We got this and we thought it well worth sharing because it so clearly illustrates the incompetence in Zinara:

This week Zimbabwe Post Offices finally started issuing the new required vehicle license discs.  The new system was instigated as according to the Zimbabwe National Roads Administration (Zinara) their ministry lost US$15 million last year alone to counterfeit discs.  They reckon there are at least 800 000 vehicles on the country’s roads.

Sadly the Post Office computerised system encountered some major glitches, so the majority only opened for service on the 21 May, giving them 11 days, including weekends and extended hours, to issue the 800 000 or so discs.  A large Post Office can issue about 100 discs per day, using at least 3 tellers.  So, I will be generous and use that as a national average for the 50 designated venues, plus the 10 mobile service providers.  Here is the maths:

No. gazetted post offices (including 10 mobiles): 60
No. licenses issued per day on average: 100
National Total per day: 6000
No. days from opening of service to deadline: 11
Total potential discs to be issued: 66000
No. vehicles in Zimbabwe: 800000
% possible of 800 000 vehicles in 11 days: 8.25

There is pandemonium at our Post Offices, tempers are frayed as members of the public are spending up to 8 hours in the queue and still not being served, returning the next day for another massive loss of potential productive work.  The Post Office workers are barely able to type as they have only ever worked on manual systems previously, now they have to capture screeds of information per disc.  The form is long and complicated and the amount of paperwork required cumbersome.

What is amazing is the ingenuity of Zimbabweans in latching on to the potential for lucrative business.  Some Post Offices resorted to issuing place numbers to help alleviate time spent in queues.  I know one elderly person who queued for 4 hours to get his number and who ONLY had to spend 2 hours in the queue the following day.  But, a few particularly enterprising individuals quickly saw the opportunity for profit, spent the day queuing, were issued several numbers for their hard work going from the front to the back of the queue and the next morning they sold places for US$10 a number!  Alas, the Post Office officials quickly caught on and stopped the number system!

Yet another friend hired a queue sitter.  This individual obviously received priority service as he is a member of the police, and for $25 my friend was the proud owner of 3 new discs for his small fleet of vehicles.

Now you have to remember there is one variable that has not been taken into account – the fact that the new system is entirely dependent, of course, on electricity, the scarce commodity that is needed to run the state of the art equipment.  Need I say more?

The new disc plan is a good plan, and nobody can deny it, but oh dear Zinara has really aimed far too high in announcing the programme would be complete within the deadline period of 1 June and no grace period will be awarded.  Perhaps the Zinara head of information, communication and technology Mr Gift Kanotangudza and his colleague, head of corporate communications, Mr Augustine Moyo, should sign up for a few basic maths lessons, for through their insistence that there will be no extension, they have created a mathematical impossibility.

This  month, Zimbabweans were told that every car on the roads was to be entered into a computerized data base.

To re-register our cars, we had to go to Designated-Post-Offices with the following:
-the car registration book – plus photocopy
-a new insurance receipt starting from June – plus photocopy
-a new computer form (available at Post Offices) – plus photocopy

however:
-the 8 or so Designated-Post-Offices were only ready 7 days before the end of May(2 days of which were weekend and 1 day a public holiday)
-the Designated-Post-Office–Staff appear to have been missed out from any computer training and take up to 20 mins. per car
-the Designated-Post-Offices had no Photocopy machines
-none of these Designated-Post-Offices had alternative power sources – and ZESA had no schedule for power cuts

Long patient queues of people built up over 5 hour power cuts – often to be turned away and told to return the next day with a number

Today, 2 days from the promised expiry date

I arrived at a Designated-Post-Office at 7 am  – the time of promised opening
by 7.30 the post office was still closed –Ipana ZESA (no electricity)
ahead of me were over 60 people who had their numbers from yesterday and another 60 or so hopefuls like myself
there was lots of muttering and wry humour (Zimbabweans laugh at themselves with easy resignation)

At 8 am someone appeared on the door step and assured us that a generator was being brought and set up
we stared in disbelief – generator from where? set up where? how long?
At 8.15 a member of the crowd stood on the railings and told us that his brother at ZESA assured him we would be ‘on’ in 15 mins

We cheered. . .

