I never thought it possible to have patriotic Zimbabweans any more. Especially when it comes to young people of my generation. These patriots are young scholars based in the USA.They have come together to form a miniature Zimbabwean government. In it they appoint a Minister who gets to research on the field given to them. Not only do they research but they get to ask themselves what wrongs are being done in the real government and they propose policy ideas. If implemented they could really make a difference in our country. So when the young men addressing us told us they had put together a 100 plus paged document that has policy ideas, and suggestions to change the way the real government is doing work.  I almost stood to attention and said soldier on boys! Because I really think that with such innovative young minds, my beloved country can go back to her former glory and be called the “bread basket of Africa” again. But my mind went on a stand still when I heard them say they hoped to hand the document to the Prime Minister. One thing that came to mind as these boys were talking is what if they do not get chance to meet the Prime Minister, what happens to all those ideas? Who do they turn to, are they going to be considered a threat by the oldies in the real government? Then I remembered that we are in a new dispensation, and those old guys would be dumb not to consider the possibility of a break through from that document. I say this not because these guys are US based scholars but I sincerely have hope and believe in the power of young minds.

Alphabetically America and Zimbabwe are about as distant as you can get.  However, if you recast America as USA, then the two countries become alphabetically not so distant.  Interesting to think about the result of this alphabetical spin analogously to practices of democracy.  Eight years of George W. Bush certainly made the world think that the distance is America -Zimbabwe.  With America the bastion of democracy and Zimbabwe the axis of evil.  Of late there is ample evidence that when it comes to practicing democracy to oppose health care reform, the distance is USA-Zimbabwe.

Right now in USA health care reform is all that anyone is talking about.  Supposedly senior citizens oppose health care reform.  But when you dig deeper senior citizens have had the fear of god instilled in them, been told that Obama is not an American, is akin to Adolph Hitler, and that his health care reform strategy is to pull the plug on grandma, to let old people die.  How different is this from playing the race/sovereignty card and spouting that Tsvangirai is a puppet of the West, and if elected, poised to hand over all of the farm land to white people?

The senior citizens are being touted in USA as an organic grassroots movement.  But when you read the fine print these senior citizens have been rounded up by right wing conservative republican think tanks funded by pharmaceutical companies and the insurance industry.  How different is this than the fine print of what much of the Zimbabwean War Veterans movement has become?

Town hall meetings have been the sites of senior citizen civil disobedience in USA.  These meeting are intended for peaceful and productive debate about the actual issue of health care reform.   Instead the right wing conservative republican think tanks funded by pharmaceutical companies and the insurance industry have given senior citizens written instructions on how to cause raucouses, most notably instruction on how to rattle the speaker and how to prevent different viewpoints from entering the discussions.   How different is this from the role of the securocrats, military junta, CIO, etc. in Zimbabwe?

Last week a young man went to a town hall meeting to support the senior citizens, a town hall meeting where Obama was going to make an appearance.  This young man carried with him in plain sight a gun.  Also, he was standing next to people with signs that called for Obama’s death.  How different is this from arming youth militia and parading them around in shiny new 4X4 vehicles in the streets of Harare and across the country?

One way that Americans involve themselves in the political process is by writing letters to their senators or representatives, as individual citizens or through lobbying/advocacy organizations.  Increasingly surfacing in USA are letters to senators/representatives where pharmaceutical company and insurance industry -hired public relations firms have stolen the identities and letterhead of lobbying/advocacy organizations to submit falsified letters opposing health care reform.  How different is this from what the Herald does or the fact that the voter’s roll for the 2008 elections in Zimbabwe included deceased citizens?

Increasingly USA Democrats are doing the math and realizing that they can pass health care reform without any republicans voting for their bill.  Since I am a democrat and strongly support health care reform this is hard for me to say.  But still.  How different is this emerging USA Democrat strategy from the way the MDC and ZANU-PF fight tooth and nail continuously about every last seat in parliament and the cabinet in order to gain a majority in government?

I wonder.  How different are the practices of democracy in USA and Zimbabwe?  It’s all in how you spin things.  America is after all the Mecca of democracy, the world’s superhero for promoting democratic practices.   Even if USA politicians are engaged in outright transparent examples of lavish political patronage with pharmaceutical companies and the insurance industry at the expense of the 46 million Americans who do not have health insurance.

Now, I am sure that I was not the only Schumie fan who was disappointed when the retired seven-time Formula One champion had to call off his return to the sport. Oh, how I had stolen moments just to daydream about seeing the great man weave his way around those hairpin bends and chicanes with imperious ease once more.

But alas, ’twas not to be.

Michael Schumacher’s dodgy neck has well and truly put paid to his time as king of the Formula One track.

And so to console myself, I began my desperate search to find a new hero to fill his scarlet Ferrari boots – someone with equally supreme calmness and mastery of the art of driving.

Sure there are some good Formula One drivers out there, but I couldn’t quite find one to dull the pain and dejection that I was feeling at my wasted daydreams.

And then it hit me like a bolt out of the blue (or the Ferrari red) – I knew who my new hero of the road was!

