Here are some excerpts from an article by Xan Rice writing for The Guardian Weekly. His piece is about the Kenyan government of national unity, how the government has done well for itself, while the poor eat “air burgers”.

Sounds a lot like Zimbabwe.

Evans Akula lost his Mercedes but got the message. During a late-night carjacking in Nairobi a few weeks ago, the assailants asked the Kenyan MP: “When will you people give us the new constitution or the jobs that you have promised?” The question encapsulated the main concerns in Kenya today: the urgent need for political reform and accountability, and the growing struggle of the mwananchi, or common man, to get by.

Poor people skip meals, eating “air burgers”, as the local saying goes. Government attempts to help the poor have been half-hearted at best, reflecting not only lack of money but a skewed sense of priorities. In the recent budget, finance minister Uhuru Kenyatta revealed that the projected revenues for this year would not even cover the state’s running costs, which went up steeply when Odinga and Kibaki nearly doubled the number of ministries to reward allies with seats.

To save cash Kenyatta announced that no government official would be able to drive a vehicle over 1800cc – the local Mercedes dealer quickly advertised several models at 1796cc – but several ministers said they would ignore the directive.

In Harare there are two annoyances motorists have to constantly be on the lookout for: hungry traffic police and potholes.

I have just collected one of my tyres from Montagu service station after parting with a hefty $40 to get it fixed.  Harare is one of those cities in the world where potholes morph into sinkholes. Yesterday I drove straight into a crater I couldn’t circumvent because of oncoming traffic. In any case it was the kind of road where you can’t exactly avoid potholes because they just look like Swiss cheese.   If I had any close associations with individuals like his honour, Justice Cheda, I would also probably be able to sue and demand compensation from either the city council or government. Members of Parliament have asked for brand new 4x4s citing the bad state of roads that are prohibiting them from visiting their constituencies.  To them, 4x4s seem to be the only solution though compounded by lack of money/will/interest to repair roads. The majority of roads now just need to be repaved. I shudder to imagine the nightmare of happening upon lethal water filled sinkholes come rainy season. I wonder if any of the $950 million credit lines from our ‘all weather friend’ China could be channeled towards road repair.

This morning I was allegedly  ‘nabbed’ for running the ‘orange’ on Tongogara and Prince Edward Street.  In Harare, it is a complete waste of time to try and explain anything to traffic cops most of whom I doubt have drivers’ licenses or understand the mechanisms associated with driving. The bored looking cop came up to my window and asked me how my day was. Good, I said. How is yours? Bad, he said. Because he had no money in his pocket, he explained. But he was sure I could share what I had. A minute later and ticketless, I drove off with a clear conscience because I’d rather feed that hungry looking fellow and his family with $10 than part with $20 that supposedly goes to the ‘state’ in the form of spot fine. I reasoned to myself that some of the cops fleece us because they are underpaid and have a genuine need to clothe, educate and feed their families. The ‘state’ is not using the collected spot fines to repair roads and traffic lights. Only God knows if that money is not part of what lines the pockets of and sponsors shopping sprees in Malaysia by you-know-who.

Dictionary.com defines patriotism as devoted love, support and defense of one’s country, national loyalty. In confusing love of our country with support of bad leadership, we’ve lost our sense of Patriotism. Yet patriotism is within the reach of ordinary citizens and something that we desperately need a lot more of. It’s spreading the word when something good happens and realizing that not everything in this country has to revolve around party politics. Patriotism is refusing to bribe a police officer and insisting that he follow the letter of the law for our traffic (or other) violations. It’s paying our taxes when we have to and buying Zimbabwean products to support our manufacturing industries. Its letting our neighbours who haven’t had water for years get water from us when we have boreholes. Its letting someone else go at the dead traffic lights. Its even turning the lights off when you’re not in the room to save electricity, not just for you but for the whole country. Patriotism is standing up for the Zimbabwe we believe in. Being Zimbabwean, regardless of who or where we are is something we should all take pride in. Working toward the Zimbabwe we all want to live in is something we should all do on a daily basis. It doesn’t require grand national gestures. Oftentimes it is the littlest things that make the biggest difference, it just takes us to keep an eye out for them. What have you done for Zimbabwe lately?

