Zimbabwe calling...

Rwanda & Zimbabwe: is history repeating?

2010-08-15T21:38:00.005+02:00

So, Paul Kagame has won a resounding election in Rwanda, with something like over 90% of the vote. Under Kagame’s seven year leadership to date, Rwanda has transformed from a genocidal hell-hole into a peaceful, orderly, progressive country vying to become the “Singapore” of Africa. On the face of it, quite a success story; it’s been interesting to observe how much western support there for this success story. But there have been sporadic reports of violence, strange deaths among the opposition, media clampdowns and hints of other sinister goings-on.

And the worse thing is, this seems to be depressingly familiar. How long before the West will begin to learn from their mistakes?

Don’t get me wrong, I visited Rwanda five years ago. It was a real eye opener. Several things struck me -- how clean it was, how friendly, how peaceful and how rapidly it had progressed since the genocide ten years earlier.

But in my two week trip, some things disturbed me. For a start, there was the overwhelming compliance to the concept of public work days. I was there for work, during which two public work days were held, hence many of meetings were postponed or cancelled and I had to cancel my field trip. I was advised that if I absolutely had to work on those days, it would be best if I literally kept my head down in the hotel to do some work during that day and not to go out or I would be escorted to a public work site by the police and “invited” to join in. That sounded like coercion to me.

And yet, everyone thought this was good for Rwanda and a sign of progress and stability. I’m aware that part of my astonishment with this view is due the culture gap. After all, I’m a “whinging Pom”, who by definition grumbles when asked to comply with rules. We make jokes about the state being incompetent, how corrupt the system is, how misguided key policies are (especially those which don’t favour us of course) and so on. First, we grumble, then – generally - we comply.

Africans have long had the tradition of uncomplaining, faithful support for the Big Man, whether that’s the village chief, King or President. Africans respect strong leaders, and leaders traditionally show their strength through force. It is neither politic nor polite to voice your concerns, disagreements or to be disobedient.

So people comply. Rwanda itself provided us with a clear example of the extremes this can be taken to - through its genocide. People were stirred up by hate language on the radio, which extorted then to eradicate the minority ethnic group. The compliance level to this fanaticism resulted in 800,000 people being killed in three brutal months.

And what is the difference between being told to plant a tree, or dig wells, for the public good, and being told to kill your neighbours? A lot I hope, but, it’s the lack of discussion – and the unquestioning compliance to government edicts - that worries me. Well, that and increasing numbers of human rights violations.

Like Rwanda, It was not that long ago, that Zimbabwe was the darling of the West, a country lauded for its smooth transition into independence, and its thriving economy. The then Prime Minister Robert Mugabe was hailed by the West as a benevolent and wise leader who encouraged economic development in the spirit of reconciliation with former colonial powers. The West ignored reports of the Gukurahundi massacres (Zimbabwe’s genocide) which took place during the 1980s and broke the opposition through the deaths of an estimated 20,000 people from a different ethnic group. Since then, thousands of more people have disappeared, been illegally jailed, beaten or murdered.

How long did we wait, how long did things have to deteriorate before the West finally started to – tentatively – speak up? About 25 years, by which time Mugabe had amassed enough power, and amended the constitution enough times, to virtually guarantee that he would remain in charge of the nation for the rest of his life. Since then things have got a lot worse for the average Zimbabwean.

My fear is that the same could happen with Paul Kagame. I fervently hope that history proves me wrong. But in the meantime, Western diplomats, international policy makers and analysts, journalists, aid workers – learn from the mistakes of the past and keep your eyes and ears open. Don’t ignore or gloss over sporadic reports of human rights violations in Rwanda, Zimbabwe or in other countries. Be supportive but don’t foster the development of despotic tyrants. Western democratic models may not be the answer for Africa, but the continent has surely had its fill of oppression, authoritarian regimes and death.

Another new currency for Zimbabwe!

2010-03-09T21:27:00.008+02:00

Hats off to the AIDS & Rights Alliance for Southern Africa (ARASA) who have launched a campaign to highlight inadequate funding of HIV and AIDS treatment in the region, by printing a range of tantalising bank notes. Here's one of the Old Man himself.

The sad part is, due to the nation's utter bankruptcy thanks to his cunning policies, poor old Bob's bank note is lowest denomination in the print run.

Well, he can hardly be expected to compete with George Dubya Bush and his sidekick, Dick Cheney, who 'wasted' a 12 figure sum on the war in Iraq.

But surely he could be in the running with other top flight African leaders who are applauded for their fiscal prudence. Yoweri Museveni, for instance, who bought a private jet for a mere $48 million. That's how much it would cost to provde HIV treatment for almost 230,000 years. But surely a president deserves to travel in style, and besides, the jet he already had was looking a little lonely...

Staying Grey..

2010-02-26T15:00:00.008+02:00

One of the key skills needed to live in Zimbabwe these days, is the ability to stay grey, ie to conduct one’s life in an entirely unremarkable manner, so as to not attract attention by politicians.

Don’t misunderstand me, we are not trying to dodge the law. The law in Zimbabwe – such as it is- is not upheld when it comes to all things political in any case. No. We go to great lengths to pay our taxes (see my post on Taxing Matters). We have car tax discs, licenses for our dogs, TVs, radios, bicycles (!) and comply with all manner of other legal requirements. We even pay our utility bills for things we haven’t actually received for years. Municipal water? Oh yes, I think we did manage to fill a bucket from the mains, back in 2002…

Staying grey here means not being seen to engage in anything political or related to media or communication activities – this is especially sensible given that yours truly holds a passport from a Politically Undesirable Nation. Hence the anonymity of this blog.

The delicious irony is that in many countries it is the other way around, politicians try to live in an unremarkable manner so as not to get caught by the general public, or worse, a tabloid journalist or paparazzi photographer, while engaging in illegal, immoral or generally scandalous activities.

In Zimbabwe politicians can do those as publically as they like, although some of the more lewd activities are discouraged (but not corruption, murder, extortion, looting of course – what’s the point of being a politician if you don’t follow your leaders?).