At 8.30 the doors opened and the tide (now at least 350 strong)surged into the Designated-Post-Office
up to the two single counters that were open at the end of a one way passage
the crowds were crammed into a tight, urgent, loud crush
there was a good deal of commotion as everyone sorted out their personal body space (zero)
lots of shouting on the edge of anger, and a good deal of laughter
the  Designated-Post-Office-Manager eventually was called to stand on the counter and demand that those at the back, backed out the door. (There was no turning round in the squeeze.)

then we waited – the computers were not programmed yet
a harassed man moved between the 2 computers helping the assistants get started
the air was filled with ironic commentary
and then – we finally began to move

You might ask how I – 120 back in the queue – managed to witness the chaos

A cry had gone out down the queue – ‘Pensioners come first’
a few of us with appropriately grey hair and baggy faces were singled out
and shifted through the body-press
as Moses parting the Red Sea
treated with utter respect and no sign of the rancor that I would have felt
to the front of the counter

I was out at 9.35 feeling rather dazed

Of course, I am still wondering about the word ’Pensioners’
this being a country where there is no such thing as a pension.
perhaps ‘elders’ would feel more comfortable!!!

But I am definitely not complaining
it’s now 3.30pm and those poor ‘young’ people are still standing
in mile long queues outside the Designated-Post-Offices

The Pensioner

For a long time the complaint here in Zimbabwe has been the thievery of state resources by politicians from a party that still claims relevance three decades after proving it has no business steering this ship. And the thievery has virtually become an official exercise.

One will recall a time when local papers splashed the now Defence Minister’s wealth valuing it at billions of dollars, a time when the Zim dollar was considered useful. Of course it was asked where the hell he got that kind of money considering the salaries of government ministers were – and still are – public knowledge.

Time was the Kumbirai Kangais grabbed news headlines with allegations of sweeping clean the national silos (and we saw him not a long time ago on national television being toasted on his birthday by Simon Khaya Moyo who “celebrated” the man’s integrity!).

Time was when senior government officials claimed incredible disability gratuities, some claiming up to 80 percent disability, never mind they continued to occupy such lofty positions as government ministers and top cops. Talk about equal opportunity and the spirit of “disability is not inability!” If only that were true.

And then it took the woman who bashed lawyer Gugulethu Moyo, screamed profanities about then opposition gadfly Morgan Tsvangirai’s manhood, to be scorned for Zimbabweans to get a look see into the wealth amassed by Constantine Chiwenga. Of course Jocelyn deliberately and vindictively made the public claims in order to shock and awe and prompt us to us where the heck all that wealth came from, considering the scorned woman knew the kind of bread the soldier brought home on his salary.

And then the VP Mujuru’s point man Sylvester Nguni’s domestic troubles also became what let us in on the kind of wealth that has been amassed on what would be a measly government minister’s salary.

And then Chombo who seeks to rival real estate don Donald Trump and his stupendous wealth that only became public after a bitter woman who all along enjoyed the same trappings at the drooling of “ordinary” Zimbabwean.

And then Obert Mpofu, who does not need hostile domestic waters to have his wealth splashed ostentatiously, owning prime Bulawayo real estate and big business (acquired on the advice of Saviour Kasukuwere to borrow from banks, he says), feeding 10,000 people on his “birthday bash” and seeks to put to shame the wealth of your typical amoral African politician.

Of course there are many more.

And then Finance Minister Biti complains about the kleptocracy that has become rooted in the diamond fields.

One would think these are issues that would inform voters and determine how they use their franchise, yet Zimbabwe offers many bad examples about how the politics do not necessarily have to reflect the people’s sentiments. A politician can go on looting the people’s wealth and still expect those same people to vote for him! Crazy ain’t it?

If the people decide they have had enough and show this through the ballot, these same people are accused of being influenced by external forces who are imposing Western models of democracy that are not applicable here! But you still have to ask what culture under the sun has ever accepted thievery, what kind of voters gleefully embrace the embrace kleptocracy of their leaders when this kind of behaviour is impoverishing millions.

It should be quiet a simple exercise really to connect the dots, and it does not need any racking of the brain: if people complain about lousy amenities, faeces on their doorsteps because of archaic water and sewer mains, living with the threat of disease everyday, school children failing to be looked after by the State, pensioners being abandoned by the State, if the people see the brazen posh lifestyles of the political elites, surely the only way to address these and other issues must be to vote for someone else. But then for some reason, it does not work that way here.

A politician is a devil’s quilted anvil. He fashions all sins on him, and the blows are never heard. John Webster, English dramatist (1623)

It’s almost 10pm on a Tuesday night in Njiro, a mellow outlying suburb of Arusha, Tanzania. I’m staying at a B&B just down the road from Farm Radio’s office where we’re running a week-long technical training for a group of techies supporting community radio stations.

It’s a bit noisy as at the moment – Phil Collins is playing on a radio up at the owner’s house and a man is talking loudly on a mobile phone nearby. Actually, that makes it quieter than usual!

