We need some people like Nuhu Ribadu in Zimbabwe. Our health care system is in tatters yet Mugabe gets the best medical treatment. His children are in the best schools. His house could house a thousand homeless. Here’s an interview from Monocle magazine . . . really worth a subscription.

Clean Start

Nigeria’s first anti-corruption chief Nuhu Ribadu was so effective he was sacked and fled the country, fearing for his life. Now he’s back running for president.

When Nuhu Ribadu launched his presidential campaign at the end of last year, he took to the stage clutching a broom. This was a symbol of his pledge to clean up Nigeria, Africa’s most populous country and the continent’s biggest oil and gas producer, where vast energy revenue have mostly been diverted into the pockets of the elite.

Ribadu says he is the country’s best chance for reform in an election due on 9 April (Since delayed to 16 April). Yet just one year ago, Ribadu felt unable to set a foot in Nigeria, let alone lead it. As the first head of Nigeria’s Economic and Financial Crimes Commission, set up in 2003, Ribadu had pursued corrupt politicians, civil servants and the country’s “419″ internet scammers.

But challengers to Nigeria’s “big men” are rarely tolerated for long. He was soon forced to take a year’s leave, suffered death threats and fled to the UK. He only returned home last year after the unexpected death of President Umaru Ya’Adua. He speaks to Monocle about his political ambitions.

Monocle: Nigeria is Africa’s giant, yet it is widely considered to fall short of its potential. What is holding it back?
Nuhu Ribadu: Corruption is at the root of everything. If the money that belongs to the state ends up in a few hands and is used for negative purposes, there will certainly be no money for development. Our presidential fleet has more than 10 aircraft, but the country doesn’t have a single good hospital.

M: How would you reform Nigeria?
NR: I would be an honest leader. This is a very top-down place, where corruption happens simply because leaders are doing it. Second, I will open up the oil industry and follow the Extractive Industries Transparency Initiative. Third, I will clean up the justice system and police force and create laws to protect whistleblowers.

M: Nigeria’s ruling People’s Democratic Party has won every poll since army rule ended in 1999. Is there any chance for opposition candidates like you?
NR: The PDP has never won a proper election and this year we are taking steps to ensure that you cannot steal elections easily. This is a real chance for the opposition and the country.

M: How should the international community react if the poll is rigged? After the last polls in 2007, they criticised the widespread fraud but accepted the results.
NR: The time has come for the international community to insist that things are done correctly. If the outcome is not to their standards, they should not recognise the winner.

M: How will you run a clean campaign in a political system that relies on corrupt god-fathers and sponsors? Will you probe your own backers?
NR: I’m not a policeman anymore. I’m trying to lead. So I won’t say that, if you donate a car to me, I’ll start probing and checking and saying I must know where you get your money. But that also doesn’t mean that I’ll take big money from anyone who brings it.

M: Do you still fear for your life? What security measures do you take?
NR: It’s not my nature to travel in an armed convoy. I’m not 100 percent safe but neither is anyone who lives in a country like Nigeria. My situation is only a little worse than that of others.

Source: Monocle

I was sitting watching TV last night, not for long mind, because there is nothing worth watching on a Thursday. And there is everything worth watching all at the same time on a Tuesday. If you are not the proud owner of a PVR you are either in an agony of indecision or in a fully-fledged-TV-remote-sharing fight on a Tuesday and forced into early retirement on a Thursday (even with the PVR). I was in bed by 7.

In the not-so-brief advertising break a particular ad caught my attention. Picture this: stunning brunette in skimpy bikini and tan, strides along white sandy beach, dives into azure waters, finds herself swimming with pears and other assorted fruit (underwater – no sign of fish). She chooses a pear and rises to the surface glistening with pearls of water, her hair artistically arranged (mine always clumps together, nothing “artistic” about it), smiles with her strong white teeth and suddenly disappears behind a box of Liqui Fruit. Yes I remember the product – sometimes I am so blown away by the advert itself that I couldn’t tell you what was being advertised – like the Schumacher/car advert where he drives on the ceiling of a tunnel – who can remember the make of the car?

I had to laugh. I said to my husband that I often take a dip on a hot afternoon with my fruit basket, and he should come home earlier, because I also leave the water looking like that … must be the pears.

