It only takes a visit to Binga to instill in one, just how totally decimated that part of the country has been over the last ten years. The Tonga people had succeeded in building themselves a life here, fifty years after the construction of Lake Kariba had forced them into what is possibly the most arid and inhospitable terrain in Africa.

They had adjusted to a life of herding cattle, subsistence farming where there is little or no rainfall, wood carving for tourism, and fishing for those lucky enough to be relocated fairly near the lake.

But in recent times, as their dislike of the hated ruling party became obvious, the wrath of Zanu-PF descended on them, turning a tidy little colony into the dusty begging bowl that it is today. Politics, in spite of the GNU, is still spoken of in hushed voices, many Zanu PF supporters had been moved in to Government positions here to keep an eye on the people, and the entire Binga area, a total of 1500 hectares, with a population of 130 thousand, has been under siege virtually since the constitutional elections in 2000.

A visit to a “growth point”, just south-west of Binga, showed us just how the economic and political upheavals of the past few years had affected the rural community. They are desperately poor. The rains were not too bad this year, but with a lack of seed and fertiliser, the impoverished community was unable to capitalize on the unusually high rainfall and crops are sparse.

Cotton is one crop that does fairly well in Binga and the Cotton Marketing Board had a fairly good system running before the political wheels fell off the country. At the foothills of the Chizarira Mountains I saw the remnants of what once was a good subsistence cotton crop. Great piles of giant hessian bags marked “Cotco 2008” were everywhere awaiting collection. It was very dirty poor grade cotton, the bags were already rotting in the boiling sun, and cotton – someone’s livelihood – was spilling out and blowing away in the wind.

“They will come and get it one day, when a price has been negotiated” was the calm response to my question.

“One day” is an indifferent term in Zimbabwe time; it could be weeks, months or years, but someone will come “one day” and collect it, as sure as day turns into night.

Terminology has moved on in Zimbabwe. We now do not speak of “Change” or “Chinja”. We do not say wistfully with almost every breath “When things change”; we now speak of “When things get better” – and so it seemed this way too in Binga. I never fail to be proud, but always astounded, at how self-effacing, how humble, and peaceful Zimbabweans can be in the face of hardship and despair.

Logistics play a big part in rural Binga’s economy. What trucking company will come all this way, on a road that shatters your bones to pieces, when diesel is short yet again, and hard currency is hard to come by? No doubt the cotton farmer will be paid with the peculiar “Government Voucher” which allows him to buy at certain supermarkets around the country. How many of them are in Binga, I wonder?

Thankfully the “User”, the local name for the US$, does not devalue and the farmer may one day get some goods, or some cotton seed to replant for when “Things come right” – hopefully not when its too late.

Another glaring anomaly in this remote Binga district was the incongruous sight of a mighty brand-spanking-new Kipor Generator, officially marked with some sort of reference number. It must have been all of 100 Hz, enough to provide power to a hotel, but sitting as proud as punch in a pole and wire lean-to, goats nestling against it cosily for the shade!

Next to the giant sunshine yellow generator was a brand new grinding mill, untouched by human hands, pristine and unsullied. Not a gram of maize had been ground by it. It was a gift from the ‘ruling-party’ Zanu-PF, prior to the elections in 2008. This donation is a big expensive effort to bribe the Zanu-PF loathing community into voting for it. Which consortium of brilliant government intellectuals had thought of this interesting scheme? How does one come across hundreds of litres of diesel to run this mighty machine in the middle of darkest Africa? It is such a gigantic beast, one would probably be looking at one litre an hour at the least, and where were the spares and where was the maintenance program ? All of this is irrelevant, I assume, because the real point was to try secure votes!

A generator of this size in a community where survival requires musika pods and umcaga berries to be harvested from trees by elderly grandmothers? Where bullfrogs and flying-ants are a delicacy? Where one single hand-pump borehole must supply a community with villages as far as twenty kilometres away? Where cattle, sheep, goats and humans drink from the same hand-pump?

But the goats were comfortable and the yellow peril stood proud and tall. The people smiled ironically at the machine as they walked past to the hand-pump borehole, carrying endless buckets on their heads. There’s no folling the people of Binga – they now this machine is yet another useless legacy of proof of a government with its back once seriously against the wall.