Earlier today Tich & I forgot to make dinner arrangements at our B&B. Thanks to a hearty lunch when suppertime came round we weren’t  hungry enough to go in search of a proper meal. Instead, we walked up the road to the neighbour’s duka - a small hole-in-the-wall kiosk that sells an eclectic assortment of goods including Cold Beer.

Dinner Duka - friendly hole-in-the-wall kiosk

Dinner ended up being a shared Kilimanjaro beer with Bart, our host at Farm Radio. The 3 of us sat in the dark shadows cast by the kiosk’s light, side by side on the wooden bench against the wall.

A beautiful night sky sky provided a starlit canopy as we chatted quietly about life in Africa. Next to us a stranger sipped a beer and smoked a cigarette. All of us looked out onto the  dusty, uneven road in front of us and watched the dark forms of passersby.

An hour later we got up to pay for our drinks. Waiting my turn to pay, I leaned against the burglar bars separating shopkeeper from customer. Inside, sitting atop a table drawn up to the counter, a little boy concentrated on his homework, oblivious to the passing trade in front of him.

Jambile: The Silence

As the water retreats deeper into the Kalahari sands
the Teaks draw back their sap in a last flush of gold
settling in for the long wait till the next rains

The beginning of the dry season

In a last bustle of activity
ants and termites on the pan edges
collect the remains of dry grass stalks and seeds
from now on, the only nourishment  will be the occasional elephant droppings
but the pans have dried out and there is nothing to call them back

Silence

Even the hornbills are still
and a soft underbelly of sound
as Teak leaves fall to the sand

Suddenly a bustle and flurry and excited cackle
as the guinea fowl arrive
scratching and scraping and scattering the droppings
in enthusiastic appreciation at the delicacies on offer
then scurry off in a wavering line
to their roost for the night

Silence as the sun sets
The universe hangs low over our heads

As we watch through the mosquito netting of our tents
we become part of the stars

Scorpio rising
as Orion safely slips over the eastern horizon with Sirius at his heels
safe from his sting for yet another night

A lion roars in the far distance
and an Elephant trumpets from the pan

Three days of almost-silence

Mandavu Dam: Diversity

We drive through the changing patterns of the park
deep sands of ancient dunes marked by increasing height of trees
where teak changes to Mopane
and Kalahari sands change to mudstones
and the Acacia and Terminalia grow by the pans
and Jesse bush crowns the hard compact soils of the ‘inbetweens’

The dam is filled with water
a place where millions of lives overlap in a dance around this abundance
hundreds of elephant and buffalo,
buck, zebra, giraffe
crocs slide through the silky surface of still waters
bask on the banks,
hippo call all day and night
birds pick crumbs at your feet
butterflies abound in the last flowering Capperacae
and a colony of Dassies in the rocks below
shuffle around for a place in the sun

From the monastery to New York!
So much life!

At night is a continual rustle and scurry of camp creatures
and an alarming cracking and breaking as two elephant eat the bushes by Mel’s tent

In the morning we wake to the discovery that our tents are covered
in small yellow stink bugs
who stay with us for the rest of the journey

Sinamatella: The Edge

We sit on the edge of the cliffs looking south
hundreds of miles of wilderness to the Botswana pans

Behind us, the luxury of a national parks cottage
a hot bath
electricity

This is an old, well-known haunt
we haven’t visited for 8 years

The restaurant is now ragged
elephants and baboons pulling at the thatch
lodges are empty of visitors

We walk to the eastern end to visit our old friends,
the Commiphora trees
strange green trunks weaving out of the barren rocks on the edge of the world

but they are gone
trashed, slashed, smashed to the grounds
elephants?
but a ranger explains that they did it
for the tourists
‘For them to enjoy the view’

What destruction we bring for the most trifling of reasons

Outside the gate to the north lurks another monster
the extending arms of the Coal mine move closer to the park
as Zimbabwe forges ahead in providing energy for the nation

Elephant prints mingle in the coal dust and tracks of huge trucks
their ancient pathways disrupted by our growing destruction

Nature is held to ransom at the hands of man

Matopas: The Magic

Ancient granite mountains leaning into the skies around us

This is where Zimbabweans of all tribes have come for hundreds of years
to speak with the spirits
asking for advice and guidance

In the stillness there seems to be a question

‘how do we bring peace to our nation?’
‘behave as humans in respectful relationship with all things’

Scorpio rises again as Orion slips down to meet the horizon

old patterns
of ancient cycles
into new spirals

The stillness, the diversity, the edge and the magic