In repeated patterns
the planet turns

- it is that time again
when skeletal-dark branches
that space the beige of winter
bud into copper and gold
and the bougainvilleas bloom
in flowers of fire

at sunset we sit in the stillness of twilight
as the earth holds her breath
approaching the time to dream
collecting our vital force to cross the invisible canyon

news this morning reports that 2 days of SADC meetings
‘have met with no resolution’
the death of thousands on their hands

and still the old man holds us in his grips
as we watch our people starve

the street child stands on the corner
street worn
bare feet in a carpet of crimson
fallen petals
of the lucky bean tree

Zimbabweans have waited long enough to pass this economic wilderness. Ever since we voted in the Harmonized Elections on March 29th, 2008, life has become increasingly difficult. And if these political leaders do not reach any meaningful agreement soon life for Zimbabweans will only get worse. Many cannot afford basics like bread, meat, mealie-meal. And as the majority cannot afford school fees to send their children to school, we only hope a quick resolution of the crisis will mean a better life for our children.

In the past week prices of basic commodities in the illegal parallel market shot up as the local currency also made heavy losses against major currencies.

Surely, if the ‘X’ can bring all these hardships then I would never again join that voting queue. If I join a queue for sugar, mealie-meal, cooking oil, fuel, cash, and taxis surely it will be smiles back home among my family. But hey, the ‘X’ queue has given me headaches.

Patience is running thin for many Zimbabweans as seen by the high number of people in the streets of Harare and other suburbs seeking to leave the country to become economic refugees in neighbouring countries. People are leaving in their numbers because they have lost faith in these talks of talks about talks. What has worsened the situation for Zimbabweans is that they do not know what the parties involved were/are talking about because of the media blackout imposed on the negotiating teams. But it is the Zimbabwean people’s fate being discussed so we should really have a right to know what the future will be like.

The OK Supermarket in my neighborhood doesn’t even bother distinguishing between a cash queue and a swipe queue. Everyone in Zimbabwe is swiping (except me). The Spar by me, on the other hand, has outlawed swiping for cash. And I’ve witnessed that they do enforce this. I don’t mind when people ask to swipe for me. It’s not the best etiquette, but the situation has made this a necessity and I’m happy to help people out. But there’s still some queue etiquette which I have a hard time politely accepting. If I’ve been waiting in a queue for five, approaching ten minutes, I don’t think it’s nice etiquette for someone I’ve not seen in the queue to walk up with their basket full of groceries and say, as they slide in front of me, oh I was here. I’m sorry, but no. You were not here. Actually you were in the two aisles that have food doing your shopping. I tend not to say anything. I think it wise to avoid a verbal confrontation. But I do try as best I can to give a serious hairy eye-ball to signal first, I’m not at all happy with this and second, if you’re a Buddhist this is not a way to gain good karma and in fact, it’s a way to increase the likelihood that you will come back in your next life a cockroach. So far, the hairy eye-ball strategy has yet to result in someone taking what I think is their more sound etiquette appropriate place at the end of the queue.

The other day at the OK, I experienced several new twists in the world of swiping. The two people in front of me were buying three loaves of bread and a bottle of Breakers (some sort of alcohol). Which I guess possibly were their bare bones essentials. The attendant rang up the total. They swiped. Came back insufficient funds. A conversation ensued with the attendant about the exact cost for each of the items. Then a conversation between the two customers about what to do. They looked in their pockets only to find pocket change. Which in Zimbabwe I’m sure is far below the world’s average for what constitutes pocket change. Then they made a phone call asking someone to transfer more funds. A few seconds passed. They asked the attendant to try again. It worked. I had no idea one could transfer funds that quickly. But they must have made a mistake. Or they didn’t have sufficient funds to transfer as they only had enough money for the Breakers and two loaves of bread. So they settled on that, their essentials. I was quite happy because I snatched up their discarded loaf of bread. And even it was the really good bread that I like. The more doughy kind shaped more like a ball/blob as opposed to shaped like a taller and sturdy loaf. So it was my turn to buy my bare bones essentials. Two packs of cigarettes and a loaf of my preferred bread. I counted my cash. The attendant asked if anyone was swiping for me. I said no. To which she responded: Can I?