But a member of Joe Public voicing concern or dismay about anything vaguely political – from implying that people might be adversely affected by a drought for instance, or wondering if the Unity Government might be permitted to actually function, or the like – now that’s asking for a spell in the prison or a mysterious fatal traffic accident. If you are foreign, and lucky, you could just get away with a bit of torture, death threats to you and your family and being thrown out of the country.

All sorts of ingenious strategies for quiet communication and information sharing have been employed in the general effort to stay grey. People regularly look over their shoulder and lower their voice before discussing anything political, even at home.

There are euphemisms for all manner of things. In the old days – and I’m only talking about last year – an innocent SMS invitation to “Please come for hotdogs” would have been a coded message for “I’d like to buy some US dollars”. Similarly there were huge orders placed for paper products (cash), when there was a national shortage of the stuff.

The best covert communication strategy (now no longer practiced as it was discovered) was that people would send each other emails in HTML format about everyday boring topics, adding a secret message in white font. To decipher it, the receiver would merely change the font colour to black, and a seemingly ordinary short email would suddenly have all sorts of useful intel. Simple but effective.

Happy Birthday, Mr President

2010-02-21T22:14:00.010+02:00

Reports this week that the usual lavish birthday extravaganza is being arranged for President Robert Mugabe’s 86^th birthday come as no great shock. Every year the President’s birthday is marked with an embarrassingly unashamed outpouring of pomp and circumstance accompanied by sycophantic fawning among the political elite, paid for by siphoned public funds and coerced contributions from the private sector.

The 21^st February youth movement was established in the mid 1980s to mark the occasion. Members are groomed to follow their parents' rise in the president’s hardline political party, ZANU PF. The (government-controlled) media publishes special supplements depicting Mugabe as a national hero and lavishing praise on all his deeds, notably repelling the British colonials and all their perceived allies and friends - Americans, Ozzies, etc.

The “Old Man” appears fit and healthy, and he clearly has no intention of relaxing his iron fist. Rumour has it that he meets all new ambassadors and dignitaries on the steps of State House, which he runs up, two at a time, to demonstrate his prowess. The diplomatic corps also reportedly refer to him as "Botox Bob" because he has a youthful countenance which occasionally collapses if he’s left it too long between injections.

Clearly he is a lot healthier than his country, thanks to the disastrous land reform programme, and the continued raping of the economy by Bob and his cronies. The economy is in tatters, and recovery is seriously threatened by the indigenisation bill which Mugabe unilaterally gazetted last week, requiring a minimum of 51% of all businesses operating in the country to be handed over to indigenous Zimbabweans. Life expectancy at birth for males was 60 in 1990, and has now declined dramatically to 37, the lowest life expectancy in the world. It’s worse for women: their life expectancy at birth of only 34 years. Over 90% of the population is unemployed, millions have fled the country, teachers and civil servants are striking over their paltry wages and over two million people are starving.

Official birthday celebrations are being ramped up this year to include an all night gala featuring local and international artists. The location for this extravaganza is Bulawayo, ironic as it is the city nearest where the Gukurahundi killings took place in the 1980s, during which roughly 3000 people were killed or disappeared at the hands of the fearsome 5^th Brigade, under the command of the Old Man himself.

It may be the twilight of his political career, but from where I sit, it still seems that cunning old Bob, and his cohorts, have a firm grip of all the aces. Yes some things have improved for some people in Zimbabwe, but for the majority, the future still looks bleak.

I’m not the only one in Harare tonight who feels desperate, angry, depressed, sad – and emotionally wrought out. Like a thin wire stretched to breaking point.

We’ve been through a lot in the last ten years, how much more suffering can this country endure?

Fambai, PI: Finding John X

2009-08-11T23:50:00.011+02:00

It’s been a 4 day weekend in Zimbabwe, due to two consecutive holidays falling on Monday and Tuesday - Heroes Day and Defence Forces Day. Due to a last minute work trip cancellation, my hubby and I are some of the few remaining in town during this break – nearly all of our friends went away for excursions to the mountains, game parks or further afield.

A phone call on Monday morning left us a little perplexed. A manager of one of the lodges by lake Kariba called to say that a guest had just checked out the day before with his family, leaving a bag in his room containing a laptop computer, a notebook and some other bits and pieces. The manager had looked through the notebook and found my name, number and email address, and was calling me to find if I knew a – well for the sake of his anonymity, let’s call him - John, and could I kindly call him to let him know that he’d left his laptop behind. The manager did not know John’s surname or contact details and assumed that John was a friend of mine and I would be able to contact him quickly and send him back to collect his bag.

I couldn’t imagine who would leave their laptop in a hotel, but just in case, I called all the Johns I know. None of them had been to Kariba over the holiday. I then called a few other friends to see if they knew other Johns or had any suggestions on ways to track him down.

Nothing.

So I called the manager of the lodge and got him to look at the notebook for other clues as to John’s surname or profession. We found his surname, which still didn’t ring a bell, so I looked him up on the web, and found a link to an organisation he’s worked with in the US. I emailed them, plus a few others in his field, and made a few international calls.

I finally got his number this evening and called him, to find that he was in front of his laptop, marvelling at the barrage of international emails he’d received asking if he’d been reunited with his computer. He confessed that he’d been a bit of an idiot to leave his laptop behind in his room in the first place, remarked on my efforts to leave no stone unturned, and said that he now had a good story to tell people over a beer. He didn’t offer me one, though, which would have been polite, nor did he say thank you, but I think he was still a bit surprised that he had been able to recover all his lost goods.

Fair enough really, how many countries can you think of that would have the manager of a lodge calling people to track you down and return a lost notebook and pen and a laptop computer? Well, apart from in Switzerland I don’t think it would be that common. On a trip to the USA recently I had my credit card imprinted and the night desk manager used it to buy fuel, hamburgers, and a few other items, before I managed to cancel the card. Imagine what would have happened if I’d left my laptop behind in the room - the possibilities of identity theft would have loomed very large indeed.

