Needing food aid

The Friday feeding scheme at the City Church began some years ago. The hungry come from far and wide; some from the neighbourhood, others from a squatter camp many kilometres away; still others from the high density suburbs. They come... men and women, young, old and middle-aged, mostly black, but, yes, a few whites too. They hold a "ticket" - a piece of card stamped with the Church stamp, a number in large figures and their name. The names and numbers are recorded in a book and each week the numbers are called out. On production of their tickets, they are given about 1 kg of mealie meal (maize meal), and either 100g of kapenta fish, or 500g of dried beans or 100g of mopani worms. The latter are seasonal - they look repulsive, but are considered a great delicacy. The names are ticked off once they have received their ration, but even so some try to collect twice!

These people live by their wits. They have to! There are frequent stories of tickets "lost" or "stolen" or destroyed by fire, flood or other means. Often the team running the feeding scheme will replace the "lost" ticket, but two people arriving with the same number is not unknown. Who is the rightful owner? The job calls for the wisdom of Solomon - and the patience of Job. On one occasion, just around the corner and out of sight of the Church, the weekly ration was extracted from the recipient as payment of a lost bet.

On average, food is given to about 150 people each week. They don't all come personally. Some are too old or frail to make the journey and their tickets are brought by children or friends. Others are lazy and save themselves the trouble by getting someone else to collect for them...but they then have to persuade the recipient to hand it over!

Who are these people? Let's meet a few of them at random.

There is Priscilla, a young mother, probably in her twenties. She has a toddler clinging to her skirt. He looks about two but is actually four. She also has twin babies whom she struggles to carry, one on her back and the other on her hip. They look less than a year old, but are nearly two now, their growth retarded as a result of malnutrition.

Then there is the gentleman who shares the same name as one of Zimbabwe's more notorious politicians in the bureau of state propaganda. The contrast could hardly be greater. The politician sports a Saville Row suit, a new Mercedes and the latest cell phone... and throws his weight around. His namesake is a real African gentleman, gracious, courteous and helpful. His clothes are shabby, his shoes worn, but he is always ready to intervene if some of the young men become a bit obstreperous.

Violet is employed as a domestic worker nearby. Why does she come? Well, her monthly wage is about Z$100000 (under ten pounds), several of her own children have died of AIDS and she is now trying to support 5 grandchildren. Her employer will soon move into a retirement village and Violet's services will no longer be required. What will she do then? She is not alone - there are many others in a similar situation.

Patrick is one of the few poor whites who come. He and his common law coloured "wife" look as though they are well into their sixties, but they probably appear older than they really are. They live in the car park at the local shops, eking out a living from begging and existing as best they can with a cooking pot and a few blankets between them. It's hard when it rains!

Biziwell is the professional con man, but the organizers are wise to him now. They used to believe every sob story he came up with, but having been taken in many times, now they make sure that he gets his food ration and nothing more .. no money for bus fares home, or medicine, or anything else. Hard? Yes, but one learns not to be too gullible.

Then there is the one called "Peter" because that's the name on the card, though in fact Peter is his grandfather. "Peter" is a little boy and should be in school, but even in term time he comes to collect the food. There's probably no money for school fees anyway.

Emma is mentally disabled, but she attends a little school for teenagers who are "academically disadvantaged." Her number is 145 but she usually pushes to the front of the queue so that she won't be too late for school. Who knows who pays her fees?

Then we have Thomas, who is blind, and Joseph and Margaret and Daisy and Kunda and a hundred others, each with his or her own story of hardship and suffering. They are amazingly cheerful in spite of it all.

Some people come regularly and then suddenly they are seen no more. What has happened? No doubt many of the younger ones have made their way across the border to "greener pastures" in Botswana or South Africa, only to discover that life is bleak there too. Months later they might reappear, with a vague story about "going home." Many are HIV positive, and the word goes around, "so-and-so is too sick to come." Some just disappear and eventually their number is allocated to another. There is never any shortage of would-be recipients.

Will it ever end? All the indications are that the situation will get worse before it improves, if it ever does. Does this Church's small contribution make any difference? There is the story of the old man and the boy who were walking along a beach cluttered with stranded starfish after a storm. The boy picked up a starfish from the sand and threw it back in the ocean, then another and another. The old man chided him, "What difference can you make? There are thousands of these stranded up and down the beach!" The child picked up another starfish, tossed it in the ocean and replied, "I made a difference to that one." (Told by Joni Eareckson in 'The God I love.")

Day 8: 2 January 2005
Our article for the eighth day of Christmas describes how the ZANU-PF government has done everything possible to control all aspects of food supply, culminating in the latest efforts to restrict the activities of NGOs.