By the way, my daughter wants a bar of Lux soap. She thinks it comes with the pretty sweeping pink dress in the advert.

Disappointment is just around the corner.

Corn Husk Maidens on sale at the Avondale Flea Market.

What will you be wearing the day your lover leaves you?
I will be wearing my mothers disappointed smile.

- The Door by Warsan Shire

Having spent a couple of days looking at Zimbabwe through a camera lens I’ve noticed that there are more people living in poverty than I originally thought, or perhaps it’s that I’ve been forced to take more notice. It’s easy to be distracted while a woman, or a child, weaves through waiting cars begging for some change, or to walk hurriedly past as an old grime-covered woman sits at a street corner rattling a metal bowl with coins. I’ve seen it so often it doesn’t even register anymore.

When I look through the lens, I am not distracted; I see them and feel the guilt of privilege and not knowing the appropriate action to take. I want to help, I just don’t know how. Should I write a strongly worded letter to my MP, whose name or address I don’t know? Should I take it up with Harare City Council and demand that they remove the homeless and beggars from the streets? Where would they go? After Operation Murambatsvina where the people became the ‘tsvina’, is that a humane plan of action?

I’ve had wild fantasies about opening a soup kitchen or a shelter. It would be a modest sort of dormitory large enough to sleep every homeless person I’ve seen, and more that I haven’t. It would be a safe, warm place with food to fill every hungry stomach. It would be so many things to so many people. .. my fantasies have remained just that.

They tell you not to give homeless people money, they don’t tell you what the alternative is. Young and seemingly unoccupied men have asked to be paid for their picture. They need money to buy ZED to dull their existence. I suppose they have a right to demand money, don’t celebrities demand payment for their pictures too? And in a way it does seem as though I’m taking advantage of their situations, their poverty to add to my portfolio of pictures. And again, I am wracked with guilt, how can I accuse others of profiting from suffering when I am doing the very same thing? I am paid to do what I do.

Often when I am allowed to take the photo I see the pain in someone who is barely holding on, and trying to make it through just one more day. But I also see quiet resolve, that resilience that Zimbabweans are so famous for. And I feel shame for all the times I was undignified in moments of what is comparatively mild discomfort.

Pictured above is a Lyons Maid ice-cream vendor plying the suburb of Avondale in Harare. This red and white livery is ubiquitous in Harare. The ice cream man with his bicycle cart has come to be quintessentially Zimbabwean.

At the beginning of 2011 I wrote (a letter) to several people to launch a small personal initiative called The Teabag Project. Zimbabweans, as well as people who have visited Zimbabwe, are in love with many aspects of this country, including our fabulous Tanganda tea. In a personal effort to stave off the growing Facebook empire and the transformation of everything personal into digital, I posted a letter and included a couple of Tanganda teabags to several people asking them to brew a pot, take some time for reflection and write a few words to me.

Words about anything.

Here’s something from The Teabag Project (start yours and share the words!) …

I wanted you to know how happy I was that you sent a real, live letter. With a stamp. Licked by a human. And you licked the envelop. And complete strangers in a post office thousands of miles away touched it. Spoke other languages over it. Yeow….now I have your letter as an artifact of you.

I love writing. Real writing. The written word. I weep for everything we lost when we moved into digital. Gone are the psychologically revealing strokes, contours, tensions and flourishes of hand-written text.

I remember when I moved from Connecticut to California. I was thirteen and I had so many friends back then that I hated to leave. The love was so deep and tangible. The promise of letters and connection truly kept me alive. Literally, kept me alive. Those first few months in California and away from my support system were excruciating. I wrote letters with tiny gifts of nature in them. I survived each day in the hope of receiving in return, a pebble, sand, a bottle cap, flowers from the curb, anything to remind me of home. You could never get such subversive items through the mail these days.

And did we ever really live in a world nuanced enough to be able to embrace the idea that children just might send bulging, odd looking envelopes through the mail because that’s how they knew to throw a lifeline? Despite the sadness at our separation, I think what we expressed was truly ourselves, embodied in the words and the physical expression of our letters. I felt the words as agents of feelings and energies that just don’t travel through cyber space. I feel a better knowing of someone from a letter as compared to a email.  Ink on paper practically has a voice compared to the flat world of email transmission.