And yet, in Zimbabwe, a country that has been through the mill economically and politically, in a lodge where without doubt the manager is underpaid and overworked, he still cares enough to invest his own money and time to help a guest who had already checked out without bothering to leave his name or contact details.

And in the capital city a complete stranger spends a day and half emailing people across the planet in an effort to track down the elusive John X.

One reason why I love Zim...

2009-02-25T11:20:00.006+02:00

Yesterday started out as one of those days. You know exactly what I mean. I’d had no sleep, felt sick, was late to my first meeting of the day, and broke my favourite coffee mug in the morning (pouring coffee over my carefully chosen outfit). The internet didn’t work so I had to drive to a friend’s house to get my email to meet my deadline, then rushed out to find my car had a flat tyre, thanks to me rushing to get there and falling unceremoniously into a deep new pothole.

Some other friends were also having a challenging day: their internet was also down, they couldn’t do any business and were frustrated by the high internet fees and the fact that we never get the bandwidth and reliability that we are promised. So they dropped by for a visit.

And that’s one reason I love Zim. It doesn’t matter that is a Tuesday, that its 10am, and that my day is already unravelling. You can always make time to spend with your friends.

We made a pot of tea and sat under a tree in the garden, chatting. Within five minutes we’d told everyone about our days, within 6 we’d discussed politics and what our predictions are for Zim (no change for now), and within 10 we were all feeling much better. My hubby was having a meeting with a client (we both work from home), but when that was over, he joined us, and since it was 11.30 we felt justified in opening a bottle of white wine.

Well then it was lunch time so we rustled up some scrambled eggs on toast, and had some more wine, and made weekend plans for a mini bush adventure, and then chatted some more, and then it was 3pm, and our friends had to leave to pick up their kids from school, and we had to get back to work.

The rest of my day went so much better. I felt so refreshed, so lucky to have good friends who also work from home and can be flexible in their working hours. So happy that they thought of coming over for a chat, even if we ended up persuading them to stay much longer than they’d planned.

My husband and I are not the sort of expats who have come with a company or aid agency, and can access company resources/help on occasion. We came here to set up our own small business, and therefore our friends fill this void: they are our equivalent of an extended family: our support network. We can call on them night or day to help with anything. Even without asking, offers of support come flooding in, our friends wouldn’t think twice about driving us to the airport (a 40km round trip) or lending us food, fuel, money, their car, or help fix the boiler. Likewise, they can call on us to help move house, or look after the kids, or help fix the roof.

People are generous with their time, and that to me is worth so much more than earning a fortune, climbing the career ladder, owning a fancy car or accumulating goods and chattels. Of course it means that we also have to be prepared to drive across the country to rescue someone with a broken car, or share water supply with our neighbours. We provide professional services and advice to our friends and family for free. But it is not an inconvenience at all, merely part of life, and it’s a joy to be able to help!

Of course I’m not comfortable realizing that people in Zim are suffering and dying, while I drink wine under a shady tree and chat with my friends. I do my bit to help, both in a personal capacity and professionally – I work for aid agencies and NGOs. But sometimes I need to relax, and to let go of my deeply-held concerns for Zim. Otherwise I will explode. We are all under huge pressure here, and we need coping mechanisms to deal with the challenging environment that is Zim these days. My favourite coping mechanism is spending time with friends or family. It epitomizes true quality of life for me – and it’s one of the reasons I love living in Zim.

Holding our breath...

2009-02-11T23:22:00.006+02:00

Today could be a momentous day for Zimbabweans. A mere 11 months after the election, which was resoundingly won by the opposition party to the current (self-declared) Zimbabwean President, a new government is being formed. Not only that, but the opposition party leader, Morgan Tsvangirai has been sworn in the newly created post of Prime Minister.

What a turn up for the books.

It was less than a year ago that Tsvangirai was photographed with a broken skull, beaten and bloody in the violent run up to last year’s election. And in 2005, Tsvangirai was locked up on treason charges – which, if proven in the (likely to be rigged) court case, could have resulted in the death penality. And yet today our TVs show pictures of him being sworn in as Prime Minister, by – who better – than his former nemesis, the Old Man, Uncle Bob himself.

What a week it’s been. Last Tuesday , we woke up to the news that 12 zeros had been removed from our currency, rendering our newly minted 100 trillion dollar notes (only released at the end of January) worth a mere 100 zim dollars – still barely enough for a loaf of bread. All of which was a waste of time by the way – since we’d been told a few days before by the (Mugabe-imposed) minister of Finance, that Zimbabwe was abandoning its currency and businesses are free to trade in foreign currency – which is pretty much what we’ve all been using solidly for the last six months in any case.

Then on Friday the deputy leader of the opposition party, Tendai Biti, was released from prison where he’d been held pending a trial for – you’ve guessed it – a charge of treason.

Yesterday we were told that Mr Biti was appointed by Tsvangirai as the new Minister of Finance – a poisoned chalice if ever there was one. Officially Zimbabwe has an inflation rate of 231 million per cent. But in reality it must be in the sextillions – and no, I can’t tell you how many zeros that is. Think of the longest number and double it. At least 5 times.

But what was the big story in The Herald, our very own version of Pravda, the old communist propaganda paper? Yesterday The Herald published and emphatic denial that Zimbabwe has abandoned its currency (as previously reported by The Herald in an interview with the Min of Finance), and deploring the greed of companies that refuse to accept Zimbabwe dollars in payment for goods and services. In my experience, no one has accepted a Zim dollar cheque (including the government utility companies) since November last year, and since then it has proved impossible to get the cash to pay for the smallest, most menial debt.

And yet today, we held our breath and the world watched as Tsvangirai was sworn into his new role as Prime Minister. He promised to tackle the economy , the failed health system, and to ensure that food aid is distributed regardless of political affiliation or ethnic origin. With inflation at incalculable rates, over 90% of the population unemployed, a massive cholera epidemic and over half the population in need of food aid, the Prime Minister has his work cut out for him.