My tour guide is Gift, 18 years old, with fiercely red eyes that stared out from a gaunt sallow face. Gift is from Nyanga originally, he left school in Form one, and has never had a job. He “works” the streets, the systems, watches cars, cleans cars, buys and sells commodities – and he lives in a ditch.

I have watched Gift grow up from a skinny little kid into even skinnier adulthood. There is a home for street kids in Bulawayo run by a wonderfully caring church group, but after Gift’s initial stay with them, he ran away, preferring the freedom of the streets. We took a trip to his “Home” which is not far from his main haunt – a suburban shopping centre in what was once an affluent residential suburb. Not any more!

Gift’s home comprises a shallow depression behind a fallen log; dead palm fronds, artfully placed, protect his privacy from passers-by. His worldly possessions include a broken bucket, a tiny wire mesh grate, several ragged blankets and various tin cups and plates.

He bathed every day, he told me, in a bucket of cold water from a tap near a hotel where wealthy tourists and businessmen stay during their visits to Zimbabwe. You can smell alcohol on Gift, but in spite of his horrendous living conditions, he also smelled of cheap soap!

Alcohol is his lifeline, he said – alcohol and dagga (cannabis). With these substances he can cope with “being laughed at” he said me sadly. A twist of dagga is easily and readily available for just one rand. Skokiaan is his preferred drink, costing two rands for a “scud”. (Skokiaan most typically refers to a fast brewed ‘home-brew’. It sometimes contains meths.)

We spoke about the cold at nights – Bulawayo had a black frost this week destroying some farm crops and many urban gardens – but Gift says he actually prefers the cold! He explained that during winter the snakes go underground to sleep. Gift is dreadfully afraid of snakes. He burns plastic bags at night to keep his fire going – he tells me that plastic burns for quite a long time. There is never a shortage of plastic bags flying around Bulawayo in spite of the recent “Keep our City Clean” campaign. He also prefers to sleep alone: I gathered from his conversation that something sad in his youth made him a bit of a loner.

Gift is well spoken despite his lack of formal education and happily took me on a tour of some of the town’s darker side.

“There ” he said, “under the bridge, live some bad criminals”. I could see smoke trickling out: I cross that bridge every day and this was the first time I learned that anyone lived underneath it! He introduced me to his friend Colin who lives nearby in similar lodgings. Colin is disabled both mentally and physically, and just nods slowly, his tiny face moving slowly from side to side: like a captive creature he shifts his weight constantly from one foot to the other.

Axes for sale

We progressed to the Railway Station area where there were groups of men gathered together in the sparse sunlight, garnering what little warmth they could from the suns rays, to prepare for the cold night ahead. There was no one sleeping on the pavements yet (during the day they are moved off) but as night falls, dozens of Bulawayo’s homeless return to what is possibly the only home they have ever known.

Gift prefers his own quarters, he does not partake of the soup kitchen so valiantly run by that amazing man Ben Strydom. “People laugh at me” he says, “they say I am young and I should get a job”. Unemployment runs at 90% in Zimbabwe: where on earth would he get a job he asks?

I wondered about his preoccupation and fear of “being laughed at” …..?

As we tour the city I take cognisance of all the small ways in which the unemployed were eking out a living: there outside the post office is a man who mends shoes. People were sitting on the pavement waiting while he repaired their shoes. A new sole here, a new strap here, a bottle of glue, a strip of leather, a few nails and he has a business! It was ingenious people like him who bore the brunt of Mugabe’s terrible Operation Murambatsvina.

Scanias for hire

There were dozens of scanias (push carts) littering the city, many of the owners lay dozing in the warm sun because their scania rental business has dropped since the initial flurry of forex has been spent. In more profitable times, these scanias would collect your goods from the railway station, move house for you, carry your goods from the market or the shop, all for a small fee.

Corner shop

Almost every street corner has a tiny shop consisiting of a cardboard box on which neat rows of sweets, cigarettes, oranges or tomatoes are arranged.