Governing in Africa
is like sweeping leaves
on a windy day

I was a University of Zimbabwe student once. When academic programmes were over subscribed, the administration was over worked, departments were understaffed and the entire University was underfunded. This was before the elections that officially didn’t cause the closure. Evidence of the silent rioting that happened at night, after the library was closed, would be found first thing in the morning. Broken windows, overturned chairs and benches, or the smouldering car that belonged to some fat cat who was visiting someone in Swinton.

I was a student at the University of Zimbabwe when unidentifiable members of the CIO and police attended lectures they did not understand with students. When one semester the University opened and I found that there were more police officers on campus than students. I come from a long line of University graduates, all of whom proudly hold up several degrees from the University of Zimbabwe. They don’t understand how the University that they remember, could have turned into what it was when I was a student, and what it is now: a place of unfulfilled promise and broken dreams. Their University, was a place of hushed academic endeavour. Merely being present on campus inspired them to strive for excellence in their respective programmes. They wanted for nothing and for them being at the University was a break from the suffering of living in the communal or what was then the Tribal Trust Lands. I have heard them speak of moving into the Halls of Residence, and how it meant you were a serious student. Being present on that same campus meant suffering for almost everyone I attended University with. Those same Halls of Residence were little more than glorified brothels; and were tellingly named after cities that suffered heavy handed bombing. I’m told that your University days are supposed to be your most idealistic, when you believe in the good of and fighting for humanity. Yet somehow our students leaders were poisoned. Student politicians were younger versions of the real thing, greedy, manipulative and corrupt. Elections to student Council when I was there, bore the same elements as national elections. Election promises included better housing, access to clean water, better sanitation  and a stop to the corrupt practices of the previous administration. They were tainted too, with murmurs of harassment, violence and corruption even within the election process.

Today’s University is struggling to cater to the very few students who despite the harsh realities of their lives persevere in trying to get a degree. The handful of lecturers who go without pay but still teach are ignored, mistreated and overworked. Times have changed from the glory days, when acceptance into the University of Zimbabwe meant that you had a place in Zimbabwe’s own Talented Tenth. Times have changed. The University has devolved from being a place of hope to one of suffering. But some things remain the same. The UZ remains a reflection of the society that we live in.

A gender advocacy group is trying to shove self-righteous coolade down Julius Malema’s throat on allegations of hate speech. The ANCYL President is understood to have suggested that Zuma’s alleged rape victim enjoyed the sex because if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have waited until the sun came out, had breakfast and asked for taxi fare. In my mind I am thinking, ok, what are the prescribed behavior patterns for rape victims? Obviously the youth leader who is coming across more as Zuma’s naïve lackey has no understanding or comprehension of the complexities of rape. Well, whether or not that woman did her things in that neat order the most striking thing is that imbeciles like Malema are left to lead the youth in South Africa. Surely political lapdogs like him are a liability to democracy and ought to be exterminated or locked up before they breed.

Speaking of locked up, the ZLHR today organized a workshop that sought to promote the rights of prisoners in Zimbabwe. Several presentations were made that showed that evidently, the state of or prisons is worse than abandoned dog kennels. Prisoners are hungry and walk around next to naked. Sexual and physical abuse is rampant and disease is claiming a lot of them in droves. The most touching were two things – mothers with little babies are locked up in there and have to share whatever meals they get with their children. There are no separate portions for the kids.

When the mothers menstruate, they have to use pieces of blankets for pads. Secondly; juveniles who have committed petty crime (although in my books there is nothing like that) are thrown together with hardened criminals who instantly turn them into wives, so to speak. At the end of a session, I found I wasn’t the only one struggling with indecision faced with the moral need to provide basic human rights to prisoners and the thought that a lot of them actually are hardcore criminals who have raped, robbed and killed our kith. The workshop continues tomorrow but for now I thought to myself, if Malema was to spend just one night at Chikurubi, I couldn’t give a rat’s ass if he starved.