First it was the Pope peddling misinformation about condoms. And now, recently, it was the turn of a Swazi Member of Parliament to fuel stigma around HIV and AIDS.

As a measure to avoid the onward transmission of the virus, the MP, Timothy Myeni, suggested that those who have tested positive for HIV be marked on their buttocks with a special insignia to warn possible lovers of their status. This, he was quoted as saying, would assist possible sexual partners in verifying the status of the other person prior to engaging in intercourse.

After much backlash, Myeni later retracted the suggestion claiming that it had been a trap set by the devil to destroy his name.

If anything, it seems to me to me that this was a trap set by Myeni to destroy the name of people living with HIV.

A person’s HIV status is a confidential issue, to be disclosed as and when an individual feels ready to do so. Branding people only helps to peddle the stigma and discrimination that people with HIV already experience. In other words, labelling people living with HIV would only serve to make them feel more ostracised and unwelcomed – as though they were an untouchable and unlovable caste.

And before his utterances, Myeni really should have thought through the process of how this whole operation would be carried out. Would such branding take place soon after an HIV test? And how?

Imagine the scenario of visiting an HIV testing centre, testing positive for HIV and then being told to proceed to another area to have your buttocks stamped with a sign that states your positive status. Would this really encourage more people to get tested? Very unlikely.

Besides, as was noted by an Oxfam representative, Jacob Nanjakululu, at the recent Global Citizens Summit in Nairobi, Kenya, 90% of people living with AIDS do not know their status. Therefore, such practices as branding those who dare to find out their status would only lead to an increase in the number of people who do not know their status.

The consequences of such lack of knowledge could be dire, as more people could potentially, and unknowingly, transmit the virus on to their sexual partners, thereby creating a web of new infections, and a greater burden of need for treatment, care and support services.

Is that we really want or need in a world that should be becoming more tolerant towards people living with HIV? And are we saying that people with HIV cannot and will not disclose their status to their sexual partners, otherwise? Surely, such thinking makes people living with HIV out to be little children who cannot think or act on their own.

While discussing this issue with a colleague, he told me that in Malawi, a certain chief had suggested that people found to be HIV positive should have a permanent scar etched onto their foreheads so as to warn all other villagers of the potential danger these people posed to their health. This is not much different to what Myeni had proposed, and equally hard to understand.

How sad it is that people try to fight stigma with yet even more stigma.

Rather than focusing on branding people, I say it’s time to focus on providing them with treatment and other requisite services. But even more importantly, it’s time to start loving them and respecting them as human beings.

This shocking 2-minute video shows police officers beating the new recruits at a Zimbabwe police depot.

One by one, recruits come up to a small group of policemen, lie in a push-up type position and are beaten on the buttocks with sticks. They are then dragged off to lie down on their stomachs off to the side, or are kicked out of the way. These are not beatings of rage or annoyance. They don’t even look like they are punishment for a selected “non-performing” police recruit. Rather, they are orderly and methodological. It’s only when a recruit resists, or acts too “soft” that the beating lasts longer. The recruits know the drill and get into position. The officers deliver the blows and move onto the next victim. In the video you can see the recruits who have already been beaten – and the queue of others waiting for their turn.

The video is reminiscent of the images that came out of Abu Ghraib– the policemen laugh, threaten and insult the recruits with cries of “kill him” and “beat him.” In one frame one officer takes a picture of the beatings with his camera phone. But in a way it is all the more disturbing that the police are beating their own co-workers.

What are the implications for policing in Zimbabwe if this is how new recruits are “hazed” by their superiors? Is it any wonder then that the police are quick to respond to civic demonstrations with violence, and that there are frequent reports of detainees being mistreated by the police? What are the long term psychological implications if this is how police routinely deal with their own? If your superior beats you for being new on the job, what more might he (and in the video they are all men) do if he thinks you have disobeyed him?

The Ministry of Home Affairs, which oversees the Zimbabwe Republic Police, is now co-held by Zanu PF’s Khembo Mohadi and the MDC’s Giles Mutsekwa. Email the Ministry on moha@gvt.co.zw and the MDC on mdcnewsbrief@gmail.com and demand that they investigate these beatings and change the way the police force is run.