As for us – yup, we’re on tenterhooks. Emotionally drained. Dare we hope that things will actually start to change? We’ve had our hopes dashed so many times before. Cynicism reigns supreme.

And yet, and yet… we can’t help ourselves; we secretly, quietly and desperately hope for a new dawn in Zimbabwe.

The root of our troubles..

2009-02-01T19:44:00.001+02:00

The greenest state in Africa

2009-01-19T18:31:00.007+02:00

Zimbabwe must surely be one of the greenest states in the world. With the collapse of the economy, industry at a standstill, and the death of the agricultural sector, no doubt Zimbabwe has a carbon footprint proportional to that of a pygmy shrew.

There is a large power station on the outskirts of the industrial area of Harare - the main gate is locked with a single chain and a rusty padlock, and it’s quite likely that the key was lost some time ago. The last time we saw smoke coming out of the cooling towers was more than 8 years ago.

Our national electricity supply relies almost entirely on one poorly maintained hydro-electric dam and rumour has it that only one of the turbines works. We’ve had regular power cuts for years – with 8 hours of power cuts per day as the norm – although the situation has improved recently with the closure of the last factories on the outskirts of town.

We also have fuel shortages – paraffin, cooking gas, petrol and diesel have been intermittently available since 2000, and sometimes there is none available for months on end, as the government requisitions all fuel for the military or use on Ministerial farms. There is a story doing the rounds about how Air Zimbabwe ran out of fuel entirely, and on one plane the captain was forced to pass his hat around the passengers to plead for contributions so that the airline could afford to buy enough aviation fuel to get the plane back home to Harare.

When I first visited Zimbabwe, in 1992, there were dozens of airlines who provided long haul flights to Harare, from Germany, Switzerland, the UK, etc. Now there are only regional flights and a handful of airlines. The gleaming new airport, unveiled late in 2002 -- after a delay due to problems with the computerised air traffic control programme -- is now only used a few times a day, by small, short haul aircraft from Kenya, South Africa, and Ethiopia.

We probably recycle more than any other nation in Africa. Used yoghurt pots, holey plastic bags, rubber bands, glass bottles are all worth far more than money. Nothing gets thrown out – we have collections of bits of wire, screws, bolts, bicycle tires in the garden shed, and used envelopes in our desk drawers. Old clothes get passed on to people who need it, machines are endlessly repaired and ancient cars chug along the road, held together by bits of string and superglue. If expat friends leave the country, people hover round to gather up discarded items – broken lawnmowers, dog-eared novels, kitchen gadgets and half-used cosmetics are particularly sought after.

Apart from the super-rich elite, we are becoming a nation of lean, green recyclers. Or, as we say in the UK, first class scroungers. Al Gore should be proud.

Zim personality of the year 2008

2009-01-05T23:32:00.002+02:00

Yes, its that time of year again, the time when blog writers gather round their laptops to debate and deliberate as to who should be awarded the prestigious, utterly bogus Zim Personality of the Year 2008.

Let’s review this year’s contenders:

First off, there is Robert Mugabe, the (self-declared) Prez, also known as “Uncle Bob”, “the Old Man”, and referred to by numerous expletives. He is a wily old character, although the consensus is becoming that he has slightly lost the plot in his dotage. His last big speech at the funeral of a colleague was the usual communist style rant, but the fire in his belly died down to barely a smoulder as he seemed to drift into a gentle slumber, and then wake up to rant against the colonial oppressors, those Nasty British, whose Prime Minister needs to undergo a sanity check (the only bits of his speech conducted in English by the way, for the benefit of the international media) and to call the Zimbabwean President Elect, and leader of the opposition party, a “political prostitute”.

Then there is the Department for Information. Or rather Misinformation as it’s called, shortened to the “Min of Mizz”. There are several colourful characters working there, ranging from the self-declared (Mis)Information Minister Sikhanyiso Ndlovu. Mr Ndlovu told a media briefing that the cholera outbreak that has been declared a national emergency was “a calculated racist terrorist attack on Zimbabwe by the unrepentant former Colonial power which has enlisted support from its American and Western allies.” Like many African countries, Zim has a cholera season every year – the difference this time is that the medical system has collapsed completely, so it can’t be contained, and due to the collapsing infrastructure, sewage pipes leak on the streets and the municipal drinking water - when rarely available - remains untreated.

The self-declared Deputy Minister of Mizz is one Bright Matonga. He has various nick-names including “Dim”, “5 Watt” and a few others that I won’t repeat here. He was rolled out to face the international media shortly after the first round of elections, to explain why no results were forthcoming. On the first day, he seemed rather astonished that anyone outside of Zimbabwe was even interested. On day 2, he rather fancied himself as a SpinDoctor of Note and started dressing snazzily in loud shirts that strobed and played havoc with the white balance of the TV cameras, the performance of which was far more interesting than any of the nonsense that came out of his mouth.

But the winner is the governor of the Reserve Bank of Zimbabwe, Mr Gideon Gono, known colloquially as “Gono-rhea”. Gono-rhea has presided over some classic media gaffes this year. First up there was the exciting news that Zimbabwe was home to one of only a handful of Mercedes Benz Brabus v12 bi-turbo supercars. This car was allegedly delivered to the Reserve Bank by DHL and left in the company car park, during a pay dispute with local bank workers, while its new owner, Gono, was on holiday in the Far East. In his defence, he said it was a company car, paid for cash-strapped tax payers, and that it was in fact another type of Mercedes Benz that he got for a bargain price of less than two hundred thousand US dollars (unlike a Brabus which costs US $365,000).

Then there have some spectacular economic decisions that have been made this year, designed to frustrate the business sector, confuse the elderly, and incite mayhem. In fact, we even had a mini riot, when the soldiers were unable to draw their pay (there being no bank notes at all) in the run up to Christmas. During the course of the year, we’ve had 10 zeros deleted from the currency with the introduction of new bank notes, some worthless coins re-instated, and the continued practice of expiry dates on notes (that we were told to disregard), and of course, the famous 100 billion dollar note (now discontinued).

