Zimbabwe’s urban areas have for the past years been operating without adequate water supplies among other basic necessities such as food and electricity. Most cities have been transformed into rural areas as hordes of men and women carrying buckets of water for use at home are now a common sight. The only available sources of water are unsafe dug up wells and burst water pipes. Water taps have become relics of urban yesteryear life. To see water coming out of taps is now seen as a privilege and favour not a basic human right. Seeing water coming out of the taps now induces an element of fear, anxiety and uncertainty as people wonder when this privilege will end, somewhat bestowed on them by some mysterious water god.

If the water comes in the middle of the night, one is jolted out of deep sleep by the purring sound of pressure that spurs one into filling up containers before the life saving liquid disappears into the night. Zimbabweans have been stripped bare of their rights by an insensitive government concerned only about its survival. People move around with buckets in their hands and cars while some go to work carrying towels and soap with the hope of finding somewhere to fetch water or bath. Despite poor delivery of such basic social services Zimbabweans have continued to endure the suffering without any signs of spontaneous protests.

The situation however, seems to get worse by the day. Budiriro, Glenview and surrounding residential areas in Harare have been hit by a cholera outbreak which the government seems to play down. One of my friends recently lost a brother in Budiriro because of cholera and in that neighbourhood about five people have died during the month of October 2008. These deaths are a result of negligence and disrespect for human life by the responsible authorities. Budiriro has been without water for more than six months and the deaths I have mentioned are only those I am aware of. I believe there are many people who have died without being mentioned under the pretense of not wanting to cause alarm and despondency in the City of Harare.

Harare residents have been left to their own means and devices and they await the day cholera will strike them. Their life is at the mercy of the Zimbabwe National Water Authority (ZINWA) and the government who does not seem to be moved at all by this calamity.

ZINWA’s motto:-”Water is Life” is emblazoned on ZINWA vehicles and office walls. The irony is amazing.  An institution mandated to facilitate accessibility of water is now infamous for denying people their right to life. People continue to die because they are being denied water, a basic human necessity.

How many people will have to die for ZINWA to act and provide people with safe water?

The year 2008 in Zimbabwe has been just like a weekend packed with events and a lot of activities that one can quickly forget. Like watching soccer: more injuries, more scores, more yellow and red cards, tricks, penalties – all in 90 minutes!

However, we are now in November, only about seven weeks left to call it off. We have traveled a long way with no foot steps to show where we were coming from. So Zimbabweans will be celebrating Christmas 2008 with no government in place, no drugs in hospitals, no withdrawal and deposit slips as some of these banks are requesting customers to bring their own.

No water from suburbs around town, no electricity, no education for our children, no official school holidays as children are already on holiday, no teachers, no money, no food, no jobs, no industries operating, no doctors and nurses as they are striking, no fertilizers for the new farmers.

But we have plenty of mosquitoes, uncollected garbage, sewage canals, political parties, empty promises, queues, unprotected boreholes/wells, illegal structures as people can no longer afford to pay rentals being charged in foreign currency, dumping sites known as (kumarabu) and deforestation. Just take a look at the area between Jaggers Msasa and the Mabvuku turn-off.

People in Zimbabwe’s high density suburbs (townships) around town are now geared for the rainy season and land preparation. These preparations are being done to small pieces of open land that they have allocated to themselves.

But because of scarcity, unavailability and high prices pegged in US dollars few people have any fertilizer. However, there was the introduction of organic/urea fertilizer sometime last year from China to Zimbabwe. Though this was not taken seriously by most farmers in the country, maybe because of the source it was coming from, or because it was their first time and they were afraid of destroying their crops from the specifications which were complicated.

But Zimbabweans are so creative to quickly adjust to the situation. There is raw sewage coming out of the burst drainage pipes and people are making some canals to divert waste to these small pieces of land (A3s). I have seen people with sacks full of dried sewer matter wheeling it in push carts to their fields to act as manure or organic fertilizer.

The City Council used to clear the roadside drains in preparation for the rainy season but due to shortages of trucks and fuel they can no longer do that. People have taken over the duty of not only clearing but collecting manure for the benefit of their small pieces of land. But think of the stench smell when it rains and they want to weed the fields dressed with this unprocessed organic fertilizer.

The government should have taken this food security seriously and made agricultural inputs like fertilizers and seeds much cheaper so that they can be affordable by everyone and boost the food production in the country.

