[I think people are wasting their time waiting for Mugabe to die. The rate at which life in Zimbabwe is collapsing and becoming unbearable is a good sign. Revolution. The utter desperation is breaking society. I am interest, pleased and delighted to see the number of border jumpers increasing. Bit by bit, meltdown is having its effects. Revolution could eventually be a natural consequence. Jan]

“Don’t fool yourself. Speed kills,” a Power FM radio announcer tells listeners. It is hard to take his statement seriously. It’s a Friday afternoon in central Harare, and traffic dithers along at 40kph even though the speed limit is 60kph. Motorists drive slowly to conserve petrol, I am told, keeping an eye on the fuel gauge as the precious liquid diminishes into puffs of carbon dioxide.

Despite reports in the local media trumpeting the “tumble” of annual inflation from 1 184,6% to 993,6%, and the success of the recent currency-reform programme, there is little evidence of improvement in the daily lives of locals.

In the 10 days that I was in the country, the price of a bus ticket from Chitungwiza to Harare rose from Z$200 to Z$250, and then to Z$300 — a hefty penalty if you consider that a security guard in Chitungwiza has to spend Z$12 000 of his Z$20 000 monthly salary travelling about 22km to work in Harare.

One trader, selling fruits and vegetables, says she earns about Z$5 000 on a good day, and about Z$3 000 on a bad day. Even state-employed teachers, who earn about Z$30 000, live below the Z$68 000-a-month breadline.

As one of the few people with a full tank of petrol, I felt compelled to pick up hitchhikers on my visit and was offered insight into what ordinary Zimbabweans think about the economic and political climate.

“This country is bleeding; this country is finished,” says Constantine, a housewife and mother of six, who catches a ride for the final 20km stretch of road to Bulawayo.

After we are searched at one of numerous roadblocks set up ahead of the August 21 currency-exchange deadline, she mutters: “It is complete harassment. The policemen and politicians are just getting fatter. You can’t pass anywhere without handing something to police. We are stuck here because we are born here. It is only because of this that we stay.”

When I meet Theresa, an elderly woman, near Amakhosi Theatre in Bulawayo, she is on her way home from the hospital. “They didn’t have pills so they gave me a paper [script] for what is wrong with me, but I can’t afford to buy the medicine at the pharmacy so I went back this week, but there are still no pills,” she says with resignation.

Joyce, a cross-border trader I pick up on the road outside of Kwekwe, says: “To live in Zimbabwe is to be very angry.” Joyce buys batiks in Harare and sells them in Botswana. “”There are many [border] jumpers now; everyone is jumping.”

Back in Harare, The Village, an upmarket complex in Borrowdale, is buzzing as people go about their Saturday-morning shopping. Initially it appears that the country’s economic crisis has had little effect here — until one takes a closer look. Supermarket trolleys contain only the bare minimum and products at the local Clicks are arranged in single rows in an attempt to make the shelves look fuller.

“Life here is unbearable,” says Chengetai, a bookkeeper who lives in Chitungwiza. At 4pm, she hands around plates of stiff samp mixed with peanut butter, and laughs. “We can no longer afford a decent meal. We have to eat supper in the afternoon if you don’t [have] tough luck — the electricity can go off at any time.”

She points outside to the keloid scars of rubble that still litter the suburb a year after the controversial slum clearance that was Operation Murambatsvina. “We used to be a building here [a phone shop]. That was a good enterprise, but in a few minutes it was gone. Bulldozed. You spend your whole life working and at the end of the day you have nothing tangible to show for it.”

On the drive back into the city, I pick up two passengers. As the sun dips the mood is high and the two friends laugh and joke. “When that man [Mugabe] dies,” one woman roars. “I am going to drink so much my husband is going to have to put out an ad to find me. When he dies I am going there to the state funeral to see for myself and I am going to pour concrete in the grave.”

Her friend pipes in: “Concrete and cement. That way we can make sure he can’t come out.”

Source: Mail and Guardian
URL: http://www.mg.co.za/articlePage.aspx?articlei…br>[Posted by: Rooi Jan]

VERENA Replied:
Hi, thanks for your contribution. How well loved our leaders are…