're all dead". The old fella offers me a couple of tomatoes he's been trying to sell. I offer him the dollar I had earmarked for a doughnut and get something more nourishing: a big grin.

Posted at 10:22 27 October 2008 by Philip Barclay  |  Comments[2]

Blog Action Day: Poverty and poor government

Everyone's blogging about poverty today. I'm unqualified to do so. I've never been poor. But I do think it's a brilliant idea to have a global debate about the reasons people are dying preventable deaths in the twenty-first century.

So I've made an effort in the last few days to meet and speak to people who are poor to ask them how they are poor; and more importantly why they are poor. I don't need to go far to find poor people in Zim. I've cycled a couple of miles to an area of Harare I know well - Hatcliff Extension.

First Maria. I've met her a few times over the years. She's a tough, elderly lady, standing today where she always stands - outside her shelter, a framework of wood covered in sheet plastic. According to Zimbabwean culture Maria should be enjoying retirement as a wise woman, supported by her children. But she looks after seven small grandchildren now that her kids are all dead. Food is hard to come by. Education is now unaffordable.

"I am poor because they do not give food any more. Because they destroyed my house. And because my children have passed. Things are so bad there is no hope for me. Only God can help".

Then Ephard, who says his name means 'a man from Ephesus'. Ephard is sitting on the side of the dirt road with his prized possession - a clapped out bicycle, which he uses to run errands or fetch goods. We compare notes about cycling in Harare and agree that the drivers are terrible. By way of payment for our ad hoc interview, I give Ephard an Allan key, with which he is delighted. I ask Ephard what Maria means about her house being destroyed. He waves his arm towards the muddy field in front of us, which is full of scruffy plastic shelters, occasionally reinforced with a few bricks or an iron sheet.

"They did all this four years ago. They came with bulldozers and destroyed every house. It was our reward for voting MDC. Even today they tell us that anyone who builds up their house will have it destroyed. During the election they set up camp over there. They beat us and said that anyone who did not vote for the President would be burned alive. Honestly we are too scared to do anything in this area. If we grow anything or sell anything we know they will steal it."

Finally, Sheila, a beautiful woman, smartly dressed. Her outfit is spotless, although I have managed to get a fair amount of Hatcliff's mud over me during my short visit.

"Sure, I want to give up my job at a bank in town. The bus fare is up to 500 thousand dollars now. But all I can get out of the bank is 20 thousand each day. I take sweet potatoes and stand by the road until I can find someone who will give me a lift for a vegetable. Some drivers say they will take me every day if I will be their mistress. But I want to be a good catholic and I will not do that. It takes me till late at night to get home. I am just so tired. And I don't make any money. I am just clinging to the job, hoping things one day get better".

I've deliberately visited the area early to avoid attention, but fat white men in Hatcliff Extension do get noticed and I reckon it's time to leave.

As I'm cycling back the pattern seems obvious. None of the people I've spoken to are lazy, stupid or uneducated. They speak English more properly than I do and work hard, but feel like their lives are going backwards. They are not poor because of any lack of effort or aptitude on their part. They are poor because they have been made poor. They are poor because the Government wilfully devalues its own currency, spitefully brutalises its people and negligently allows the collapse of health and education systems. There seems little that they (or you, or I) can do to improve life in Zimbabwe until a Government which has different values is in place.

Posted at 16:01 15 October 2008 by Philip Barclay  |  Comments[3]

Blog Action Day: Take action and make poverty history

Politicians and donor agencies speak of poverty in romantic tones. When they pour out facts and figures in passionate voices you almost believe they are actually going to tackle it in a sustainable manner.

As a journalist, I used to write equally passionately about poverty. I actually believed I was making a difference. Just like the donors and politicians, I simply spoke or wrote about poverty. I had never gone to bed on an empty stomach or failed to pay for my children's education or foot their health bills.

Today I know first hand what poverty means. I have just had to buy five bags of maize for my extended family so that they can at least survive until the new year. From a life of priviledge, I have seen some members of my family plunged into poverty. When the politicians roll out the numbers, members of my family are included in the growing list.

I have several relatives who have one meal a day or every other day. They can not afford to get proper medical care. A cousin needs Z$45 000 to fill a prescription, that is if she pays cash but if she pays by cheque it swells to Z$2.5m. She is unemployed and her husband has not had a job in five years. They have four children who until their father lost his job, were well fed, went to school and lived a life of hope. They used to be classified as middle-class. Now they are poor.