I really still can’t get over the number of times that I have ridden a Mercedes Benz in the last few days. No, I haven’t bought myself one, and no, I haven’t found some rich man to take me on cruises in his Kompressor. The reason for this luxury is that I currently find myself in Germany – the home of the hallowed Merc.

Most taxis here are Mercedes Benz models – sedans, SUVs, station wagons – you name it. And boy, do the drivers know how to step on the gas. The top speed I have experienced thus far is 182km/hr. Now, the roads here are much better than back in beloved Zim; no potholes to avoid and so far, no drivers with a ‘kombi mentality’ ready and willing to swerve and slice their way through traffic. And apparently, there are no speed limits on certain stretches of road. But still, the ease with which the drivers step on the gas makes me whisper short prayers as my stomach ties up in knots.

I have been in Europe now for about 5 days – and my impression of it, thus far, is mostly good. What I especially like about Germany is that the people here have really managed to maintain the essence of their culture, of which I feel that language is a major constituent. Language of instruction within schools and general conversations are carried out in German. And so, almost all TV and radio stations, newspapers and street signs are in German. A classic example of my shock at this was when, at the airport in Munich, I tried to get myself something to read at the bookstore there. ABSOLUTELY nothing in there was in English!

And if you want to find your way around, you must always move around with a German. Not everyone one meets will be conversant in English, and a German speaker must always be at hand to help out.

That really got me thinking about local languages back home. If a person can only speak Shona or Ndebele, we tend to look down upon them as uneducated. Perhaps, this is because the main language of instruction within schools and the workplace remains English. And so, to not be conversant in the language implies that a person has not been to school.

But even more apparent – at least to me – is that many of us have grown to associate English with certain eloquence and status that we feel our own languages cannot offer us. Just think of the extra respect that the village elders get from other village folk if they can speak English, or dress in English-style suits. “He speaks the white man’s language so he must be wise and know a lot about the world,” is the mentality these folk tend to possess.

For me, this reasoning stems from the colonial legacy imbibed into people that makes us believe that expression in local languages cannot be erudite or eloquent.

Imagine if more local authors could publish in the vernacular, and if a market developed for their work. Imagine if there was a more diverse vernacular print media industry in Zimbabwe. Currently, the local language newspapers in Zimbabwe tend to be sensationalist and light-hearted. What if these media were used to raise the political consciousness of the masses, who are generally not so conversant in English and need not only to be entertained, but also to be informed and educated?

Just a few days in, and already a wealth of observations and contemplations on the difference between two fine nations.

According to Nelson Chamisa the Unity Government’s Information, Communication, Technology Minister, he needs US$2 million to set up a national web site that will promote Zimbabwe in order to attract investment. He wants to do this within the first 100 days. Doing this would be akin to one of those electronic Nigerian scams. I mean, c’mon Nelson what are you going to say?

Come invest in Zimbabwe where we have the rule of law!
Come and invest in Zimbabwe where we guarantee land and property rights!
Come and invest in Zimbabwe where we will make sure you have uninterrupted electricity supply!
Come and invest in Zimbabwe where our telecommunications network guarantees you getting through after the 55th try!

Nelson Chamisa’s priorities are woefully out of sync with what the people need and want. How about taking the US$2 million and putting it toward the overhaul of our water and sanitation system? Or fixing traffic lights so that people aren’t continually killed and maimed? A rubbish truck or two wouldn’t go amiss either. The list is pretty much endless but at this point and time, a national web site is certainly rock bottom.

It’s about time that the GNU focused on one bread and butter issue and delivered on that one issue so that we can visibly see progress being made on important enhancements to our lives.

Of course a national web site will be necessary but only when Nelson and Co actually have some successes with which to entice international investment.

Not only is the international community looking for signs of progress but Zimbabweans are too.

The closure of official Bureau de Changes gave rise to Osiphatheleni in the city of Bulawayo. They got their name from the fact that they stand along the street and say Usiphatheleni (what have you brought us) Bhudhi, Sisi, Mama or Baba. Or they used to. Now they say, “cross rate” (US$ to Rand, Pula to Rand and so on).

It was a few individuals to begin with and as inflation rose and the loss of value to the Zimbabwean dollar gathered momentum until it was like a runaway train, the streets were invaded by women in white dresses. Some belonging to the religious sect postoli and some just deciding to make white the uniform of the trade. Everyone wanted a piece of the get-rich-overnight cake.