‘Juice-up’ guy

Every corner and traffic light also features a “Juice Up” man or woman – cards to top-up one’s cell phones can be purchased from the ‘juice-up’ man. For a tiny country we have an inordinate amount of cell phone providers!

We then came across Gift’s friend Cephas who sells apples. Cephas is twelve years old, he goes to school, but his mother is ill and so his afternoons are spent touting his apples around from corner to corner. Cephas does not like to just sit and sell, he likes to actually market his goods.

Cephas

He has a bottle of water with which he washes the apples and keeps them nice and glistening and they look deliciously appealing! The bruised sides are kept facing downwards. Two rand buys you a Granny Smith apple! Cephas tells me he sometimes earns seventy rand a day clear profit !

I took Gift back “Home” as dusk fell; he needed to cook before the sun went down. He promised that if I gave him some money he would not spend it on dagga or skokiaan, but would look for some warm accommodation.

According to the weather-man, the temperature would be reaching three degrees Celsius tonight.

So Robert Mugabe has made a donation of 300 million Zimbabwe dollars to the Catholic Church, or to a women’s group, the Marian Association, within the Church. Bishop Patrick Mutume confirmed the donation and said it is to be invested on the money market until a decision is made on how best to use it.

Shame on the Catholic Church for accepting money given in this cynical, calculating way from the bloodied hands of a dictator. Can they not see they are being used again as the dictator has used and abused the Church over and again in the past, for his own shameless political advantage – in this case as a shabby electioneering stunt ? And this from a man who, only a few weeks ago, was openly gloating at the discomfort caused to his nemesis, the fearless Archbishop Pius Ncube, by the state-initiated and CIO- directed campaign to undermine the Bishop’s massive popularity among the millions of victims of mis-rule. That vicious campaign which touched new depths of moral depravity misfired, causing widespread revulsion and hence more damage to its instigators than to the beloved Bishop whose reputation for courage and integrity remains intact. Hence the need on the dictator’s part to recover some of the further ground lost by the disgraceful antics of his CIO/state media mafia.

300 million Zimbabwe dollars, or just over one thousand US dollars in real money…. It represents a pittance to the man who has robbed his nation blind and secured for himself a life of opulence beyond the wildest dreams of his poor, wretched fellow citizens. Surely an insult to God. Were it a sign of true repentance the Biblical measure, taken from the story of Zacchaeus the tax collector (Luke 19), would be a half the dictator’s possessions given to the poor and four times the amount he has ever cheated returned to those he has wronged. On that scale we might see the whole Zimbabwean economy re-floated ! No further need for any assistance from the IMF, and the WFP could call off their campaign to feed two million starving Zimbabweans …

But the size of the gift apart, it was morally wrong of the Catholic Church to accept it. It is blood money received from a man who as Fr. Oskar Wermter has already observed, has effectively excommunicated himself “that is to say put himself outside the community of the Church, by resisting the word of the church and attacking the bishops in a most offensive, vulgar form”. Once again the church has been outmanoeuvred by the wily dictator. The damage having been done however, perhaps the church could make one smart move to redeem something of its moral authority. To this end I would suggest that instead of investing the donation on the money market (sic !) they donate the 300 million to one of the following causes.

• To the orphans, widows and widowers of some of the 20,000 victims of Gukurahundi, whose deaths can fairly be attributed to the man who called in the North Korean military instructors in the early 1980s and who then sent in the notorious Five Brigade under his command
• To the estimated 150,000 former farm workers still homeless and destitute as a result of the chaotic and violent take-over of the commercial farms
• To some of the 700,000 odd victims of Operation Murambatsvina whose homes and business were trashed in 2005, and most of whom are still homeless, unemployed and hungry
• To some of the 2.1 million urban and rural Zimbabweans already dependent upon food aid from the international community through the catastrophic impact of the dictator’s political whims upon the economy
• To a fund in support of some of the 3 to 4 million Zimbabweans (a quarter of the population) now forced into exile in order to survive, and many of whom are living in abject poverty and squalor.

The list could go on, but after all Mugabe’ derisory gift (already halved in value due to hyper inflation (!)) will not go all that far. However to donate the paltry sum, publicly, to such a cause would at least be a token of the Catholic Church’s repentance for allowing a vicious tyrant to use the church (again) to promote his own sickening propaganda.