The middle-class has disappeared. People are either rich or poor and the ranks of the poor are swelling everyday. Everyday you forgo one thing or the other so you may live to see tomorrow. Eventually there is nothing to hold onto and you fall into the huge poverty hole.

My maternal grandmother is stuck in our rural home and I and two cousins have been the only people who have been able to visit her. She has 29 grandchildren and 16 great-grandchildren. She has three surviving children and they are all pensioners, surviving on the little doled out to them by their children. Their pensions of less than US$1 a month are worthless.

I have an aunt who has a son studying and working in the United Kingdom. That young man can not even start thinking of getting married let alone start his own family. He looks after his mum, three adult siblings, several aunts and cousins. His siblings are all out of school but they have never worked and have absolutely no hope of ever working.

I am not yet classified poor but I am surrounded by so many relatives who are, at times I feel poverty is just a stone's throw from my own doorstep. I live in fear of poverty.

It is very easy to talk of poverty in an abstract way, but it is hard when you actually have to deal with it everyday. It is there and stares you in the face all the time.

You only need to walk the streets of our capital city, Harare, to see how much of a toll poverty has taken on Zimbabweans. In the heat of the summer, you walk past masses of people who have probably not had a bath in a month. Soap, deodorant and toothpaste have become a luxury. That is poverty.

When three urban settlements get hit by cholera, killing 18 people, you know the country is not ready to make poverty history. With annual inflation now above 200 million %, reality on the ground tells you that Zimbabwe is facing; "poverty for all by the year 2010".

We have a whole generation of children who stand to be ruined because for the first time in history all the children in government schools have, according to the Zimbabwe Progress Teachers Union, had 23 days worth of education in the whole year. Teachers have spent more time on industrial action or in bank queues battling to get their worthless salaries, than teaching pupils. Some of the teachers have run away from the rural schools where they were terrorised by ruling party members in the run up to the disputed presidential run-off.

Surely it means Zimbabwe is facing unprecedented levels of poverty when the country has recorded a 78% food deficit with no real hope of the country being able to import enough grain to offset the deficit. More than five million people face starvation. And that is the number on record. There are plenty more who will die quietly and unnoticed.

The World Food Programme has appealed to donors to give several hundreds of millions with which to import food to help feed millions of Zimbabweans who can no longer feed themselves.

Poverty is surely something that most Zimbabweans are currently experiencing first hand and at the moment with the economic and political situation in a tailspin there is no hope of fighting it effectively.

We have had no substantive government for almost seven months now. With no one in control except Robert Mugabe, there are clear indications that we have a national disaster on our hands. A few will be fed by Mugabe's ZANU PF if they prove their loyalty but many will go hungry.

For us in Zimbabwe, poverty is no longer something donor agencies hold workshops over or something that you only read of in newspapers. It is very real and we see it everyday. We interact with poverty at every turn. We have seen our country turn from being a regional bread basket into a basket case. We have witnessed our country go from riches to rags. Where at independence in 1980 we had hope, we now have despair.

Yes, for Zimbabweans poverty is a painful reality and the adage; "The poor will always be with us," rings very true for us. With a good political leadership we would be a very rich country and any country that adopts Zimbabwe's ruinous policies will easily accompany us to doom. As citizens we need to reclaim our future and play a positive role in eradicating poverty.

If we do not take action and stand up now, we will fail to make poverty history - it will simply fast become our way of life.

Posted at 14:05 15 October 2008 by Grace Mutandwa  |  Comments[4]

The Horns of a Dilemma

I really liked the comment by Polez on my blog ‘The Horns of a Dilemma’ (below) about the rights and wrongs of visiting Zimbabwe - and I’d like to respond. Polez is concerned that I was putting people off travelling to Zimbabwe at a time when it is vital to help people financially and to witness the sorry state in which the country finds itself.

I’d better say up front that I understand Polez 's points 100%. But I have to bear in mind that the Foreign Office travel advice - put together by people wiser than me - is still recommending that people visit Zimbabwe only if their journey is essential. There are good reasons for being cautious about visiting. It is hard to do basic things in Zimbabwe. A casual tourist, not supported by a tour company, would have real trouble getting fuel for a car or food to eat. This is particularly true outside of Harare. There is a cholera epidemic, to add to the long-term HIV epidemic, and water from taps is now considered unsafe to drink. Add to that the political instability in the country and the result is an impressive list of reasons to avoid Zimbabwe!