I’ve just come from the bank, where the whole queue was talking about prices. The cash withdrawal limit in Zimbabwe has been raised to $300 (which would have been $3 trillion before 10 zeros were lopped off last month). This is, at least, a marked improvement over $10 ($100 billion), which it was for several weeks before that.

But ever since Gono chopped them off, the the zeros have been racing to catch up. As my colleague put it, they’re Olympic runners and they’re coming back fast and furious. Yesterday’s commuter omnibus fare into town was $40 ($400 billion) in the morning – by the time of the evening commute home again it had gone up to $60 ($600 billion).

It’s the same in the shops – it’s as if, now that prices are in hundreds, instead of trillions, there is license to double and treble prices daily – because things suddenly sound so cheap! Zimbabwe’s inflation is now 11.2 million percent per year (officially – independent bankers peg it at closer to 20 million). Imagine how many times in a year you’d have to double the prices of something to have it end up two hundred thousand times as expensive at the end of the year as it was to begin with.

My bank queue wasn’t the only group noticing this – a comment we received from a subscriber today notes similarly:

The recent pricing of commodities and services as well has sent the majority running short of superlatives to describe the situation. It can be argued following the mid-year monetary policy announcement by the Reserve Bank Governor, prices started to increase astronomically. The monetary statement among other things increased maximum withdrawal to $3 trillion from $100 billion, slashed ten zeros which he argued for convenience sake and also re-introduced old coins as part of empowerment. This acted as a catalyst for price hikes by unscrupulous business people who are taking advantage of the situation. Surprisingly, the NIPC (National Incomes and Pricing Commission) is watching as the madness continues. Its credibility as a commission is now questionable.

John Eppel amuses with reflections on Cheeky White Madams (CWMs) and their approach to life in the suburbs of Bulawayo . . .

Somalia has its warlords, Zimbabwe has its CWMs or cheeky white madams. When governance breaks down, anarchy looms, and nations revert to tribes, some dominant, many subordinate. In Zimbabwe one dominant tribe happens to be elderly white women who, since that cruciferous plant, woad, with which the ancient Britons stained their bodies, is unavailable in Zimbabwe, use a preparation known as blue rinse. Because they cover themselves from head to food in a crease resistant synthetic fabric called crimplene, it is not possible to determine the extent to which they stain their bodies in the manner of their warlike ancestors, but they certainly stain their naturally grey, silver or white topknots – to the approximate shade of methylated spirit.

Our neighbourhood had been, over the past ten years, declining not unpleasantly into anarchy. We all had at least one illegal rooster on our premises; dogs had metamorphosed from recognizable breeds like labradors and German shepherds to skinny, whippet-like creatures that could survive on grass, known, euphemistically (and anachronistically), as Grey Street terriers; cats had become feral, and lived in storm drains or on the roofs of houses; quacking Aylesburys had been exterminated by hissing Muscovies; nuclear families of four or five had been squeezed out by extended families and their lodgers of twelve or twenty.

Nobody complained when we had noisy parties, which went on all night and well into the next day; or when we built huge, threatening bonfires; or when we felled trees; or when we extended our houses using building materials, which even the most tolerant of city councils would condemn. Nobody complained when our roosters began issuing challenges at one another, continually, from midnight onwards; or when our dogs yapped for hours at the moon; or when our children communicated over crumbling walls at the tops of their pre-pubertal voices. Then Mrs MacSnatch moved in, and all changed, changed utterly.

To continue in the words of the immortal bard, a terrible beauty was born (or, should I say, re-born?), the terrible beauty of civilised behaviour according to the predilections of half a dozen cheeky white madams. Our properties are large, mostly over an acre in extent, and one of these properties was converted into a cluster of upmarket houses, six in all, occupied by influential members of the CWM tribe. We watched the complex grow over a period of about six months, not that we could see much once the two metre brick wall topped with razor wire and an electrified fence had gone up. The occupants we learned, via the reliable domestic worker circuit, were widows of commercial farmers, businessmen, and white collar criminals who had died of unrequited rugby. The youngest was 70, the oldest, 93; all wore crimplene slacks or frocks ranging in colour from mustard to chilli pepper; all had blow-waved blue hair with matching ramified blood vessels. Mrs MacSnatch was their acknowledged legislator.

