Zimbabwe is a ‘God Fearing’ nation these days. In colonial times perhaps it was the British the Zimbabwean’s feared? Post independence the Shona were feared by their warrior brothers, the Ndebele. Twenty years later the nation feared its government. And then in 2017, with the downfall of Mugabe, hope loomed large, buoyed by the promise of democratic elections the following year. But the hope was swiftly slashed by what locals refer to as the ‘stolen election’ and the ensuing civil unrest. Even today the army tanks are a visible threat. Now the climate poses a potent threat as at home, in the Pacific, throughout the world. Three weeks ago Cyclone Idai savaged the eastern provinces. Curiously there has been discussion here about how ‘Idai’ is pronounced. Zimbabweans were erroneously saying ‘I die’ rather than the Mozambican ‘i (short vowel) day’. Maybe that’s Freudian?
For many the immanent threat is the economy. Cost of living for black and white alike doubles every month and fuel shortages have today resulted in kilometres long queues for all vehicles, particularly kombis, seemingly shutting down the city. Kids unable to get to school. Commuters unable to get to work.
Post independence Zimbabwe was staunchly socialistic (in principle at least, leaders readily adopted profoundly capitalistic values spiriting away billions of gold, diamond and other mining riches). These days, Zimbabwe feels like a philanthropic society. I’m not talking about big business. Yes they help, but it’s the small ‘private volunteer organisations’ (PVOs) who carrying the load. I attended The Force4Change awards ceremony on Friday night at the glamorous Miekles Hotel. The Autism Organisation of Zimbabwe (AOZ), one of the organisations I am working with, was nominated so I paid the 100 RTGS (local currency, about A$50, not an insignificant sum), to support its director, Helen Mutambara, one of the first rehabilitation technicians trained in the early 80’s. Setting up AOZ in her back yard, Helen’s passion is infectious, her energy and drive motivating. The inspiring night evolved from the Eat Out homeless foundation, created by a young black Zimbabwean, Henry Chigama, who at one time found himself homeless in SA. Not much was said about how he travelled from the streets of Joburg to now lead a foundation, but along with a corporate responsibility consultant, they created the inaugural Force4change awards. A black tie event (I did pack one or 2 decent dresses) the room was full of small organisations and a few substantial charities run by Telcos and the like. AOZ somehow found itself in the Orphan’s category, alongside the First Lady. Needless to say AOZ did not win (politics), but runner up in a group of 5 was not a bad effort. We are not sure if anything comes with the honour, a few dollars wouldn’t go astray.
Being in Zimbabwe, there is one ruminating thought, and Friday night threw a spotlight on it. The need is overwhelming.
The other day a disheveled man approached me as I started my walk with Coco. He had been ‘walking all day’. I apologised with feeble excuses (leaving the luxurious grounds of the Airbnb) ‘I don’t really live here, sorry I don’t have any cash’.
‘I am already giving a lot, there are too many of you, I can’t help you all’, my internal thoughts, full of shame and remorse.
When a beggar approaches the car at a stop light, I give a head shake and ‘no, sorry’.
Yesterday I gave in when a young girl with cerebral palsy in a wheel chair approached. She reminded me of some of our students at Safe Hands whom I hope will never have to beg. With no coins in my purse I handed over a $5 note, about what some people might earn in a day here.
One day Malvern’s sister-in-law came to Safe Hands, her hand made macrame bags on display with the sole intent to sell to me. At 60RTGS (A$30), it seemed expensive (I am on a budget here, trying to stretch my funds and time). It took her 3 days to make one bag. ‘No thank you’ I politely said. She then showed me a purple one,
“Hmmm, ok maybe next month then.”
“Oh I can leave it with you now and you can pay next month.”
Clever business woman. I had the money in my purse. Guilted, I handed 60RTGS over.
One of the nurse aids ending her attachment asked, “Please find me a job”.
“Sorry, ask Irene, I don’t really know anyone here to help”,
Then a couple of weeks later,
“I sell perfumes,”
“ ah well I am fine for perfume for now thanks.”
Out for a walk in middle class Avondale, a group of cheerful young secondary school girls greeted me.
“Do you have 50 cents?”
These were not poor kids.
“Sorry, no cash” I smiled back
“Ah Granny, you look nice”.
Hmm, granny…I’ll take that as a sign of respect. And only later I wondered if the compliment was to extract some coin.
At the Massdorp market I found myself chatting to some whites, the women originally from NZ but after decades here their accent was pure Rhodesian. Nicky overheard me talking to her husband and commented, “I was just at the stall over there and we were talking, the need is overwhelming”.
It is a tough path to navigate. Yes I have more than most blacks here, but much less than some blacks and most whites.
I have been having a massage each week, I justify this thinking I am supporting a young single mother who does great reflexology, just as years ago I didn’t think I needed a maid but soon realised to not do so would be to deny someone work.
I can give the occasional handout to those with no other option. But I want to invest wisely.
I am not earning money. But I chose to come for the year.
My hire car is old. But I have a car. I can afford fuel to get around town and I was told today with my foreign credit card there are petrol stations I can go where I won’t have to queue.
My cooking won’t be as creative as at home. But I have food and a choice of ingredients.
Like 20 + years ago, eating out will be a treat. But it is a choice I can make.
I can afford to top up airtime and purchase internet. But Eeish (a colloquialism for my goodness), I have moved Airbnb and realised how pricey it is without a dedicated line. But its an extravagance I can choose.
I have nice digs, I gave up the pool and luscious garden this week. But I have sourced another luxurious setting for mid May.
‘People are hungry’. But I don’t feel unsafe.
Visiting Zimbabwe in 2017 reignited the fire the return. I wanted to do it differently. A UN job or the equivalent. I didn’t want to be one of the ‘poor’ development workers again (relatively speaking, the Aussies were on the bottom of the heap, I was with a UK group, one step up, way below the Europeans, let alone the UN group). I soon found that the big organisations, big bureaucracies with careers for life, didn’t seem to need an speechie. Chatting to a UN friend the other day I reflected, “You know I wanted the lifestyle of a UN worker, but I don’t really need that, I’ve got enough”. Yes a UN job would be well supported, a contract for an extended time. But this way I choose where I work, whom I support, what I do. I have chosen to work with people I have a connection with, have a relationship with, and most importantly people who want to work with me. There are teething problems, but being independent means I can tell it like it is (and I have!)
Every day the colour of my skin defines me in challenging ways. But let’s be clear, for me this is a choice, a choice many do not have.
The need is overwhelming. My challenge is to not feel overwhelmed.