But as Polez said, few travellers have any problems. Many things in Zimbabwe remain impressively tourist-friendly. Crime is low – far lower than in South Africa. Trunk roads are good by African standards. And hotels and lodges at key tourist destinations – like Victoria Falls and the Game Parks – remain beautiful places offering excellent service and life-changing experiences.

Apart from thinking about personal safety, Polez also raises ethical questions. Is it right to enjoy oneself in a country where people are starving and dying of basic diseases? Can a tourist do anything positive about such a situation?

For me, the response should be driven by what local people want. Burmese opposition groups have at times called for tourist boycotts of their own country, as did the ANC during the Apartheid years. The reason for such boycotts is to generate an extra pressure point on harsh, intransigent regimes. If a request like that is in place, it is surely unethical to visit.

Zimbabwe’s people today are in a very similar situation to the black majority trapped under Apartheid.   They wish for a change of Government, but are being denied brutally by a repressive clique.  But nobody within Zimbabwean civil society has called for a tourist boycott. So it would be wrong for me to advocate one.

If you do decide to visit Zimbabwe today, next year, next decade, then you will certainly enjoy a wonderful country. Unfortunately a fair proportion of the money you spend here will find its way into the pockets of the rich and odious old men who run the country. But much will reach companies trying to survive and to offer employment. And some will trickle all the way into the pockets of Zimbabwe’s poor to buy food and medicine. Also Zimbabweans love to chat and will give you a very clear picture of the ways in which this country is being misgoverned. They will appreciate it if you take the time to listen, and when you get home you can offer a vivid background of the plight of Zimbabwe’s people – and project your photos of waterfalls and rhinos on top of it!

The choice, Dear Reader, is yours. Thanks for the comment Polez. Philip

______________________________________________________________________________

Dhulamithi stood, as you will know if you are fluent in Ndebele, taller than trees. He was the bull of bulls – an elephant above four metres tall. His tusks alone weighed 110 Kilograms. He might have weighed ten tonnes. We don’t really know because Dhulamithi died in 1920.

I thought of this late mega-tusker at the weekend as I sat in Mana Pools, a shudderingly lovely National Park on the south bank of the Zambezi. I sat as still as I’ve ever sat. For Dhulamithi’s might-be great-grandson, Shamwari - "friend" as my Shona-speaking readership will know - was moving about me, gently snuffling the seed pods which fall from Mana’s sausage trees. His trunk felt around my feet, lifting the delicious scarlet seeds to his grindstone molars. His mighty forehead blotted out the sun. His eyes don’t really see much, but he could smell me as he softly placed his colossal feet. He was calm and gentle, as those who think themselves invulnerable can be.

Dhulamithi was killed by a poacher: Stephanus Barnard a man who delighted in slaughtering thousands of the animals incorporated into Southern Rhodesia after his fellow settlers had slaughtered the Matabele.

And sadly Shamwari may meet the same fate. Zimbabwe should be a wildlife haven. But its environment and wildlife is not being safeguarded. There are not enough tourists to pay for the protection of gigantic national parks. And what budget is allocated to the parks’ authority is spent – as ever in Zimbabwe – on luxury German and Japanese vehicles for politically affiliated top dogs in Harare. Nothing left to help the bottom dogs – the painted variety - that I watched this week lolling together in loyal, wagging packs, psyching themselves up for another collective hunt.

Zimbabwe’s park rangers are decent and skilled men. But on a salary of a dollar a month, lacking food, water, fuel, they cannot stand against better-resourced squads of poachers. In this law and order vacuum, created by the collapse of tourism, the disreputable and the criminal have flourished.

The disreputable are modern day Barnards: pathetic men (and they are all men) who travel thousands of miles to crawl through mud and dung to creep up on scarce animals and kill them. Zimbabwe’s professional guides stand behind ready to finish the condemned animal off – most hunters are terrible marksmen and merely wound. The professionals have to finish the job to shorten the animals’ pain.

The criminals are the poachers. Elephants do suffer, but the main target is Zimbabwe’s dwindling stock of rhinos. Thousands of these blind, armour-plated uber-cows used to roam the country. But there are now just a couple of hundred in protected private reserves. Viable populations of black and white rhino in the Matusadonha and Chivero National Parks have been recently destroyed to Zimbabwe’s great shame.

