I’m beginning to think that the term ‘empowerment’ is fancy NGO parlance for giving people permission to think for themselves. I went to the NGO Expo yesterday and I met a lot of NGO workers who appeared not to be ‘empowered’. It was a work assignment. So being ‘empowered’ by my NGO, I spoke to other NGOs about who Kubatana is and what we do. I should mention here that I do not labour under the title of Communication / Information and Advocacy Officer, I was merely doing my job as someone belonging to an organization: that is promoting its agenda and furthering its goals (ultimately that is the purpose of anyone’s job). Imagine my surprise, being an ‘empowered’ NGO worker, to find that other NGO workers were not as ‘empowered’ as I was, although they throw that particular term around like its free money.

I really don’t understand how some (not all, there were some organizations who had people that were very ‘empowered’) NGOs get on their soapboxes about ‘empowerment’ and fail to ‘empower’ their own people to speak to the media? Surely this is a basic marketing principle? The Expo is after all a marketing tool. I may not be very experienced in all things marketing, but I am familiar with the term Brand Ambassador, and with the principle of making every single person in an organization , from the Director to the cleaner, a Brand Ambassador. Making an organisations functionaries Brand Ambassadors means ensuring that every one knows what the organization is about, what it does, its hopes and aspirations for the future and more importantly why the existence of that organization is necessary. More than that, they are able (or shall we say ‘empowered’?) to speak to anyone at any time about it. Therefore, in an organization that believes enough in its own vision to invest in its people to do the same, anyone, Information Officer or not can answer basic questions about what their organizations does.

At one NGO, when I asked to interview to the Information Officer, she refused point blank to talk to me. At another, we spent most of what was a lovely afternoon trying to reach Head Office so we could get permission for an interview. I had spoken to the Information Officers earlier, who then gave me the run around. You might well wonder what sort of scary questions I was going ask that would elicit such reactions. They were simple: what issues that organization was currently focusing on; how the current political environment affected their work; how they (and here’s a key word), communicate with their constituencies; and the most controversial one of all: how they stay inspired in their work.

The NGO Expo was to give those NGOs who chose to exhibit an opportunity to get their issues out there. But they failed to ‘empower’ their Communication/ Information and Advocacy Officers to communicate to the public and media, and advocate their organizations objectives. So what exactly have they achieved by exhibiting? How are these organizations going to achieve their objectives, EVER, if their own people are poor representations of the organization? It seems to me that marketing is the least of their problems, and next year the money would be better spent in training their people to better represent their organization. I can’t really blame the functionaries for being afraid to speak out of turn. I blame the administrators and directors who create all the red tape in the first place. They are no better than government officials for having created such nonsensical rules for the dissemination of information.

rustle of dry wind in dry grass,
sucking moisture from every pore
heating the earth to a dry crust

it is the beginning of the hot dry season
the time of flowering
of insects awakening
and bees collecting
and a bird sipping nectar held in a scarlet petal

. . . no rain for 2 months still

what trust is it then
the masasas lend to the future
flushing in heart-stopping gold,
painting crimson,
grey-granite-kopjes
what source of water
invisible beneath the earth
do their searching roots touch
to feed these new shining leaves

overhead the skies are broken by fighter planes
demonstrating the power of dictators
to the crowds at the agricultural show
- where the farmers are absent
- and the farms are abandoned
and the empty words of politicians hang heavy in the air

out there,
today,
on some granite kopje
a group of councillors from both parties
share their stories of hurt and shame
walking the path where light and shadow meet
interchange
interact
interconnect

today
out there on some granite kopje
courageous people explore the possibility
of a new way of being
of seeing
of hope

of trusting the future
and sending roots down in search
of invisible deep water

walking the dry earth
trusting the journey

There’s something that makes many people who don’t know me think that I am not a Zimbo upon first meeting me.

No, it’s not the Bohemian dressing and my propensity to mix colours that should otherwise never be assembled together within one outfit (although some say that that is why they think I am Jamaican/ Kenyan/ Brazilian etc.).

It is actually more about my jelly belly and all those other spongy bits on my body.

“Hawu sisi, but you can’t be a Zimbabwean,” a South African woman once argued as we rummaged through clothes in a boutique in Polokwane together. A few minutes before, she had tried to engage me in a conversation in Xhosa and I had politely informed her that I didn’t understand what she was saying.

And so she asked, “Are you Kenyan?”

“No,” I said.

“Mozambican, Malawian, American, Jamaican?”

“Zimbabwean,” I finally said to stop her from reciting all the nations on the global map.

But she didn’t believe me.

With a look at me from my head through my middle and then straight down to my toes, she concluded, “You are too healthy to be Zimbabwean.”

This was at the peak of the cholera epidemic when it seemed that the whole Zimbabwean population would be wiped out by the scourge.

And what she meant was that I was too fleshy, too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to be coming from a collapsing country.

She is not the only one who has said this to me.

It seems everywhere I go, people have a perception that Zimbabwe is just a sorry pit in the ground infested with starvation and disease.

And why wouldn’t they? Any international news about us is all doom and gloom, horrifying statistics and depressing facts – no images of smiling healthy people.