Technorati Tags: Zimbabwe, church, catholic church, mugabe

A lady observed to be carrying four loaves of bread as she emerged from a supermarket was promptly arrested by a police officer who charged her with “hoarding”. She was not given any opportunity to explain how many mouths she was responsible for feeding or how long it had taken her to purchase the precious loaves of bread.

She was detained in the police station from 10.00 am to 4.00 pm and then released – on condition she sold two of the four loaves to the police!

Technorati Tags: Zimbabwe, justice, police, ZRP, corruption, economy

A long queue was forming at the OK Store in Bulawayo as a limited amount of the exceedingly rare commodity, sugar, was on sale in small quantities. It wasn’t long before a few police officers entered the store to ascertain the cause of excitement of the growing crowd. On discovering that sugar was on sale the police officers pushed in ahead of the queue and demanded to be served. At this point the assistant manager intervened. Politely but firmly he informed the members of the ZRP that they would have to take their place in the queue like everyone else. There was a murmur of approval from the waiting crowd who overheard the conversation.

The officers however were livid. They stormed out of the store after telling the manager in no uncertain terms that he would pay for his impudence.

A short while later another small contingent from the ZRP was observed entering the premises. They walked up and down the aisles for a few minutes and then demanded to see the manager. When he appeared they produced a bottle of face cream on which had mysteriously appeared a new price tag indicating a price in excess of the maximum decreed by the price commission. The assistant manager was promptly arrested for over-charging customers and taken by the ZRP members to the Donnington police station where he was detained overnight.

Technorati Tags: Zimbabwe, ZRP, corruption, police, economy

So honour is satisfied and Dr Gideon Gono, Governor of the Reserve Bank of Zimbabwe, is satisfied that he has put the record straight and proved himself entirely innocent of the charge of squandering the country’s limited foreign exchange reserves by purchasing for himself through the Reserve Bank one of the world’s top performing and most luxurious cars, a Mercedes Benz Brabus E V12 Biturbo, costing US$ 365,000. The facts are, as Dr Gono has now established, that the vehicle purchased for him by a Reserve Bank very grateful for his services, was a Mercedes Benz S600 V12 (with a 5,5 L 493 hp twin turbo engine and a top speed of 250 km/h). And it cost no more than US$ 138,000, plus Z$ 23 million for related importation expenses.

Moreover, not only has the much-maligned Dr Gono cleared himself of any suspicion of unfairly enriching himself at the expense of his fellow Zimbabweans in a time of certain financial belt-tightening. He has also shown that he is a man of true magnanimity by holding no grudges against The Standard which published the original story, and even persuading the Reserve Bank’s Board not to sue that newspaper. Truly the man is not only a paragon of virtue; he also has the forgiving nature of a saint. Zimbabweans can be truly proud of the man who has made such a fine job of running the country’s economy almost single-handedly for the last three years. Look around you and see for yourselves what he has achieved. Surely it is little wonder then that our revered leader has in mind even greater honours for such a man as this. (The rumours are that it is His Excellency’s wish that when he finally hands over responsibility for the day to day running of the Mugabe Family Estate, to assume the role of titular head of state, those responsibilities should devolve upon none other than Gideon Gono, under the style of Prime Minister)

So yes, Dr Gono has set the record straight and we are all deeply indebted to him for the time and trouble he has taken to do so. And surely the Z$ 34 million of taxpayers’ money and the many pages of advertisements, penned by the Governor himself and appearing in our English, Shona and Ndebele newspapers, were fully justified in order that we might all be so enlightened, and the slur on the Governor’s character be removed.

Of course it is not excessive for any public official of the stature of Dr Gono to purchase for himself at the taxpayer’s expense a vehicle costing US$ 138,000 – even if this is several hundred times the annual salary of Zimbabwe’s doctors – isn’t Dr Gono worth it, I ask. And never mind the dismal chorus of unpatriotic citizens who now claim that the majority of Zimbabweans are living below the poverty datum line. Indeed some of Zimbabwe’s enemies – aided by the scare-mongering U.S. Famine Early Warning Systems Network (FEWSNET) – are now putting out the story that the country does not have the foreign exchange needed to pay to import even a fraction of the maize required to feed the nation. But I have no doubt that our illustrious Governor would have informed the nation in good time if this was the case, and even made a few personal sacrifices as an example to us all.