During 2008, writing cheques, paying for items in cash, withdrawing cash from the bank without a salary statement and making bank transfers have been declared illegal. The daily, weekly and monthly cash withdrawal limits from your own bank account usually start at out at the equivalent of a dollar or two but by the end of the month its not worth enough to buy a pencil. Paying for items in foreign currency is still technically illegal but the only way to actually pay for anything these days as there are not enough bank notes available to withdraw the equivalent of one US dollar (nobody even knows what the rate should be – it was several quadrillion Zimbabwean dollars to one US dollar back in October – by now it must be several hexillion (ZWD 5,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 or thereabouts – and the biggest note is 500 billion).

Still with me? Ok, well now for the icing on the cake. A recent story in the Herald, the only government-accredited national newspaper, reported about that Gono has published his memoirs, detailing how current US Prez George W Bush head-hunted Gono to become Vice President of the World Bank. Gono says that at the time he was on a targeted sanctions list, and that the World Bank offered to remove him from the list and “see what it could do with his friends already on the sanctions list.” With such ludicrous fabrications, Gono-rhea’s book is bound to be a best seller.

God knows we could all do with a laugh.

Oh Happy Day!

2008-12-27T11:11:00.004+02:00

Boxing Day dawned damp and misty. After a late night spent watching Christmas present DVDs, it took me a few minutes to shake off the mantle of sleep, and become aware that dogs were barking. And the neighbour’s dogs. In fact, all the dogs in the road.

Oh happy day! At 7.30am on Boxing Day, this can only mean one thing – the dump truck has come to collect our rubbish, and of course, to ask for a Christmas bonus. “Dump truck!” I shout at my comatose husband, as I pull on some clothes and rush to the door to take out our bins. I rarely see my husband leap up with such alacrity.

You might think we are being a bit over keen to greet the dump truck, but you'll begin to understand once you learn that our rubbish has not been collected since September.

And because we live in Africa, a continent that has always recycled and re-used everything man-made under the sun, we only have two (admittedly bulging) bin bags of rubbish to throw out, two bags that are ant-ridden and developing a distinctive pong.

My husband suggested we tell the rubbish collectors that we will give them their Christmas bonus next time they come back, to ensure that they do. But I take pity on them. The city council consists of opposition party members, and as a result it has been steadily bankrupted by the ruling elite. Council workers are very poorly paid, and of course, like the rest of us, they can’t even get their salary out of their bank accounts before its value erodes away to nothing. There is no fuel to drive the truck, and the majority of council workers (like everyone) are malnourished, in poor health and suffering.

The least we can do is give them a little handout. A few dollars produces warm, toothy grins. And it ensures that they will come back – probably next year around Christmas.

And me? I feel like a queen. I am the proud owner of two large, sparkling clean, empty bins – what luxury!

A happy day, indeed.

Taxing matters..

2008-12-16T22:15:00.003+02:00

Income tax in Zimbabwe is no laughing matter, as the basic income tax rate (for the lowest incomes) is set at 45%. Given that the inflation rate is off the charts, you’d think the coffers of the Zimbabwe Revenue Authority (ZIMRA) would be bursting with gold, silver and cotton banknotes.

The reality is somewhat different.

The absurdly restrictive banking laws (which currently allow to you to withdraw ZWD 500 million out per week from your own bank account), mean that we now exist on a largely cash economy. This has been compounded by the paucity of bank notes – these days we are living in a foreign currency cash society. Even if you manage to get hold of some rare Zimbabwe dollars in cash, nobody really wants them. And there is no point getting paid into your bank account if you can’t get the money out or use it before it devalues into nothing (a matter of days at most).

So, ZIMRA limps along on like most of the resource-starved government institutions these days. A few weeks ago some friends paid their company tax bill, including stiff late payment penalties, for the past two years. Due to the recent(ish) removal of ten zeros from our currency, their total bill came to the princely sum of 8.6 Zimbabwean cents. Pleased that this amount was within the company's scarce petty cash resources, they sent someone to pay the bill in cash. Having queued at the ZIMRA offices for several hours, he was sent home in disgrace, having been accused of attempting to bribe the tax office – they only accept payment by bank transfer, not cash.

The bank charges 30 million for a transfer, a sum which the company did not actually have in their account. However, they managed to “make a plan” and ask a client to pay it on their behalf. ZIMRA wouldn’t issue the tax certificate until the transfer showed up on their bank statement – at the time 8.6 cents was worth less than a quadrillion of a US cent – far less than the ink, paper, and time involved.

I hope ZIMRA spends it wisely. They obviously need it.

You can ring my bell...

2008-12-10T20:48:00.004+02:00

Just a short PS from my last posting. I introduced myself to a lady who lives round the corner for the first time today, and of course we got chatting.

She told me her husband is called Fred - and this instantly rang a bell in my head - that's who all the people who get through on our phone line ask for. It turns out our telephone lines are crossed, so now whenever someone calls for Fred I tell them to phone my number, and they will get him. Meanwhile everyone who calls her trying to get me gets re-directed to her number. It works.

Howzat for a minor miracle?

Cut off from the rest of the world...

2008-12-09T20:14:00.004+02:00

Zim is isolated from the rest of the world. This can be a real pleasure if, for example, you would like to avoid the hordes of tourists when you go on safari, so that wildlife viewing is much more intimate – just you and the leopard, or lion, mongoose or whatever.

However, if you want to maintain links with the Outside, it can be a bit of an uphill struggle. There has been more than one occasion when I’ve woken up, drawn the curtains to welcome in the sunshine, and wondered why it is so eerily quiet – perhaps the world has ended but no one told Zimbabwe. The local broadcast stations are often silent, due to power outages, or perhaps someone has pulled the plug to censor sensitive topics.

No such as thing as freedom of speech here.

You are lucky to be able to talk to anyone at all.