The Zimbabwean dollar was suspended and the rug was pulled from under the feet of many. Drumsticks of fried chicken were literally snatched from the mouths of obese woman. At the height of the Zimbabwean economic crisis Osiphatheleni kept fast food outlets in business because they could afford the ridiculously priced chicken pieces and Russian sausages. A lot of the former Osiphatheleni had to stoop to selling feet and heads imported from South Africa.

I have since noticed that Osiphatheleni are slowly trickling back onto the street and a lot of people hate the sight of them. A lot of people have a bone or two to chew with Osiphatheleni because they believe inflation was fueled by them. The exchange rate between the US$ and the Rand recently changed from 1:10 to 1:9 and there are a lot of conspiracy theories revolving around Osiphatheleni. One day I had to explain to a group of very irate women that Osiphatheleni adhere to international exchange rates.

Recently I had a chance to witness first hand the important role played by Osiphatheleni in the absence of an official Bureau de Change. I went into a supermarket to buy some groceries. I had some Botswana Pulas on me and I was told that the exchange rate they were using was 1 Pula : 1 Rand. I promptly went to Osiphatheleni and got R120 for every P100 I had.

And watching the till almost crying as the operator battled with the cross rates between various currencies; I was even more convinced that Osiphatheleni had an important role to play in our multi-currency economy.

Getting into town in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe, is particularly problematic on a normal day. On a rainy day it is a nightmare. The rain presents all sorts of problems to those intending to get to ‘work’. There are all sorts of options available to those intending to travel to ‘work’. There are private cars that pick up people on the road because that is the only way the owners can buy fuel for their cars, otherwise they would have to park their cars. Commuters prefer these because they are more comfortable as opposed to commuter omnibus that carry up to 20 passengers instead of the recommended 15.  There is also the option of traveling at the back of pick up trucks that charge less than the commuter omnibuses.

Work is anything that brings in a bit of income, not necessarily formal employment. I am still trying to figure out how most of the people I know make a living. I am not counting those that sell sweets, sugar and various forms of farm produce on the street. There seems to be a form of employment called ‘dealing’ that I don’t seem to know much about. Whenever I ask some of my friends why they travel to town on a daily basis when they do not seem to have any visible form of employment, they are rather cagey. My dear friends do not look me in the eye and are fidgety when I challenge their source of income. It’s like asking a Mafia boss what he is carrying in his bag.

Those intending to get to ‘work’, usually stand by the traffic lights central to Luveve, Lobengula and Emakhandeni high density suburbs. Here they get rides from ancient pick up trucks that charge them R3. Once in a while a loud-mouthed individual joins the group and influences them into refusing to pay R3 and the trip to town will cost R2. Conventional commuter omnibuses cost R5, so that is a saving of R2 per trip. It might not seem much, but a return trip for R6 means a saving of R4. Enough for a trip into town on the back of a pick up truck, with R1 left over to buy arctic ice mints that are sold for R1 for 8 by street vendors.

Not all those intending to get to town can afford even the R3. Some walk into town. For those who walk and for those who travel on the back of pick up trucks a  rainy day presents all sorts of problems. For those traveling on the back of pick up trucks, the rain lashes and whips your face so much that by the time you get into town  you are freezing and as disoriented as a headless  chicken. Traveling on the back of an open truck on a rainy day, one is tempted to think that the foot brigade – those who walk into town are better off. But they are not. Following the ‘tarred’ road is a rather along way to walk, so people take short cuts using mainly footpaths. On a rainy day these are very muddy and any false stepping and one finds oneself knee deep in mud. Besides being rather too long a route, on the ‘tarred’ road route one an easily be run over by the speeding commuter omnibuses trying to avoid rather deep and wide potholes. The potholes are large enough for a child to do a backstroke in. Either that or a speeding car will hit a pothole and the pedestrians on the side of the road will find themselves drenched in muddy water, and getting into town looking like that is not good for ‘business’.

After somehow making it into town, the workers are presented with a different kind of problem. They cannot stand on street corners and do their ‘business’ when it is pouring rain. So whilst the rain is hailed as a good thing by mainly the farming community and by leaders of Bulawayo who see it as a solution to perennial water woes that are faced by the city. The indigenous ‘business’ people curse rainy days as they disrupt their livelihoods.