With no world championships to show for it, and in fact no grand prix starts to even mention, this hero is no member of the jet-set elite of driving, but definitely knows how to handle the road.

My new hero is drum-roll …the Zimbabwean driver!

Not only must this most skilled of artists deal with normal traffic situations BUT also perilous potholes, unpredictable kombi drivers and yes even the non-functioning robots at intersections which demand quick thinking on who should have right of way.

God bless our drivers!

And I do mean that. These are the long-suffering men and women who would put a racing driver to shame with the ease with which they negotiate the catastrophe that is Zimbabwe’s road network system. And all the time, conducting conversations with their passengers or paying attention to the radio as if it were all normal!

So now, I challenge Michael Schumacher. If he’s still miffed about skipping the Formula One scene, I extend him a warm welcome to the uncertain terrain of Harare city driving.

Oh, Schumie, I know you would just love to test your skills on our very special stretch of decrepit tarmac. And if the city council does nothing to repair the roads before the rainy season begins, well the potholes will be so much bigger for you to swerve past! And yes, the kombi driver behind you will still somehow try to overtake you as you negotiate your way around.

Who needs twists and straights when you can have craters and kombi drivers?

The discussion around transitional justice and national healing has grown to the point that we’ve created a special index page to track the issue on Kubatana.

One of the interesting documents on the subject that I’ve put up recently is the Research and Advocacy Unit’s report Human rights violations against women and truth commissions, which looks at how women are effected by political violence and what lessons Zimbabwe can draw from truth commission processes in South Africa, Sierra Leone and Kenya. It calls for a Zimbabwean process that is open to and supportive of women victims of human rights abuses.

The Taking transitional justice to the people – Outreach report by the Zimbabwe Human Rights NGO Forum shares insights from a series of consultative meetings organised by the HR Forum with 442 people in 13 different rural constituencies across Zimbabwe. As the report points, out people from all walks of life in Zimbabwe have experienced political violence and other human rights abuses in the country’s history – and a similarly wide range of people participated in the HR Forum meetings. It was clear from these meetings that people want to talk about their past, and they need the platform to do so – in a way that is not biased or partisan.

I want the life I was promised as a child.
I do not want to go to another country,
to live like a foreigner,
a second class citizen
who doesn’t speak the lingo,
understand the subtle nuances of
that culture, that language,
THOSE people.
I want to celebrate MY Heroes Holiday,
not just go through the motions,
because really, its a public holiday and what else is there to do?
I want to feel safe when I walk the streets,
of MY country,
and not live in fear
of harrasment because I’m a woman;
of violence because of my political, religious or social beliefs;
of hunger when I work like a slave;
or poverty because no matter what I do, its never enough.
I want to see an end in sight,
a reason to stay and fight,
other than this is the land of my birth.
Its not enough anymore.

The first sign I got that I was back home was the torturous customs queue at Harare International Airport.

“Queuing already and we haven’t even gotten out of the airport,” remarked the frustrated man in front of me.

I couldn’t have agreed with him more.

Unlike other countries where returning nationals form their own separate line at customs, returning Zimbabweans tend to be lumped along with everyone else, although there is a separate counter which is meant specifically for us. None of the airport staff, however, usually bother to tend it.

Having been away for two months, I had sincerely hoped that things were slowly beginning to change for the better in Zimbabwe.

But the dejection of the customs officials – enough even for them to not bother with a warm hello before putting the obligatory stamp into our passports – was evidence enough for me that my fellow countrymen were still as oppressed and depressed as I had left them.

It was during my time away that Prime Minister Tsvangirai had toured Europe and the United States seeking to breathe some warm air over frosty relations between Zimbabwe and the West. Though he returned to Zimbabwe with a very small purse of funds, the signs of integration of our pariah nation into international politics had sparked hope within me.

But it was also during my time away that the constitutional reform process – the hallmark of the new government of national unity – had collapsed. And it was again during this time that I learnt that civil servants’ salaries had been raised, but only to a paltry range of between USD 150 and 200 per month.

Soon, I realised that only my physical presence within Zimbabwe would give me a real feel of whether anything had changed.

And the drive from the airport deepened my appreciation of the situation.

The kaleidoscope colours of garbage strewn all over caught my eyes as I watched snaking queues of people standing street-side hoping desperately for transport.

My heart began to tumble down my chest in despair.

“Let’s hope there’s electricity when we get home,” my mother interjected, pausing my heart’s descent, only to make it fall even faster.

That was another thing to start worrying about again; so far removed from the comparatively ‘breezy’ life I had enjoyed in Berlin, Germany, where I never had to give care to the most basic of necessities.

But the worst was still yet to come.

As we continued to drive, the potholes in the roads, some the size of basins, were causing vehicles to swerve precariously into neighbouring lanes and onto the curb in a bid to avoid becoming stuck in the craters, or damaging shock absorbers.

What kind of a country pays no attention to the maintenance and repair of roads, of rights, of what is right for its citizens?

“Those potholes are a reflection of the holes in our own hearts,” rued my friend as we swerved past yet another one.

If things continue like this, I wonder if we will still have hearts, or maybe just gaping holes in our souls.

For now, what is left of mine continues to bleed for my country.