Saturday was a day of despair

7 years . . .
hanging heavy on my bones
dragging weary at my feet
7 years
watching destruction without respite

Saturday was a day of anger
‘how dare they ruin the lives of millions
without repent’

They? – the enemy?
do not come from another tribe or religion or ethnic group
is this him?
sitting there on the other side of the table
a father dressed in a police uniform that years ago
he wore with pride
now the badge of violence and oppression
-our father/uncle/brother/daughter
their side chosen?

Help
does not come dressed in a dark suit
the banker who will sort the economy,
or a in a uniform
to protect our rights

Hope
does not arrive with a group of election monitors
- for we have learned they cannot see
nor does it come with a group of African leaders
presented with lists of violations of our rights
- for we have learned the compromise of their positions

Hope
does not arrive grasped in the hands of a saving hero

but in filtering light of the early morning
distilled through leaf shadows
a message echoed at dawn
as birds claim their voice in individual song

Hope may only arrive in the realization
that the real enemy is our own despair

Zimbabwe’s security forces – police, army and militia – are rather fond of raising their fists to settle disputes and differences of opinion. So, predictably, injuries were the order of the day when the riot police descended upon the WOZA/MOZA members who peacefully marched through Bulawayo on June 06. The marchers were determined to insert their grassroots voices into the current SADC efforts to mediate in Zimbabwe’s crisis.

Some of their questions of the SADC process include “we would like to know exactly what South African President Thabo Mbeki, Tanzanian President Kikwete and our SADC brothers and sisters want to achieve by their mediation. Is their role to bring about a new government without any political, economic and social reform? Or is their objective something more meaningful?”

Their concerns are justified as the international community seems increasingly likely to follow the path of least resistance and assist in the installation of the next Big Man once Mugabe is persuaded or agrees to “go”. Is that the change we have all worked so hard for over the last 10 years? I don’t think so. Prosperity at any cost has a hollow ring. Of course the majority of Zimbabweans want jobs and education and opportunity but many have come to realise that we need a prosperous and just society that future generations can build on and benefit from. Quick fixes just won’t do it anymore.

Well done to the Women and Men of Zimbabwe who continue to raise their voices in a country that pretends it has the needs of the people at heart, but far too often prefers to shoot the messengers who bring a wisdom that should have been welcomed years ago.

I’ve been feeling rather ragged lately mostly on account of the power cuts. I’m enough of salad and instant soup. The upside is that I’m getting to bed much earlier than usual. I’m reading Emergency Sex (and other desperate measures) by candlelight and loving it. Give it a read.

Talking about reading, I find it hard not to read everything and anything . . . including the Customer Complaints Book that I saw hanging by a tatty string in the toiletries aisle in Bon Marche, Borrowdale. I didn’t expect to find that anyone had actually taken the trouble to list their complaints, but lo and behold there were several entries. Of course many of them revolved around the High Prices of commodities but someone else took the supermarket to task for keeping the fleshy parts of pig heads for the staff and leaving only the teeth and noses for customers.

Maybe I will stick to instant soup.

Yesterday an article on NewZimbabwe.com caught my eye about a Zimbabwean woman hotelier who allegedly forced a young woman to have sex with her. Here’s an excerpt:

On arrival at the house, the girl said she noticed there was no-one else in the house and asked Chirove where the guests were. She said Chirove told her she wanted her help in preparing for the party before the guests arrived. The state alleges Chirove then led the girl to her bedroom where she locked the door immediately after the girl had entered. She then dipped her hands into a traditional clay pot besides her bed and instructed the girl to do the same. Chirove then allegedly ordered the girl to open a calabash, where there was a strange creature, about 45cm tall, “hairy like a baboon, and looked like a human being”. Chirove is alleged to have then ordered the girl not to tell anyone about the incident, lest the creature followed her home. She then ordered the girl to undress and lie on the bed on her back.

Between short hairy baboonlike creatures, cold dark nights and pigs teeth, I’m feeling a need for Emergency Sex and several other desperate measures to get me through the winter.

Exhausted, freezing and hungry, yesterday evening I was in nothing but a mad rush to get myself home. That was around 5:30 but it was already getting dark since winter is really here.

I was on my way to my “combis” at Albion when I encountered a huge crowd on the corner of Jason Moyo and Cameron Street. This being a very busy place I thought there had been an accident. It did not take me long to realize I was wrong. This was an angry mob banging the glass walls of Iton Distributors, baying for someone’s blood. For the first time I wished I had a camera. Somehow I penetrated the crowd and found myself right in front of the locked entrance where all the action was. The glass exterior allowed me to see the shelves and all that was taking place inside. Now you know trying to get information from excited onlookers is usually a problem, so I had to contend with picking up bits and pieces of what had actually transpired.

