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.