So when you are the only Zimbabwean a person has had the opportunity to meet, the shock that yes, you do wear clean clothes, look well-fed and articulate – is all too much for them to bear. You should actually be half-way to dead and completely dejected.

Now that CNN, BBC and all the other foreign media stations have been allowed back into Zimbabwe, I truly hope that they will begin to beam messages of hope and happiness about this dear nation once more. One of my favourite sayings states that in the world, there is great suffering; but also great overcoming of it. That saying could have been written for the plight of Zimbabwe and its people.

I went through my first toll-gate the other day, Tuesday, August 18, 2009 at around lunch hour. On my way back from Kadoma CMED/VID (yes, I am still working on acquiring my driver’s license).

On the way out of town I did not witness the Zim-toll-gate experience because I was sleeping. A car is the most soothing place for me to fall asleep. It doesn’t take much, just the hum of the engine and the consistent wave-like pothole-dodging and I’m off to Sleepyland.

On the way back to Harare I was wide awake and chatty. We drove past acres upon acres of farmland that just lay dry and unused. There were feigned attempts at productivity here and there but the reality of the situation was blaringly obvious. I must say our dear Gov Gono’s land seemed to be semi-teeming with activity. Way to go, Gideon. If only you’d been that good with the Zim-kwacha…okay, okay, not right now.

We’re happily traveling along at a user-friendly 50kmph and then off to the left of the road I see mini-tents. In the space of about 100meters, I see about 4 or 5 mini-tents. I distinctly recall seeing one that had a big white ‘T’ in a blue circle and then another that had 60 written in the middle of a circle. As I was trying to process the sudden influx of roadside mini-tents, I suddenly see people in the middle of the road. I figured these people were important and were on ‘official’ business because of their clipboards and white, wide-brimmed canvas hats. Look, I don’t know who decides on the ‘officials’ wardrobe in this country but she needs to be fired! Nothing says “I’m on official business and take me seriously,” like a white wide-brim hat, a fluorescent yellow vest with a dangling ID…oh yes, and the clipboard!

The car I’m in slows down. It suddenly dawns on me – this is a toll chakuti-chakuti! Our driver, Doug, starts to dig around in his pocket for a dollar bill. In case you’re not aware, there are different amounts to be paid depending on the size of your vehicle. Our vehicle fell into the US$1 category. I wished I was on a motorcycle coz those guys get to go through for free! Blessed are ye who travel on 2 wheels, for ye shall not have to pay the toll!

Now from where I was sitting – in the passenger seat directly behind the driver – I couldn’t tell who of the wide-brims was going to accept the US$1 from our car. The place was crawling with wide-brims! Then a young lady with a good accent came to Doug’s window. (I’m an accent snob so I notice these things). The young lady was a ZIMRA official. (I’m not sure what ZIMRA stands for but I feel like they are people that I’m supposed to hate). The official young lady began to scrawl officially on a page of a receipt book. She asked Doug for the car’s license plate number. He obliged. She officially scrawled it down, officially ripped the page out of the receipt book, officially handed the piece of paper to Doug, officially took the 1 dollar bill and slipped it into her official-looking brown Postman Pat bag.

And then we were off again. That was my first-hand experience at a Zimbo toll what-what.

Now, I have a question: why, pray tell, does a country that is SMALLER than the STATE of Texas need tollgates? Tollbooths? Tollroads? (Will somebody, please tell me the correct terminology!!) Seriously, I’d like to know. Oh yes, and were we actually consulted about the toll-thingies? Or was the whole thing dreamed up in another ‘how to drain Zimboes of their last pennies’ meeting? (Psst, oi! These are the same meetings where they decided the price of the license disc for your car. Oh, and the ‘car-radio’ license prices!) Where is the money going? To the ZIMRA officials who will stand out in the Sub-Saharan heat in the middle of ‘Aww-Hell-No”? Or is it going to purchase a new fleet of  vehicles for our government’s VIPs? Or will it actually go to maintaining the roadways? Have you been on the Bulawayo Road lately?!

What I witnessed at the toll-thingy on Tuesday was a perfect example of MINIMUM input for MAXIMUM exploitation! Little thought has been put into this – the long-term sustainability of the whole thing, its implications, the logistics. Seriously, how long will you have official-looking wide-brims handwriting EVERY SINGLE toll receipt? And security for the poor fools that have to do this at night? Need I mention that we have ZESA issues? And the elements? Mother Nature can be unforgiving.

Who comes up with these bright ideas? As long as ‘they’ can get money out of us for now, then it works for them doesn’t it? Never mind the mess that’ll need to be cleaned up in the future.

I was watching CNN’s Hala Gorani on her show International Desk. I like that show. I have to be honest though that I have struggled with some of the fancy camera angles that the International Desk team throw at me… but aside from that I am cool with it. Thanks, Hala. Good work.