No, I say a man of Dr Gono’s stature whom our revered leader has already tipped for even higher service to the nation, is entitled to a few perks. It seems entirely appropriate that he should have a taste of the lifestyle reserved for Zimbabwe’s most patriotic (ZANU PF) citizens.

In conclusion I have to say there is just one matter on which I am a little unclear. Dr Gono referred to the apology and retraction published by The Standard for their infamy. I have scanned the pages of that newspaper and cannot find any such explicit apology – only a report (published on 21 January) of what Dr Gono said about the matter, set alongside the paper’s original allegations. I do hope The Standard is not trying to undermine the authority of the Governor by any subtle insinuation.

Technorati Tags: Gideon Gono, Reserve Bank of Zimbabwe, Mercedes, Zimbabwe

In my worst nightmare I had never imagined Zimbabweans being reduced to this level of poverty and degradation.

Themba (not his real name of course) lost his nine-year old daughter in a car accident earlier this year. Soon after he was diagnosed as HIV positive himself, and he began attending my friend’s clinic for counselling. Troubles enough to contend with, one would have thought, but that was just the beginning …

Themba, his wife Noma, and their nine-month old baby, Memory, were living in a shack at Mbare. It was all they could afford seeing their only income was the pittance Noma earned from selling vegetables on the streets six days a week.

Then Mugabe’s Tsunami struck Mbare. Within 24 hours all the dwellings and informal businesses of thousands of Mbare residents had been flattened in the infamous Operation Murambatsvina. Themba and Noma’s shack was destroyed along with the rest. As Mugabe’s uniformed thugs withdrew all that remained of the once-vibrant street community was so much charred debris, under a dark pall of smoke. A good night’s work for the dictator.

When she learnt of their plight my friend found the desperate family a room in Borrowdale – a temporary measure to put a roof over their heads at least. Alas it was too late for the baby, Memory, who died within a few days of the move. Died of what, it is difficult to say. Malnutrition, an infant infection, the deadly virus, or exposure ? Over exposure to a heartless and cruel world, I say.

Another victim of another whim of the fascist dictator – for order, martial discipline, vengeance and power. Another statistic, this one not even recorded. Who cares ? Who will remember Memory ? Her distraught mother and father, of course. But it was too much for Noma. No sooner had she buried her baby daughter than she took her own life, painfully, with a double dose of rat poison.

Leaving just Themba – with no wife, no child, no house, no work – and precious little dignity. Thank God he later found his way back to my friend who had been counselling him, and she, through dogged perseverance, found him a job sweeping a factory floor.

Themba was so grateful to be offered a job, but there was a problem. He did not own a single pair of shoes and he could hardly report for work barefoot. Could my friend help with this too ? She sms’d her friends and soon enough had found a pair of shoes, size 7, second-hand.

So Themba reports for work as a factory hand, still not defeated. An incredible testimony to the indomitable human spirit. But how will he ever heal the hurt and grief within ? Wouldn’t rage be more appropriate than resignation?

Poverty Mugabe Zimbabwe Human Rights

I heard the following story the other day, which I thought you might like to include among your blogs. It was from an impeccable source, though for obvious reasons I can’t give names, and it just goes to show how deceptive appearances can be. Not every high ranking police officer is a supporter of ZANU PF or an enthusiastic supporter of their hate and violence brand of politics. Far from it. Many senior and junior ZRP officers hate the trashing of professional standards and the zany orders they receive from the party top brass.

Some of our pastors from Bulawayo who are following up on victim
s of the infamous Operation Murambatsvina are obliged to travel widely in the region to make contact with those dumped in remote rural areas. Pastors and church workers alike are trying to extend the helping hand to these unfortunate victims of Mugabe’s ethnic cleansing. Once they have established contact, they then take them food and blankets, as well as trying to cover school fees, so far as the church’s slender resources will allow.