She began with the roosters (she called them cocks). Each one of us got the dreaded phone call: “Hullo, my name is Valery MacSnatch. I live just down the road from you, and your cock is driving me crazy. I’m not a well person, you know, and I require a good night’s sleep. No sooner have I shut my eyes of a night, than your cock starts its nonsense. I have informed the City Council, and if you don’t do something about that creature immediately, they will be paying you a visit. I have also informed the police. Please, I expect good neighbourliness from you people.” I had been keeping chickens for more than 20 years. This was the first time anyone had ever complained. She had moved into the cluster complex from her palatial Burnside residence a fortnight before.

Then it was the cats (she called them pussies). “Can’t you keep your pussies where they belong, instead of letting them roam the gutters and the roof tops? Yowling like banshees! Pussies like to be stroked, to be rubbed, to be scratched, in short, to be pampered. They do not deserve this neglect. Well, I tell you, and I tell you straight, my friend, the S.P.C.A. will know about this. Mrs Ridgeback is a close friend of mine, and she does not tolerate, I repeat, not tolerate, pet neglect. Honestly, you people!”

Then it was the dogs (bow-wows), and then the children (brats), and then the music (noise), and so on, until our neighbourhood became as quiet as a mausoleum, and as sombre. When the cheeky white madam glides by in her 1956 Humber Super Snipe, on her way to sip tea and nibble ginger snaps with another of her tribe, I breathe relief and turn up the volume – a little – on my new Chiwoniso CD.

Hey, here’s something for you to do on a Friday afternoon. Join the Avaaz action and send Mugabe a red card. You can learn more about Avaaz at www.avaaz.org . . .

Click here to send a red card.

Hopes are slipping away for a deal to resolve Zimbabwe’s political crisis. Yesterday, Robert Mugabe announced plans to ignore the ongoing negotiations with the opposition MDC party, form a sham “Government of National Unity” with a breakaway opposition faction, and open parliament next week.

This weekend, when Southern Africa’s 15 leaders, including Mugabe, meet at a major summit in Johannesburg, they will look out upon a sea of red. Thousands of Southern African trade unionists and other citizens will march to the summit waving red cards — the football penalty symbol for expulsion — and call for Mugabe to go. The organisers have appealed to Avaaz for international support, and will carry signs at the march representing the “red cards” sent by Avaaz members.

The region’s powerful trade unions have threatened that unless Southern African leaders take action now, they will refuse to handle goods coming to or from Zimbabwe and will squeeze Mugabe out. A massive march this weekend backed by 100,000 supporters from around the world will be a overwhelming signal to Southern African leaders that they must act now before the crisis becomes even more desperate — to announce that the Mbeki-led negotiations have failed, and to launch a new and fairer negotiating process immediately.

Four and a half months have passed since the people of Zimbabwe voted for Morgan Tsvangirai and the Movement for Democratic Change on 29 March. Hyperinflation has exploded to an unimaginable 40,000,000%, and millions now face starvation. The EU, US, and UK have pledged a $1.9bn financial aid package to stabilise Zimbabwe’s economy, feed the hungry and combat hyperinflation — but only if Mugabe is removed.

Meanwhile, distribution of food aid by local and international humanitarian agencies has been prohibited by Mugabe’s government. Torture camps remain in operation, political violence continues in some rural provinces, and 12 opposition MPs languish in jail on trumped-up charges. The Mbeki-led talks are collapsing, as Mugabe and his military high command insist on retaining control.

The people of Zimbabwe need strong allies willing to take bold action. Already, more than 300,000 Avaaz members — including tens of thousands in Africa — have signed petitions, donated funds, and written to their leaders in global campaigns for democracy and justice. After Avaaz flew a 280-square-metre banner over an Mbeki-chaired United Nations meeting, South Africa finally called for the release of elections results. In April, trade unions and civil society groups including Avaaz led a successful campaign to block a Chinese arms shipment to Zimbabwe. Now, as the crisis accelerates, our voices matter more than ever — we can send an electronic wave of red cards to Johannesburg and bolster the efforts of on-the-ground advocates pressing for change.

Join the global outcry now.