A few weeks ago the only non-government cell phone provider, Econet, had to change all cell phone contracts into pay as you go system, in order to weather the economic meltdown in which the exchange rate goes from 1 million zim dollars to a single US dollar, to over 20 million ZWD to one USD in a few hours. Of course, the fact that top up vouchers cost more to print than they were worth meant that there were none to be found, with the result that no Econet subscriber could actually use their cell phones for outgoing texts or calls for the first few weeks. Now the vouchers are here, they are in the denomination of 2 and 5 million, with the result that one 2 million dollar voucher doesn’t even pay for a local text message. Oh, plus the fact that you need cash to buy them, and there isn’t any.

Our intermittent Zimbabwe Online broadband connection raised their fees to over US $600 per month, getting round the illegalities of demanding foreign currency by requesting shares in the Old Mutual (each one worth about 1 USD at the time) or fuel coupons (only purchasable in forex) as payment - since we were only managing to use the broadband occasionally due to failing telephone system, this monthly fee seemed a bit steep. That and the fact that a similar connection in the UK costs about US $30 per month and is faster and uncapped, ie you can send and receive as much data as you want.

Yesterday the entire Harare telephone network seemed to go on the blink, with the result that no one can phone anybody. Our phone rings from dawn to dusk with someone having dialled six entirely different digits to our telephone number. Often you answer it and there is a loud dial tone. Sometimes you can hear a plaintive voice asking for Mickey or Lovemore or whoever, but there is a still a loud dial tone. Sometimes you can hear a voice, a dial tone and an engaged tone (busy signal to you Americans!) all at the same time. Today I managed to get through to someone’s phone talking over both the engaged and the dial tone, but it would only stay connected for 20 seconds, and they couldn’t call me back. I hope they got the message in any case! I haven’t been able to get through to anyone else for a while, and I’ve been trying to send an international fax for a week now.

Might be quicker and easier to invest in some carrier pigeons. Even if half of them get shot down for food or confiscated by the government for being illegal, we’d still have a much higher chance of a message actually getting through. So any pigeon trainers among my wide and varied audience, please advise me on how to proceed.

Just don’t ask me to call you.

Laugh for fear of crying

2008-12-03T19:48:00.005+02:00

You have to keep your sense of humour in order to negotiate Zimbabwe’s crazy operating environment these days. People are dying in droves, from cholera, from hunger, from neglect - we have had no government for nine months and no elected government for years, and now it looks like the Old Man is orchestrating a State of Emergency to unleash more repression and fear. The rest of the world, preoccupied with their own (very minor, when compared to Zim's) economic setbacks, and are certainly not going to intervene in a small country with no notable mineral reserves.

Let’s face it, life here is not all that funny, but who wants to listen to a whinging Pom, as Zimbos like to call us. (Can’t imagine why of course!)

Hence I like to keep this blog light. If you can keep your sense of humour, find joy in small things – for example, I find great comfort in a cup of tea – then you can cope with pretty much everything life throws at you.

I lost my sense of humour for a while, hence this blog went silent for a few months. Luckily I found it the other day, hiding in the back of a cupboard, next to a pile of odd socks. (A topic for another blog, another day). And now, more than ever, I think it’s important to be able to enjoy the small things, see humour in the ridiculous things we do to keep going, help as many Zimbabweans as possible to survive and prosper, and not to succumb to misery.

The “Old Man” wants all foreigners and whiteys out of the country. Africa for the Africans. (By the way, I am the only one in three generations of my family born outside Africa – will that never count for anything?) If that happens, who will speak up for Zimbabweans? OK, I am not an elected representative. And of course I’m privileged and undeniably white. But I’m still here, still doing my bit, pathetic though it may seem. I could have given up long ago, and moved elsewhere, but I love this place too much.

Well, that’s something to really laugh at isn’t it – how many Zimbabweans want to live in the West, while Westerners want to live in Africa. How’s that for delicious irony? A Zimbabwean would say that that paradox is absolutely "classical" - and I agree.

Hello, hello!

2008-04-20T21:54:00.014+02:00

Greetings are very important in Africa. Whenever you meet someone it's important to ask how they are, how their family is and how their day is going so far. And when it is your turn to say how things are with you, you have to conform to the polite ritualistic responses. ("I slept well and had a good night if you did" or "my day is going well if yours is.") It is very rude (or marks you out as a tourist) to skip or curtail the greetings process or to actually tell the truth, ie mention you had nightmares all night, are suffering from a trapped nerve or you've twisted your ankle. You can of course tell your good friends and family the truth, but only after you've reassured them several times before that all is well. Of course, this means the whole greetings ceremony has to be repeated three or four times over.

Greetings occur at the office, when you pass someone in the street, in the bank queue, at the supermarket and basically anywhere you come across anyone else. If you are going for a walk or a cycle ride, its polite to greet everyone as you pass - and you often hear children cheerily calling "How are you?" as you slog your way, panting, up a steep hill.

The greetings rituals have lost a little in translation to English. If you say "hi" to someone in Harare, they will immediately respond "fine, and you?" - which can come as a bit of a surprise. It works well if you say hello or good morning, but for some reason "hi" has become "hello, how are you and your family this merry morning/afternoon/evening?" to locals, while of course, it just means "hello" to you and I.

With the recent elections, the manner in which you wave hello or goodbye has become a political hot potato. The regular, open handed wave, is seen as a sign of the MDC party, the opposition party (who, by the way, clearly they won last month's election, hence the delay in announcing the results). The ruling party - ZANU PF- 's signature gesture is shaking your fist in threat, and the President is frequently photographed in this classic iron fisted pose.

This can create confusion and misunderstandings amongst expats. Picture myself and a heavily pregnant friend sitting in a car waiting for someone in downtown Harare in June 2000. Suddenly we see people running all around us and next thing we know an angry mob are rocking the car and shaking their fists at us. Scary. Or maybe just a rambunctious invitation to join the ZANU PF party.

A couple of weeks ago I went away for the weekend to stay with friends on a farm on the outskirts of Bindura, a small town north of Harare. As we drove past families walking along the road, we waved at them, and some shook their fists at us. Recalling that the area is a ZANU PF stronghold, we came up with a compromise gesture of hello and goodbye - the old fashioned thumbs up sign. We tried it on the next group of people we passed, and with wide smiles, they returned the thumbs up gesture. Political impasse solved.