One of these brave church workers – let’s call him A.B. – recently had to visit a rural area in Matabeleland south for this purpose. His journey took him deep into territory now under the rule of terror imposed by one of the imposter ZANU PF Members of Parliament. (You will understand that I have place names and the names of the individuals concerned but dare not mention them for fear of retribution to those concerned) Anyway A.B. was speaking with one of the District Administrator’s assistants, a very helpful lady, when a phone call came through from the ZRP. A.B. was to return to the police station at the local growth point immediately.

This he did, in fear and trepidation, taking with him two other church workers who were accompanying him. On arrival at the police station they were summoned into the office of the ZRP inspector. The inspector dismissed the other two and when they were quite alone he addressed A.B. “Are you A.B. ?” he enquired (using the man’s real names of course) “Yes”, replied A.B. “Are you the same A.B. who was talking on Studio 7 the other night ?” asked the inspector. A.B. had indeed been interviewed on the radio a short while before, when he had spoken quite candidly about the terrible suffering caused by Operation Murambatsvina. Now, fearing the worst, he replied directly, “Yes, that is me.” A long pause followed, during which our church worker began to think his next stop would be in the police cells. Then at last from the superintendent, “Well done ! You are a brave man”.

A.B. let out a huge sigh of relief, as the superintendent went on to explain that these were the most difficult and dangerous of times. But the superintendent was himself a Christian who was trying to do the best possible thing in the worst of times. “When you want to visit your church members in this area,” he said to A.B., “You must be alert. Come to my office first and get a letter from me, saying you have my authority to give them food. If you don’t, you may be stoned or arrested or worse”.

Last week uniformed police in Hippo Valley Estates chased and caught a woman who was carrying four loaves of bread. They apparently considered this a crime though God knows when the carrying of four loaves became a crime, even in ZANU PF’s twisted logic. In any event they “fined” the poor woman $ 15,000 and purported to confiscate the bread.

Why, oh why, you ask, did she not protest or call out for help? The answer is simple. She was petrified.

When the story reached the Hippo Valley Estates however they sent an official along to the police station to investigate. Whereupon it was revealed that there was no report of the case. In short, the police details responsible had robbed the woman of her precious four loaves, using their uniforms and appearance of authority to assist in the commission of the crime.

It is known also that the Mkwasine police have raided farms in the area, seizing groceries and other goods which the farmers were storing for their workers until pay day. The explanation given by the police for their blatantly unlawful conduct is that the farmers were hoarding goods.

So low have we sunk in Mugabe’s law-of-the-jungle Zimbabwe!

Zimbabwe, Police, Poverty, Corruption

A new wave of repression has hit Bulawayo’s western suburbs and is spreading rapidly. It is called after its Shona name “pfekazvakanaka”, meaning “dress well”. I first heard about it this morning from a youth from Mpopoma, let’s call him Vusa.

Vusa is a good looking youth who, until yesterday, used to sport dreadlocks. But he told me how on Friday (June 24) he and a girl friend found themselves cornered by group of about 30 so-called riot police. I say “riot police” because, as Vusa explained, they were wearing new riot police uniforms. Yet the people of Mpopoma did not recognise any of them, and when they spoke to one another, it was observed that they talked in Shona.

There were both men and women in the unit. One of their number carried a rifle across his shoulder while the others were armed with iron bars and sticks. All one can say with any certainty therefore is that they were a group of Mu
gabe’s thugs, masquerading as riot police.

The group stopped Vusa and his friend and demanded to know why they were not dressed properly. It soon transpired that they objected to the dreadlocks. They also objected to the trousers worn by Vusa’s girl friend. Patriotic youths, they were told, must dress properly (Phekazvakanaka). These other fashions were not acceptable.

With threats and coarse abuse they instructed Vusa to cut off the dreadlocks at once and the girl to change into some more modest attire. The unit was sweeping through the townships and if they came across the couple again and they had not changed, they would be severely beaten.

Then, just to make the point that they were the law now and any resistance was futile, they ordered Vusa and the girl to carry the big hammers they were wielding, to their next demolition job down the next road. Another structure was to be destroyed, another family instantly rendered homeless.