So anyway, where was I? Oh yes, watching International Desk last week on Wednesday night. MJ’s doctor, Dr Murray (I think) appears on the show with the tagline: I told the truth! The man is trying to clear his name amidst accusations that he had something to do with MJ’s death, blah, blah etc, etc. But what caught my attention and that of my father’s as we watched this news story was the fact that this doctor was going to be paid US$150 000 a month! For what, you ask? For the duration of MJ’s rehearsals and UK concert tour. I repeat US$150 000 a month!!!! So should the whole process have taken 5 months…yes, that’s it- he would have been paid $750 000! This is coming from ONE patient PER MONTH … I’ll let that settle in your mind for a bit before I continue…

Earlier on that same Wednesday, I’d learned that our MDC Harare mayor Mr Muchadeyi Masunda was given a new car that cost US$152 000, and an inauguration party. My reaction to Masunda’s car was that of disgust and disappointment rather than “Dang!” (“Dang!” is what I uttered when I learned that MJ’s doc was going to earn a year’s worth of college fees for a month’s work).

You see even if my reaction to Doc’s earnings would have been that of disgust, I could still argue that it’s America and they are crazy over there. Nothing they do makes sense, yet we love them anyway. I could argue that though the ole U.S of A is going thru an ‘economic downturn,’ at least the country’s not falling apart at the seams which is why they can afford to pay private physicians obscene amounts of money.

With Masunda? I got nothing! No justification, no support, no argument that would make a US$152 000 price tag on a car ok. I got nothing!

Instead, I find myself disgusted, angry and betrayed. …and then I feel stupid. See, when I voted I was convinced that members of the MDC were different. Not just different, but BETTER. What Obama was to Bush, I felt MDC-M was to ZANU-PF. MRT and his MDC were my Barack Obama…yet here I am disappointed and ashamed.

Doctors are striking, teachers are threatening to strike, corruption continues on its merry way throughout the country, while the people I voted for in the name of ‘hope’are getting new cars and feeding their stomachs. Can you not see that this is a slap in the faces of so many suffering Zimbabweans?

Remember 2 or 3 years ago when Uncle Gideon bought the Mercedes Brabus for US$365 000? Remember that? He kept cooking up new currency at our expense but he was (still is) living like a king?!? Remember that, Mr Masunda? When will you stop the madness? When will you care?

See with you it’s worse because you led so many of us to believe in you. We believed that we’d turned a corner and left the old ways behind and we were moving on. Moving onto healing, moving onto justice, moving into the future with a leadership that cares about its people rather than itself. Moving forward in hope.

You see, you can probably dismiss this and say, “Relax, it’s just a car.” But it’s much more than that. You’ve made a statement by accepting that car. You’ve shown your true colours and you’ve compromised the trust of those who put you in that position.

I’m sad. This can’t be the MDC that MRT fought for and almost lost his life for on countless occasions.

Most of last week I was in the city of lights, Johannesburg, and because I was having so much fun being away from home, it completely left my mind that swine flu or A(H1N1) was reportedly resident, prevailing and spreading in South Africa. My work colleague and I traveled around and between Johannesburg and Pretoria for our various appointments. It wasn’t until the fourth day of our stay in South Africa when we were in a restaurant having breakfast and waiting to have a meeting with some of our partners that someone behind us suddenly started sneezing uncontrollably. In the wake of the swine-flu scare, the elderly woman was not even making an effort to cover her nose and mouth like anyone should who has got any flu, swine or not. My colleague and I just stared at each other, half realizing the risk of contracting swine flu and half annoyed and confused at the old woman’s carefree sneezing feat. Annoyed glances from around the restaurant went unnoticed by the chattering woman and I was half tempted to walk over to her table and admonish her for being so rude.

We are back in Zimbabwe but all weekend, I was pretty sickly with a sore throat, slight temperature and feeling restive. My family members thought I was just being paranoid when I insisted on being taken to the hospital in the thick of night on Saturday. I had had a genuine swine-flu scare and had been in the high-risk zones of  South Africa; the malls, restaurants, the airplane, and the airports. I was convinced I was going to die. It suddenly occurred to me that none of us really knew much about N1H1 in much the same way we had initially been indifferent to cholera until it claimed some of our own. It occurred to me that I had no idea where to go for testing, neither was I sure most of the doctors here were familiar with it or even knew how to recognize it.

Cases of swine flu have already been detected in Mutare. The state, which recently was unable to contain a cholera epidemic that killed more than 4000, and has a half dead health system claims it is on ‘high alert’ to combat swine flu.  Meanwhile, doctors are once again on strike. The country’s health minister, Henry Madzorera said health surveillance teams have been deployed to all entry points into the country (including airports) to look out for suspected swine flu cases among people coming into the country.  I do not remember seeing anything like that at the airport. The ministry has also not made it clear where individuals who suspect they have the flu can go for free testing, as should be the case. I seriously doubt the government’s ability or will to deal with a swine-flu outbreak.

The government of Botswana has put in place a toll-free number for reporting any suspected cases of swine flu. South Africa has established centers for testing all over the country and is on a mission to educate its population on recognizing symptoms, treatment and how to avoid catching it. If our own government has put any serious and practical measures in place, then clearly there hasn’t been enough publicity about them. But if you ask me what make cell phone was stolen off Chinotimba, I will tell you.