If only we could sort out the elections that easily.

A super hotline

2008-04-17T17:10:00.009+02:00

Like most of our major infrastructure, Zimbabwe's telephone system is -- well, there's no other way to say it -- miraculous.

Ha! I bet you weren't expecting that word, but it is true. The majority of phone lines are at least 30 years old, and given that the bills cost next to nothing in real terms, it defies belief that they work at all.

To be fair, they don't work for months on end (especially during the rainy season) in certain parts of town. Or your line can go dead for a few hours while the telephone company resets the local exchange. Or storm damage can result in fallen trees taking out your line which can take weeks or even months to fix.

But on the whole, where I live, you pick up the phone, and there's a dial tone.

Finding the number you want to call is a whole other story. Telephone directories are only periodically published and mine dates back to 1999, not all that useful. The telephone company has uploaded the directory on to their web site, which means you can find the number if you know the name of the company you are looking for - but you have to type it in as it was printed in the directory, typos and all.

This morning I dialled the number for an engineering company and the phone was answered by a cheery greeting. "Is this the number for XYZ engineering?" I asked. "No, you've reached the direct line of the Zimbabwe Electoral Commission." (ZEC was appointed by the government to 'independently' count - and now, although the results have not yet been published - recount the votes for the parliamentary, senate and presidential elections that were held on 29 March. So far they've only announced the parliamentary results, which the opposition party, MDC, won. Since then the international media reported that seven ZEC employees were arrested for mis-reporting the parliamentary results, which the government is contesting. So far no senate or presidential election results have been announced, and the government media claims that these elections are still being counted, despite the fact that the results were published at each polling station on election day.)

"Oh, wait, you're at ZEC? The guys who are so busy at the moment?" "That's right," came the answer. "Well, keep counting," I quipped, "we're all waiting..."

I heard laughter as I hung up the phone. Poor guys. But now that I have their number, I might phone them from time to time to offer encouragement or advice. I'm sure they need all the support they can get.

All the Presidents' Men

2008-04-15T16:36:00.008+02:00

The first thing I heard was whistling and shouting. My friend Tony and I had gone for a Sunday cycle ride, enjoying the empty roads and beautiful weather. Now suddenly we were in trouble: all around there were dozens of disembodied voices calling and whistling at myself and Tony to stop. Tony was about 100 metres ahead, and being hard of hearing, he continued jauntily on his way. I paused, looking around me, but couldn't see anything beyond the school playing fields, and the empty road. Suddenly a yellow beret appeared out of the grass, and an AK machine gun was waved to signal me to cross the road and get closer. I couldn't actually see the face of the soldier, but the yellow beret denotes the Presidential Guard.

Uh oh. I hadn't heard the news and was wondering if something serious had happened, or, more likely, that they thought I was up to something serious. I shouted across the road "What's the matter?" But there was no response, just lots of rustling in the long grass, as I envisioned army snipers jostling each other to get the best fix on me.

Heart thudding, I considered the options. Tony was leading the way and I had no idea where our destination was. State House, the official presidential residence, was just around the corner, and there was no where to turn off. Obviously there was some security situation going on. But you can't stop. Stop your car, stop your bus, stop your bike, and you risk being arrested, threatened or even beaten. My friend's car had burst into flames near State House and she was ordered to push it out of the way, at gunpoint. This is not the place to be indecisive.

I continued on my way, cautiously. Around the corner another guard waved his AK to beckon me towards him. I paused, as a car was coming, and called out "What's wrong?" "This way, come over here - you must use the cycle path," he responded. I crossed the road and went down the cycle path, which, ironically, runs directly beneath the wall of State House. At the next set of traffic lights, the guards asked me to go across the lights and wait for Tony (who had been taken in for questioning - but that's another story) a few blocks away. The lights were red, and I was asked why I was stopping. I couldn't tell who was more nervous - the soldiers, or me. A nervous soldier is not someone you can take lightly.

Only a few months ago I had cycled this very route before and called out greetings to the guards, who had taken their hands off their semi-automatics to wave and wish me a good morning. Now if even a cricket started to sing, it would be instantly drowned out by the loud click of a dozen rifles being cocked.

As I paused for traffic at the median strip, a voice barked: "Go away! You can't wait here! The Old Man is coming." Ah, well, that explains everything.

Two weeks after the election and no results.. Here's why..

2008-04-12T18:08:00.003+02:00

Zimbabwe Offline

2008-04-12T04:54:00.001+02:00

Getting onto the internet in

Zimbabwe

can be a frustrating and expensive business. We have an archaic, un-maintained telephone system with corroded copper wires – no fibre optics. The government does not encourage email or internet access and charges a US $20,000 application fee to apply for a satellite link permit (and permits are rarely granted, so you could just be ~~subsidizing the custom upgrades of the Minister’s Mercedes Benz~~ – oops, I meant to say - contributing to an important government ~~shopping trip~~ initiative). Satellite access is illegal without this special permit. There are only a few internet service providers, and like the mobile phone network providers, these are all oversubscribed so that your connection speed/ability rarely matches what you pay for. Dial up is the more affordable option – it can take over an hour to download a single, text only email. If someone sends you picture or an attachment of 1 or 2 mb, it can take four hours or more to download it.

I am lucky enough to have (occasional) access to broadband – but it is very expensive at US $350 per month. So you can imagine my delight when my ADSL line went down on Monday. My internet provider, Zimbabwe Online, checked the link promptly and determined that the telephone line was the problem – and of course, that is serviced by the government telephone company.

I reported the problem to the telephone company on Monday, and spent a frustrating week at home, waiting for the engineer to come and fix the problem – you don’t want to miss your turn or you have to spend weeks pleading with them to return.

I cancelled business meetings, my daily trip to the bank (important as your daily withdrawal limit is worth less than ten US dollars and many shops and services insist on cash), exercise, food shopping - basically I put my life on hold. I can’t work without internet access, so no connection means no income, and potential loss of future income as I am virtually incommunicado. On top of that, each week spent staring hopelessly at your useless ADSL modem, hoping and praying for a miracle is compounded by the comforting knowledge that it has cost you another hundred dollars - money that could normally go a long way over here - in fruitless internet connection fees.