A couple days ago was my birthday. I went through the usual range of emotions around being happy and noting I’m creeping further into being less young. Amidst this I didn’t skimp on celebrating (thanks to very kind friends) and I reveled in a much loved hobby of mine, finding new favorite songs. Venturing into new music dates me, and worse I caught myself saying: Kids today. I don’t understand their music. Why do the boys where trousers ten sizes too big? And those skimpy tops and high heels girls wear can’t possibly be comfortable. Did I sound like my mother or what!

Still I went onward in search of a cool new song. One with a message. One that would make me think about the world in which we live. Sometimes a tall order given music today seems dominated by teenagers. Even with poignant lyrics I wonder how a 16 year old really understands the intricacies of what they belt out. I stumbled across a song by Rihanna, who I’m told is all the rage. I had doubts since her last hit was about an umbrella. But this new song ­ Disturbia ­ got me thinking about ranges of emotions. I’ve put some of the lyrics at the end and below are reworked lyrics along with a bit about wonder and what is disturbia.

Harare is one city of wonder Rihanna might be referencing. Wonder because it still functions. Disturbia for what it does to you. The politicians don’t play nice and some of the citizens might just go under. Just to get by each day is a disease of the mind. It can control you. The city of wonder, it’s a thief in the night. To come and grab you. It can creep up inside you. And consume you. Yet many people manage to go on. Nothing heard, nothing said. Can’t even speak about it. Better think twice. Your train of thought will be altered. So if you must falter be wise. Your mind is in disturbia.

It’s not just Zimbabwean cities which expose disturbia. As much as Obama’s campaign and victory are profound, they also make me think about how US cities are those of wonder. Time will tell if Team Obama delivers their enlightened visions. The wonder is to think about the beauty of those possibilities. And the wonder is to recognize the mixed messages and disturbia so deeply embedded in the minds of far too many Americans. Obama’s new title President-Elect doesn’t change the (unintended?) message when McCain corrected a supporter by saying: Obama is a decent man, he’s not an Arab. Nor does it change that someone at a Palin rally shouted out “kill him” (presumably referring to Obama. The US often hides behind labels such as democracy, land of opportunity, or some such. When simultaneously a whole lot of Americans are, like there’s no tomorrow, unwilling to embrace difference and diversity. Thankfully over 50% of Americans felt Obama was the better candidate. Staying up all night to witness this victory afforded me a rare moment of not minding being an American. But I’m also not hesitant to point out that even though Zimbabwe is perhaps the more obvious and immediate wondrous space caught in disturbia, Obama too is up against a lot of disturbia.

What’s wrong with me?
Why do I feel like this?
I’m going crazy now

No more gas in the rig
Can’t even get it started
Nothing heard, nothing said
Can’t even speak about it
All my life on my head
Don’t want to think about it
Feels like I’m going insane
Yeah

It’s a thief in the night
To come and grab you
It can creep up inside you
And consume you
A disease of the mind
It can control you
It’s too close for comfort

Put on your green lights
We’re in the city of wonder
Ain’t gonna play nice
Watch out, you might just go under
Better think twice
Your train of thought will be altered
So if you must falter be wise
Your mind is in disturbia
It’s like the darkness is the light
Disturbia
Am I scaring you tonight
Disturbia
Ain’t used to what you like
Disturbia
Disturbia

I was at Newlands Stanchart this afternoon getting my one green note of the day. It is less than a month after its introduction. But to just leave it there is tantamount to watching the animal called inflation gobble up all your savings without at least trying to salvage the little you can. Next to the ATM, there was a table that has been there since the beginning of the month and on it are photocopied forms that account holders are supposed to fill in and sign. Each time I have only managed to just glance at them. If they contained something to make my relationship with the bank a lot friendlier, I’d probably have already filled one in.

Today next to it stood an ‘official’ from the bank who was asking people in the queue if they had filled and handed in the form. He was practically ordering everyone who hadn’t to take a copy, fill it in and sign it. I was trying to remember what the form contained and I was sure I hadn’t filled it in because I simply felt it was not important. I walked over to the table and picked one up to refresh my memory. Oh yes, the Addendum to the General Account Terms. I was supposed to ‘hereby consent to Standard Chartered Bank disclosing information relating to me, including but not limited to details of my facilities, transactions undertaken and balances and positions with the bank to professional advisors, permitted parties and any court, governmental or quasi-governmental authority’ among others.