Nobody really knows who is running the poaching. But the market for rhino horn is of course the Far East, so the advent of Chinese investment here might just be connected. And there is no shortage of officials who will take a bribe to look away. Wildlife is just another part of Zimbabwe’s heritage being mortgaged or sold off for the short-term profit of the ruling elite.

That may all sound grim. Perhaps too grim given the mood of cautious optimism on the streets of Harare. So be assured there is an upside. Zimbabwe’s parks remain – welcoming, beautiful, fecund – and wildlife could recover. I could bore you with a hundred tales of carmine bee-eaters, elands and honey badgers. If the country does stabilise, tourists could return quickly to see these natural delights: creating jobs and national income, as well as the all-important economic case for a properly funded anti-poaching force.

So what is the rhino-horned dilemma? It is yours, gentle reader. Will you come to Zimbabwe’s national parks? For now our travel advice is pretty cautious, so I can hardly tell you to visit. But, if the new power sharing arrangement works - and we all hope that it will deliver justice and prosperity for Zimbabwe – there will be a time when you could think about visiting.

When that time comes, please do visit Zimbabwe: to show support and friendship to its long-suffering people; to do something concrete to help the country’s recovery; to be humbled by Shamwari’s benevolent might and to provide the resources to ensure that his grandchildren continue to grace Mana Pools.

Posted at 13:42 23 September 2008 by Philip Barclay  |  Comments[6]

A country that works

This week I am working from our offices at the High Commission in Pretoria, South Africa – job shadowing. I am working with Russ Dixon and his team.

Just one day in the Pretoria office gives you an idea of just how hard these guys work. The amount of work they do and the number of programmes they whizz through in a day make you realise just how much work we in Harare would be able to do if we were working in a normal environment. South Africa is a country that works. The guys in the Pretoria office have an inspiring fire in their bellies. They have such an overwhelming sense of enthusiasm, it is contagious.

I will admit that I am quite envious of the fact that my colleagues can actually sit down and plan various projects and programmes, set up meetings that bear fruit and confidently speak of what they would like to do in the new year. Coming from Harare, Zimbabwe, I cannot very well say I can confidently say what our public diplomacy strategy will focus on and I cannot even realistically promise that our key objectives will be achieved. I sound despondent but the reality is that my colleagues here are in an enabling environment and I am coming from a place where tomorrow is definitely not promised!

We do a lot of good work in Harare but this week has made me realise just how much more we could achieve if the political situation normalised. We could do more were the environment less hostile. The Zimbabwe story is a major story down here. The difference is that there are so many papers writing about it and all in a very different way – it is just so refreshing even though some of the papers get it wrong. There is a media diversity that makes me envious. Here is a country that has its own political problems but has seen the benefit of different views. Community radio stations are in abundance. They are at least not seen as enemies of the state. Yes, the South African government has many complaints about the media but it is mature enough to realise that with democracy comes the responsibility of ensuring that the various freedoms are respected and upheld. Journalists do not live in fear of being abducted or brutalised. Zimbabwe could learn so much from countries that allow free speech. It might even start developing in the right direction. In the early 80s, I and I am sure several other Zimbabweans took so many things for granted. We lived our lives in a vacuum and allowed so many things to go wrong. We let go of our freedoms and rights and when we started realising our mistake, it was too late. We ceded power to people we trusted to look after our welfare. We went to sleep and forgot that good governance, democracy and human rights are precious commodities that need to be kept under close and constant guard. What we did can happen to any nation that relaxes and forgets or ignores the fact that absolute power corrupts absolutely and that leaders are people who need to be constantly made to account for their actions.

Yes, my colleagues in Pretoria buzz around and get things done. This used to happen in the early years of our independence in Zimbabwe. Development and humanitarian agencies worked efficiently because the country’s wheels were firmly on and were well greased. I feel really energised and there are many lessons I will take from Pretoria but will I still have a country to apply what I have learnt to? The decline in Zimbabwe continues.

As to the negotiations between ZANU PF and the two formations of the Movement for Democratic Change (MDC)- we are told by the leaders that people want a deal now. Really? Has anyone cared to check exactly what kind of deal the people want? Power is good but real power should always be vested in the people. Real power should be drawn from the people. Many people are already on one meal a day but I am sure even as the days get bleaker no one wants a deal that will be meaningless. We all want our country to work again and it can work again. There was a lot of goodwill at independence in 1980 and that goodwill is still out there. We just have to do the right thing as a country.