By Wednesday I was feeling extremely ill and really wanted to go to the doctor – but of course the telephone company said they were coming, so I didn’t dare miss my turn. On Thursday I finally caved in and went to the doc - turned out that I had tonsillitis! I rushed back home of course, in case the engineer pitched up.

On Friday, the engineer called me early morning, waking me up in my sickbed (sympathy please!). I skipped my morning shower, quickly threw on some clothes, and rushed to the gate to wait his imminent arrival. Guess what? He did actually pitch up.

Six hours later.

And he explained that none of the other engineers even go to work because their salaries don’t cover two loaves of bread, let alone the daily commute.

He didn’t have any equipment, asking to borrow a voltmeter and a spanner. He tore the cable off the wall and opened the switch box, and then said he had to go the telephone exchange for the next step, leaving all the wires exposed. I can’t tell you how reluctant I was to let him leave, but nothing ventured…

Anyway, (even) long(er) story short, I got back online Friday afternoon. An absolute miracle to get my line fixed before the weekend. Having dropped hints about his measly salary I gave the engineer all the cash I had – a hundred million zim dollars – worth about two US dollars. I took his mobile phone number, and he said he’d come quicker next time – if that actually is the case, it's a hundred million bucks well spent!

Trying to keep a lid on it..

2008-04-04T03:09:00.000+02:00

Good things come to those that wait...

2008-04-04T01:47:00.000+02:00

Remember when you were child, how your mother or father taught you the value of patience, saying "Good things come to those that wait"? Well my goodness, the whole of Zimbabwe is waiting with bated breath to see what the outcome of Saturday's election will be.

We go about our daily tasks in a state of suspended animation, queueing at the bank, going to the supermarket, working at the office - it all continues as if everything is normal. When we meet our friends we come back to life a bit - speculating on whether the "Old Man" (the president) will stay or go, whether there will be conflict or repression, whether we dare to hope that change is really on our doorstop. And then we get back in our cars, go to our next destination, or shut the door as our friends leave, perhaps rush to watch the international news, and go back to going through the motions of our daily lives, all emotions on hold - waiting, waiting, waiting for the outcome. What else can we do? We already have a stock of food in our cupboard in case there is no more to buy. We keep our fuel jerry cans topped up, our generators on standby, as we have anyway during the normal course of life here. We just continue with our routine drudgeries, waiting for Something to Happen.

Never has there been such an outbreak of procrastination, of repressed anxiety, of Zombiedom, like there is in Zimbabwe right now. Don't get me wrong, feelings are running high - and it may well be true that the country is on a knife edge, teetering between conflict, anarchy, and - ironically - resignation to the status quo.

Do good things really come to those that wait? We have all stood for hours in the bread queue at the local bakery or supermarket, to watch the person before us collect the last loaf, or in the bank queue before discovering there is no more cash. We so desperately want to believe that change is coming, but we hardly dare hope.

Rumour has it...

2008-04-02T04:39:00.000+02:00

Thanks to the government's iron grip on Zimbabwe's media, local residents often find ourselves in the dark as to what's the real story. Rumours abound, are shared, leaked, exaggerated, and shared again. The city of Harare is basically one big Rumour Mill.

A few years ago, the Rumour de Jour was that the (largely unpopular) President -- Robert Mugabe -- had died, and that the government was hushing up this news. Weeks went past with no sightings of His Eminence, a noticeable absence of daily sirens heralding the presidential commute to State House, and an unusual reticence from the Minister of Information. The rumour reached giddy heights, with people actually daring to repeat it out loud. Champagne sales went through the roof. And then suddenly, it all came crashing down: there was the President himself splashed all over the local media, furiously denying the rumour. The angry headline of the national newspaper, The Herald, said it all: "I am ALIVE!", asserts the President."

With the recent election on 29th March, and the refusal of the government to promptly release the results, the Rumour Mill has rocketed into HyperDrive. The elections were held on Saturday. On Sunday, with mounting hope, people whispered that the opposition party (the MDC) had won, and that realising the game was up, "Bob has already skipped the country!" The story defied belief, but hope does spring eternal.

Yesterday the gossip was that the government had lost the election, and was delaying sharing the results until they could come up with a plausible Plan B.

Today the international media - Sky News and BBC World – reported rumours that the government was meeting with the opposition to negotiate a hand over of power. Of course, when you switch to ZBC (the only local broadcaster) there is no news, only a discussion on belly dancing and cultural practices among the Bedouin. Not even a denial! Maybe that means it's true.

Way hey! There will be one almighty Zimbabwean Celebration if this is the case. You’ll hear the partying, cheering and singing from here.

Introducing your host..

2008-04-01T14:10:00.000+02:00

Hello everyone,

My name is Fambai. No, it's not my real name, it's a pen name for the purposes of this column. I'm a young(ish) English woman living in Harare, Zimbabwe. I moved here ten years ago and would rather live here than anywhere else I've been to, and trust me that includes a lot of places!

Life in Zim is huge fun, if you can keep your sense of humour. Inflation runs at over 100,000 % - yes, that's a over hundred thousand! Writing a cheque is a constant challenge - if the bill comes to ZWD 51395731573.93, at first glance is that 513 million, or 51 billion, or what? It makes the brain spin.. And it doesn't stop there.. challenges abound. Why is it so difficult to get an ID? How can you be charged interest for an unpaid bill when the bill was never printed? Why bother printing an electricity rationing schedule when the national power company has no intention of sticking to it?

These are the daily challenges I face every day - OK, clearly I'm a little deranged to laugh at these little hassles - but if you can avoid sweating the small(ish) stuff, it's the best place on earth to live. Rhodesians used to call it "God's Own Country", and trouble in paradise notwithstanding, they could well be right!

Come with me to explore the mayhem, the madness and the warm hospitality of Zimbabwe.