Grace Mutandwa

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]