What a pleasure it was to attend an official occasion, presided over by Robert Mugabe, which was relaxed, carefree, joyous. No haranguing about Tony Blair or even about his imperialist agents in Zimbabwe. No incipient power struggles, warnings and threats to comply with autocratic dictates. Rather a true celebration of achievement, both on the personal and on the national level. A new university opened its doors only thirteen years ago, and already, in a single ceremony, it is graduating 645 students, in four different faculties, with more than ten different degrees, over a hundred of them post-graduates.

They pack the nearly-completed Great Hall, with their friends and relatives, good-naturedly waiting for an hour for the procession to file in and commence the proceedings. The delay has perhaps been caused by the long queues which formed outside in the searing heat, as everyone was forced to file through police checks. The uninitiated were dismayed to find that cameras were forbidden - how can I attend my son's graduation without a camera? - but the hardened graduation goers already know from previous years that cameras are dangerous items which can conceal bombs and can not be risked where Mugabe is in attendance. Official cameramen must be relied on to record the great event of a lifetime. Nevertheless, all eventually file through, bags searched and declared safe. The red carpet leading up to the door of the Hall is soiled by the time the thousands have crossed it to find their seats. Excited graduates walk up and down, parading their finery of gowns, hoods and mortarboards seemingly oblivious to the fact that these are colonial trappings. Regular uniformed police ensure that no one trespasses on territory reserved for the important, while the more menacing with their hip-hugging pistols or their AKs slung at the ready seek out vantage-points from which they can eye the crowd.

Finally the arrival of the processions is announced. And then we are treated to a veritable visual encyclopaedia of the regalia of the world's universities. A colourful procession of academics in flowing black gowns, with hoods all colours of the rainbow, mortarboards or floppy velvet hats, depending on the particular degree. It is a thrilling display, for any true imperialist, of the influence of the European university tradition, even in the far-flung reaches of the empire where such bequests are apparently no longer appreciated. Then comes Mugabe himself, decked out in the gown and hat of one of his many alma maters, enjoying himself along with the rest. He is accompanied by no less than fifteen police officials, in a variety of uniforms and non-uniforms, as well as two uniformed nurses carrying medical kits. Standard procedure, it appears. The army band is magnificent, playing a dignified processional as the parade of professors, council members, fraternal university vice-chancellors and other important persons files slowly toward the stage and take their seats. But the ZANU PF provincial chairmen ? Ministers, Governors, perhaps, they are government appointees, but party chefs - what is their entitlement to a chair on the stage ?

But more are to come. Those graduating students who took seriously the need to limit their guests to two family members, choosing between spouse and parents, look on in dismay while the procession is followed by at least a hundred party hangers-on, women with the Mugabe's picture on their ample backsides, youth in party T shirts, looking distinctly uncomfortable in the august academic gathering. Their role is not clear - an extended bodyguard, or a rabble out for a free lunch ? But how did they come through the police checks without invitation cards ? Another of the imponderables Zimbabweans have become accustomed to overlooking.

The ceremony itself finally gets under way. Only one speech, from the acting Vice-Chancellor. This is the first graduation at which the founding Vice-Chancellor, Phineas Makhurane, has not been present, as he retired during the year. His successor has not yet been confirmed in the post. But he recounts the achievements of the university, the new programmes that are already functioning. Students will graduate for the first time in Library Science, in Quantity Surveying, with a Bachelor of Architecture. The Bulawayo School of Health Sciences, which trains medical personnel, has been absorbed into the university. The university is expanding, meeting new needs of the nation in such a wide variety of technical and commercial fields. A technopark, to link the university and industry is in the planning stage. But there are failings too - in spite of a gender sensitive affirmative action admissions policy, only 23% of the graduates are women. There are other problems he doesn't tell us about. Some are evident. In spite of 12 years of building, the Great Hall is not yet finished, neither is the library, which stands next to it, a large and intriguing mass of concrete which will certainly not house books for the next two or three years. Very few residences exist for students, and equipment needed for scientific and technical training is not available. Lecturers are difficult to attract and even more difficult to retain. At least half of the teaching is done by part-timers, fitted into their other work schedules. The salaries can no longer attract the best, or even the mediocre, Zimbabweans or expatriates.

The students file up one by one to be capped by Mugabe - the almost mandatory chancellor of every institution of higher learning in Zimbabwe. Families and friends ululate, applaud and dance their excitement. A son, a wife, a father, has succeeded in achieving a dream after years of hard work, of financial and personal sacrifice. The choir congratulates them with energetic songs to the delight of the assembly. There is every reason to rejoice. The years of penury are over, a graduate brings status, but more important, will get a better job, will earn a good salary, will support the whole family.

But will they? The university and its graduates are not separate from the problems which plague the whole society. The degree has been achieved, but will it bring economic security to the holder and her family? How many of these graduates in commerce, in textile production, in architecture, in engineering will find employment in the crumbling economy? Will they really contribute to the nation's growth, or will they follow the flood of emigrants looking for prosperity? A young man being awarded a degree in management admits that less than half of his class have jobs, six months after they completed their course. What will happen to them? And what will happen to the cohorts of next year and the year after? Enormous amounts are spent on university education in Zimbabwe, but is it money put to good use when the economy cannot employ them? And there are questions about quality. Without the necessary staff and equipment, what is the value of the degrees? Already the first graduates in the Faculty of Architecture have two degrees, but neither is recognised by the Institute of Architects. The students at NUST are the cream of Zimbabwean youth. But are they being adequately trained in an ambitious but under-resourced institution?

If any of the assembled crowd harbours such doubts, they are not voiced. The mood is joyous. As the last graduate descends from the stage, the choir breaks out into exuberant song, the graduates take off their clumsy mortarboards and wave them back and forth as they join in the chorus of congratulations. The colourful academics parade out and disappear for their lunch. The graduates and their families hug and kiss each other and wish each other well. From the elation of the occasion they move towards the car park and the bus stop, but find their way blocked. A single metal detector has been set up and police barricades placed so that everyone must file through it. Not surprisingly, a crowd builds up as people push to get through. But this harsh re-entry into the real world of Zimbabwe does not dampen the happy mood. For today, at least, they are determined not to be deterred from their right to celebrate.