Vusa was very relieved, he told me, to get away with his girl friend from this menacing group, which he has a shrewd idea are in fact youth militia graduates. And yes, though he hates ZANU PF mis-rule with a passion, he wasted no time in removing the dreadlocks and his girl friend, he informed me, had taken to wearing a dress. The difficult part is that she only has one dress.

Pfekazvakanaka is the new ZANU PF rule, and though totally illegal, is being enforced in one centre after another across the country. The next wave of repression is upon us.

Zimbabwe, Human Rights, Militia, Current Affairs

There have been a number of burglaries and thefts recently in the part of the city in which I live. I was talking about this to a group of friends recently and one of them told me a story that made me laugh and cry.

He told me about how, as a measure of self-help and neighbourhood support, some of his neighbours in his area decided to get together on Saturday afternoon. The idea was to discuss the problem and see how best they could improve security and defeat the thieves. They even invited the local police to attend, thinking they should be aware of the problem and to hear their advice to residents.

Come Saturday afternoon a number of local residents gathered at one of the homes for the meeting. The ZRP duly sent along two members, one in police uniform the other not. The meeting was about to begin when one of the police details addressed the group. He told them it was illegal to hold a public meeting in a private dwelling. They were dumbfounded, especially as the police had been notified – indeed invited – to the meeting, and had not previously raised any objection.

They pointed out that their sole purpose was in combating crime. Was this not a worthy aim that the police might be expected to support? “The law says…”, responded the senior officer, and that was that. (I was not aware that even the draconian POSA – Public Order and Security Act – prohibited public meetings in private dwellings).

What did they do? Did they go home, defeated?

No.

Here the resourceful, ingenious, never-to-be defeated spirit of the long-suffering Zimbabwean people surfaced again.

All of them present, including an 83-year-old granny, moved from the house into the area in front of the house, adjoining the main road. There they sat down in the storm water ditch (dry at the time!) and got on with the meeting.

The law and order brigade raised no further objections.

Such is life in Zimbabwe today.

Zimbabwe, Human Rights, Justice

In Bulawayo it was the high density, western suburbs which bore the brunt of Mugabe’s brutal assault upon the poor this week. The Fuhrer’s storm troopers, a politicized and de-humanized police force in which professional values have been replaced by a blind obedience to the Leader, went on a frenzy of destruction.

At Renkini, startled street traders found themselves suddenly under attack by baton-wielding police. There was no warning given or explanation offered for the wanton destruction. Buckets of produce were tipped over and when distraught traders tried to retrieve their few pathetic belongings, the police laid into them without mercy.

In the city’s oldest low-income district, Makokoba, there was, prior to the arrival of Mugabe’s thugs, a thriving local business that specialized in making beds and mattresses. By the time the thugs had left the business was totally destroyed. Beds, mattresses and raw materials had all been gutted by fire.

As the so-called police contingent flailed around with their batons they smashed the legs of two twelve year old girls. Some time later after the orgy of violence had abated, members of the same contingent handed out official forms, authorizing these two young victims of brutality to receive free medical treatment.

I had been driving my car almost on “empty” for a few days, desperately hoping to get some petrol to fill the tank. But apart from long queues around the block and vague promises of “petrol coming” I had found nothing. I am busy and I just didn’t have the six hours plus required to wait in a queue, and besides many people were waiting that long and getting nothing. So I carried on, waiting and hoping, until finally my luck ran out. The car spluttered to a halt right there in the centre of Bulawayo.

After pushing the car to the side of the road with some help from passers-by, I called
up a friend, Farai, on my cell. Farai is a great guy and he came at once, though he was also low on gas. ”Let’s go buy us some juice on the black market”, he said. “We won’t waste time going round the garages ‘cause sure as hell, they don’t have any.”

Farai drove out through the western suburbs to the Rankini Bus Terminus. I was amazed he seemed to know exactly where to go. When we got there he stopped by the pavement and looked up and down. Soon enough he saw what he wanted. He got out and walked across to a few guys sitting by a coca cola stall. He chatted to them for a few minutes and then came back to get a couple of old cans out of the car.

