You can ring my bell...

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?

A super hotline

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

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.

Rumour has it...

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..

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.