Posted at 17:05 22 August 2008 by Grace Mutandwa  |  Comments[5]

The Land of Jam and Honey

Businesses which do well in Zimbabwe are those selling hope. 12 Million percent inflation, raids from the price police, shake-downs from ZANU-PF gangs and the prospect of a return to mass violence: this isn’t exactly the recipe for business confidence and economic growth. So most entrepreneurs have given up and moved elsewhere. But there are outlets dispensing optimism and trust in a higher power (even higher than ZANU-PF) and these are doing well.

One of the biggest hope outlets is the Celebration Centre, a huge and popular church packed out on Sundays. I must admit I don’t go to the Celebration Centre much. Their huge posters put me off: “Spiritual Success through Fasting.” I’ve never been too good at fasting.

But I’m dropping in today because the Centre’s café is one of the last places in Harare actually serving food and coffee. I sip a perfectly fine cappuccino and munch a jam doughnut. I hope that the gospel music is improving my soul a little.

I reflect that it’s a bit mean to all the fasting people to serve doughnuts right under their noses. But more seriously it just seems wrong to fast in Zimbabwe. Most people aren’t getting enough to eat anyway and those who are sick and malnourished go downhill very quickly.

So I drive out of the centre’s gates feeling a little ambivalent about my doughnut and almost run over a teenage girl who walks out in front of my car and waves at me. I wind down the window to see what’s up.

“My name is Marita. I am HIV positive and my parents have both passed away. Can I have a lift into town please?”

After a pitch like that I can’t refuse and Marita gets in with me. But before I can get started a vigorous young woman called Esther bounces up to my window and asks if she can have a lift too.

This is a tricky one. The Embassy Security Manager (who is a lovely fella, ex-Royal Navy, fists like granite and humourless when it comes to Embassy folks taking chances) is always telling us never to give lifts to hitch hikers. There’s an obvious risk that we’ll be car-jacked by the people we’re helping.

Now I’ve always taken that with a pinch of salt. I’ve always felt that I’m on safe ground giving lifts to people like Marita. She is thin for her fourteen years and has nasty sores on her skin. With the right drugs, nutrition and shelter she might rally. But she ain’t going to get any of that in Zimbabwe and - awful to say - she is not long for this world. In short, if she tries to mug me I am pretty sure I can overpower her.

But Esther is a different proposition. Not only is she fit and well, but she could be a honey-trap car-jacker . The papers often carry stories of drivers who stop for comely young women only to be overwhelmed by thugs hiding in the bushes. But I’m sitting outside a church; there’s a policeman standing by the roadside and I’m feeling full of doughnut and gospel music, so I open the door for Esther too.

“Thank you so much. The lift is for my husband Simon, this policeman.” And before you can say ‘sucker’, Simon’s in the back of my car and Esther is bounding back into the church.

I can’t believe I fell for it. So here I am driving into Harare, in a British Embassy car, with a girl who could croak at any moment and a Zimbabwean policeman. I am a headline waiting to happen. There’s nothing for it but to have a little polite conversation, in the Zimbabwean style.

Simon tells me, very matter of fact-ly, that God is sponsoring his police career. He recently prayed for advancement within the force and was immediately promoted from Sergeant to Warrant Officer. The Celebration Centre is a great place.

Marita interjects to remind me that she is HIV positive and has no money. I reassure her that the lift is free and she falls silent for a minute or two. My response is not what she had in mind.

Simon is now thanking God for his wife Esther. Can I confirm that she is very beautiful?

I feel we’re drifting into dangerous territory so I change topic. Did Simon notice all the terrible violence that took place in June? Oh yes, the Police know that hundreds of people were beaten in Chisipite just a few hundred metres from the Celebration Centre. But what can be done? The people who carry out the beatings cannot be touched. The Police have orders to let them carry out their violence.

I ask Simon what God would want him to do about the violence. That brings conversation to a bit of a halt as Simon makes little groaning noises and admits that it’s a problem.

I deposit Marita and Simon in the centre of town. Marita reminds me that she has not yet eaten and needs $200,000,000,000 to do so. I give her two shiny little new $10 coins and explain that they are worth the same as two hundred billion old dollars. She clearly does not believe me and gives me a filthy look – the look one gives a man who cheats poor, sick girls - and stalks off.

I’ve had my jam and honey (trap) for the day. Unfortunately there’s no milk, as the dairy farms have all been shut down. Welcome to Zimbabwe! Perhaps the Celebration Centre could arrange for some Manna?

Posted at 18:08 19 August 2008 by Philip Barclay  |  Comments[5]