“They’ve got some,” he said, “but it’s gonna cost you.”
“How much ?” I asked.
“100,000 for 5 litres.”
“Hell, what a rip off.”
“Sure is,” replied Farai, “but have you go a better plan ?”

I had to admit I didn’t. In fact I had no option at all if I was going to get my car home and off the streets that evening. I scratched through my pockets and found the money. We paid the touts and emptied their dirty plastic container into Farai’s tin cans. Then we set off back to town.

I was calculating to myself – $ 20,000 a litre compared to the official price of $ 3,400 for the non existent petrol Mugabe couldn’t find – when Farai said something.

“What’s that ?” I asked.
“I just said I hope that petrol has not been watered down with paraffin or something worse”, he replied.
“My God, I hadn’t thought of that ….”

My pastor was away this week. When I asked him where he was going he said something about an important church conference in Harare. At the Sheraton. I was intrigued by the idea of my humble
pastor going to a five star conference centre. On the little salary we give him he could not afford a cup of tea at such an expensive place, let alone the cost of travel from Gweru.

I made some enquiries, and this is what I learnt. The Conference was called “Global Advance”. It was addressed by a number of high-powered American evangelists flown in for the occasion. No fewer than 3,000 Zimbabwean pastors had been invited and the total cost was more than one billion (yes, one billion) Zim dollars. Which set me thinking.

I ask myself does any church in Zimbabwe have a billion dollars to spare ? And if it does, is this the best way of spending it, at a luxury five star hotel when half the population is starving ? Anyway, what do these Americans really know about our culture and our ways ? Don’t we have any African Christian leaders ? I also remember that a few years ago Jonathan Moyo set up the fake pastor, Musindo, with an office in the Sheraton – the Musindo who is always singing Mugabe’s praises. So I ask myself did Musindo have a hand in setting up this glittering conference ? After all, we know Mugabe wants to set up a church of his own to worship the ZANU PF way.

I just hope my pastor is asking himself these same questions while he is enjoying the five star meals in the land of the hungry. And I hope when he comes back to us he will still be the humble pastor we have always known.

It’s 10.00 am on a beautiful, sunny morning here in Bulawayo, and I am working contentedly in my office when suddenly a thunderous noise is heard overhead. A plane flying over, but it is far too low for an ordinary flight, and no commercial flights over-fly the city at this time anyway. By the time I get across to the window the plane has gone, but I am left wondering.

A few minutes later the same thunderous noise of a low flying jet but this time it is approaching from the other side of the building (travelling from south to north). But as I get to my office window I see it disappearing to the north of the city. What dangerous nonsense is this? The pilot should be grounded for such crazy antics.

I have barely sat down again when, unbelievably, I hear the jet approaching again from a north-easterly direction. This time I am by the window in a flash and I have a full view of the plane as it roars past at low altitude. I am no aviation expert but I can guess easily enough what I am looking at. This is one of the six new K-8 trainer jets recently purchased by Mugabe (with God knows what money) from China. These are the military aircraft intended to replace the old fleet of British Hawk fighter/trainer jets for which the regime can no longer get spare parts. And the K-8s are not built for air-to-air combat but for ground assault.

God, it makes me angry that the dictator spends millions of dollars of real money to terrorize his own people, when half the population is close to starvation. I am fuming with indignation when, a few minutes later, the jet thunders by again, travelling north. Does the dictator really think he will cower us all into submission? Fighter jets or no fighter jets, we will bring him to justice one day!

I was walking down the street this morning with a friend when I saw some graffiti, scrawled on the back of a road sign. The numbers “94/26″ had been scrawled in bright red letters. When I looked a little puzzled my friend said, “You know what that means, don’t you?”

I confessed to being rather ignorant and he explained, “That is the size of the MDC victory. The MDC actually won 94 of the 120 elected seats in parliament, and ZANU PF only 26. ZANU claimed a two-thirds majority but that is a sham. Leaving aside the massive vote rigging that went on, they only won 26 seats.”

“I knew about the vote rigging,” I said, “but I didn’t realize it was on that scale. So MDC in fact thrashed the ruling party?”

“Exactly!” said my friend said with a broad grin and a five-fingered salute for the party.