A brief history of change…

A guy I know who lives in one of Zimbabwe’s smaller towns is chortling with delight. Being in a small town, business was always a bit languid, but during an economic crisis like the one we’re enduring, business had all but dried up. This once-upon-a-time-I-had-my-own-business guy has done just about everything he can to earn a living over the years including diversifying into all sorts of bizarre products and trades - some legal, some not so legal - and always keeping his sense of humour intact.

“I am in the Import Business,” he grandly told me when I saw him last year, exaggerating the word ‘Import’ as if it really meant something. It turned out he had started employing a couple of guys as runners to bring in whatever people in his town needed from Botswana and South Africa - soap, toilet paper, toothpaste.

“Ja, you and everyone else,” I retorted.

That business came to an end when the runners ran but didn’t come back, as he put it, taking with them some forex he’d given them to buy products. “I hope the crocs in the Limpopo bit their backsides,” he said at the time, half-seriously I think. Like so many they had decided to stay in the greener pastures of South Africa.

But he is on top form again: “Today I am in the doorstop business,” he said. “Do you know how expensive a doorstop is these days!?” adopting the you-are-NOT-going-to-believe-what-I’m-going-to-say-next tone of voice that all Zimbabweans use when they talk about prices.

“How much?” I asked, knowing I was probably going to regret the question.

“Trillions, and maybe even quadrillions of billions of dollars,” he said earnestly, rrr-rollling out the rrrrr-rillions.

“I am serious,” he insisted when I locked my eyebrows into my hairline, “doorstops are in big demand. Forget food, forget sadza, forget fuel: EVERYONE wants my doorstop”.

“Can I have your doorstop then?” I asked, playing along.

“Sure,” he said, “you know what, you are a special person; you can have my doorstop.” ( There was bound to be a catch with him, and of course there was). “You can have my doorstop… if you can pick it up!”

“OK, where is it?” I asked gamely.

“There!” he shouted with total delight, pointing to a storeroom door across the room, his big face beaming happily in anticipation at the culmination of his joke.

Against the door was a large crate, and in the crate were lots and lots of plastic bank bags, all neatly containing coins sorted into their denominations. Too many to count and too heavy to pick up. Each coin the equivalent of 1 billion dollars minimum.

He was right: the ‘doorstop’ was worth trillions and maybe even quadrillions and everyone would want it if they could get their hands on it! It had been there for years gathering dust and today, my friend who was broke a couple of days ago, was sitting with a small fortune.

“So are you going to at least take me shopping and let me help you spend some of your trrrrrrrillions?” I joked.

“Nah”, he said with mock thoughtfulness, “my brother overseas says if I keep them and and wait until they lose their value then he can sell them for me on Ebay and I’ll be even richer - in US dollars!” he said, bursting into laughter.

He’s joking of course: the windfall will be spent before hyperinflation strips it of its value, and that means he has a lot of shopping to do very quickly - if only he could find something to buy!

I can remember the days when we used to have coins. There was an awkward period when there was an extreme shortage, and people were buying and selling bags of change at higher than their value prices, simply so they had change to give to their customers. Money is never worth what it should be in Zimbabwe.

Those who were left with bags of change when inflation gripped hard made jokes about the ’shrapnel’ lying around their homes and offices. The coins were so valueless it wasn’t even worth the effort of taking them to the bank to cash them in. Those people are laughing all the way to the bank now, but everyone knows it won’t be long before they become worthless again, and we’re all taking guesses at how long it will be before we’re back to bank notes: a couple of weeks, a month? Who knows!

(I am such a cynic, but I’ll bet Gono and the guys at the top all stashed up on coins before they made the announcement; such an opportunity for quick wealth would be very hard for the very corrupt to pass up on.)

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