What a load of bollocks. Consent to what? What an insult. I mean, these guys do what they like with our accounts anyway. How often have we heard Gono saying he’s let loose his dogs to sniff out suspicious account holders? Doesn’t that entail delving into the account databases? Whose consent have they been seeking then?

Both myself and others dropped the forms and rejoined the queue. The surprised ‘official’ now literally demanded that we fill them in, saying that it was a requirement and there were serious consequences, but he wasn’t telling what. Seeing that wasn’t working, he changed tack to say we lose nothing by filling in the form. He rambled on and on to deaf ears. Well, the bank also loses nothing by taking those forms and shoving them you know where. What’s the worst the bank could do that we haven’t already seen? Close the accounts? They are practically useless anyway. You withdraw a useless $50 000 which by the way was my one trip to work with the new bus fare today. And you cant use the VISA swipe anymore because all the shops now demand straight cash or forex.

I am reminded of what Dr Alex Magaisa implied when he asked why don’t they negotiate in Mufakose? Individuals that are positioned to make critical decisions concerning the lives of the ‘people’ waste a lot of time and resources focusing on the insignificant things that don’t matter to the rest of us. They purport to represent us, pretend to consider our opinion yet unashamedly shove their wishes upon us. It is utterly exhausting. You’d think the least they could do is just shut up because they are beginning to irritate us like hungry mosquitoes.

Although it may be a far-fetched analogy, but the Stanchart form – like the agreement – to me is just a useless piece of paper that somebody wanted to make official but whose provisions they will manipulate and do what they like whether we sign it or not. I’ve chosen to not be insulted all over again. I also sincerely hope, that they who’ve ‘signed’ before are cognizant of the idiom – once bitten twice shy.

Because of the challenges and difficulties I am exposed to on a daily basis I wake up with pains all over my body. My body is mostly swollen and weak. My doctor tells me that my blood pressure levels have gone high. She tells me that I need to rest, but I cannot afford rest, I cannot afford to be sick. Not in this environment where I am subjected to economical, social, political and psychological frustrations. My bulging stomach has become representative of the problems I endure on a daily basis and an antithesis of the joys of womanhood and every growth of my tummy is an increase in my pain, frustrations and agony. I long for joys of motherhood but the environment I live in makes sure I can only long and dream of how it feels to be pregnant in an environment where I can afford the basics – a reality that remains an elusive quest.

Every day I wake up with worries and serious issues of concern regarding my pregnancy. I am employed but nothing seems to balance and work for me. I have to think of ways of raising money for my next appointment with my gynaecologist and for the hospital delivery charges and the doctor’s delivery fee. All these are charged in US Dollars. I have even attempted to apply to the Reserve Bank for the authority to withdraw cash in excess for the 50 000 daily limit but with no success as the whole financial system is corrupt and dysfunctional. Every day that passes brings an element of fear and anxiety as I still do not know when and how I will be able to raise the monies.

The doctor and the hospital fees are just one of the few elements I have got to worry about. Most of my clothes can’t fit anymore. I need new big clothes to accommodate my growing body and for my baby. The clothes are very expensive. I move around shops daily hoping to find something affordable but have no luck. I have money in the bank but can only withdraw fifty thousand dollars a day which only covers my one way transport costs to work. The cheapest clothes I can get are around 700 to 800 thousand dollars and I am expected to pay for them in cash. The shops do not accept cheques or transfers. The prices change on a daily basis and have no idea how I am expected to raise such figures a day. In Zimbabwe being pregnant has grown to be some form of punishment whose fine no one seems to know.

The sad part is dealing with my cravings. The environment in Zimbabwe just wipes away the joys of womanhood. Everything is a frustration for me. I can’t seem to find things I crave for and if I do the price just thwarts the excitement completely. It is an unfathomable task to afford a basic healthy diet something I need seriously in such circumstances. Sometimes my appetite just fades as eating the same vegetables and sadza everyday is a pain to me. I lead a miserable life and cannot wait for the day I will deliver and look at the new challenges.

With my mind dawdled with the challenges and frustrations of pregnancy, after work I get to a home without electricity and water. I now have to fetch water from a nearby school borehole and make fire as no one knows when the electricity will be back. I now view pregnancy as a burden and the burden is made worse by the miserable living conditions I am expected to endure every day. I dread the day my baby will be born in this environment and I shudder to think if he or she will be able to survive in this mire.