Inside, an elderly woman maybe in her late 30s or early 40s lay unconscious on the floor a few meters from the locked entrance. Now and then, her hand or leg would twitch as uniformed bike police officers milled around her talking on their radio phones. The woman, identified as Mai Brenda by one of the vocal women, was drenched in water in an apparent effort to rouse her, and her legs and face were swollen.

Word had it she had stolen a plastic comb from the shop, got caught and received a thorough beating from the shop “manager” and two of his male subordinates. The hullabaloo was that the crowd wanted to mete out mob justice on the latter. I mean, even if she had stolen a television set, that was no excuse or right to beat her lifeless. As the swelling crowd got bigger and restive, the shrill alarm of a police vehicle suddenly pierced the air, and for a while, heads turned and voices quietened. Super cop “Silver” was cruising down Jason Moyo (which by the way is a one way street – indeed, I thought, some are more equal than others.) He was accompanied by a council ambulance.  I must admit, though I live in Zimbabwe, I had never before today, heard of this guy. I ventured to ask who he was and somebody whispered he was the super cop specially assigned to deal with carjackers. Supposedly a sharp shooter who is licensed to kill and drives an unmarked silver vehicle, hence the nickname. Never before had I witnessed the manifestation of power as the simple looking guy in his brown cap ordered everyone to vacate and for the ambulance people to get in and carry the woman to the ambulance. I’m sure he too, stern as he is said to be, felt the shop manager deserved to be disciplined. Although people backed off a bit, they were not willing to leave before the shop manager had been dealt with. Some shouted obscenities to the now frightened shop manager who was still domiciled in the building. Only the glass windows separated him from serious harm. I heard someone suggest they break down the glass exterior of the shop in order to beat up the occupants, if not to steal. Women chanted, “Murderer, murderer,” and some scolded the shop manager for “killing” a fellow black person over his Chinese boss’ comb. I doubt the shop workers made it home uninjured.

The past seven days in Hilversum, Holland have been enjoyable but also full of complications. Imagine staying with 25 people from 17 different countries – you all speak English but have ‘accents’ so there’s often a communication breakdown.

We are here for six weeks studying “Internet for Journalists” at the Radio Netherlands Training Centre (RNTC).

What has been the major talk amongst participants during our first week has been the number of access cards that have been given to us. We each have a bus card, hotel card, meal card, RNTC door access card, computer access card and phone cards to call kumusha (home). These cards have to be on you all the time if you want life to move smoothly for yourself.

Day by day we have had to adjust to the ‘Dutch way of life’ and this includes making sure that you are in time for meetings. If you have a 9am meeting and you arrive at 9.05am you are regarded as late. It is very different from the way we do business in Harare where some meetings start 30 minutes late and it is considered normal.

Going to bed before it gets dark has been a challenge, darkness falls around 10pm. It just looks strange closing the curtains and jumping into bed around 8.30pm when light is still there.

However, what puts a smile on my face is knowing that there are no water and power cuts like back home. You can take a bath anytime without having to imagine what you will do if water goes and you have soap in your eyes. It is also pleasing to note that you can wake up and do your ironing in the morning without worrying that ZESA is forwarding your kilo watts to our ‘new’ farmers that have been farming for the last five years.

This weekend a friend will be taking me to meet a homeboy staying in Holland. I wonder how many Zimbabweans are in Holland but I hope there is a sizable number that can cook sadza with meat and vegetables.

I saw a rather curious advertisement in The Herald today. It was inserted by the Zimbabwe Republic Police giving details of the Southern African Region Police Chiefs Co-operation (SARPCCO) Games to be held in Harare in August. Apparently a whole bunch of police chiefs from SADC are going to get together to challenge each other in athletics, soccer, volleyball, darts, chess and netball. They say that this is an effort to “build lasting relationships among law enforcing agents in the region for the betterment of all SADC citizens”.

How’s that! All SADC citizens. Presumably this includes Zimbabwe where the police recently beat up a group of lawyers in downtown Harare. One of them being a most amazing woman called Eileen Sawyer, otherwise known as gogo, (meaning grandmother) because of her age – 80. Eileen is the director of the Zimbabwe Human Rights NGO Forum.

Maybe the Zimbabwe Republic Police’s orgy of violence over the last couple of months has been part of their training regime for their August sporting event. Like beating a grandmother strengthens their “darts” arm, or something.

Sometime ago we published the SARPCCO Code of Conduct for Police Officials which makes for interesting reading in view of the entirely disgusting behaviour of some members of Zimbabwe’s police force and their cowardly generals like Bvudzijena. Article 4 of their Code of Conduct states

No police official, under any circumstances, shall inflict, instigate or tolerate any act of torture or any cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment to any person.