In Cote d’Ivoire, it looks like it’s military power, not people power or diplomatic pressure, that’s beginning to make a difference after a 4-month stalemate following November’s presidential elections.

According to the BBC GlobalNews podcast yesterday:

Alasan Outarra is looking increasingly confident. He already knows he has the combined support of the international community behind him. But that’s turned out to be much less useful than a loyal and efficient fighting force. Having such an army has at least put him on the verge of making his presidency a reality and forcing Laurent Gbagbo to step down.

In Kenya and Zimbabwe, a disputed election led to the defeated incumbent negotiating his way back into government. So is it any wonder that Gbagbo hasn’t been listening to diplomatic pressure asking him to leave. What use then are concepts like “diplomacy” and “international community” when it’s actually force that’s a lot harder to ignore?

This man sells bread at an open-air market. He sells sliced and unsliced bread wrapped in plastic by the loaf. He and another bread vendor complained that business was slow. Behind him is an assortment of second hand sports shoes sold by another vendor.

The SADC Troika Summit of the Organ on Politics, Defence and Security Cooperation met in Livingstone, Zambia yesterday. The Summit was chaired by Rupiah Banda, President of Malawi, and attended by the heads of state and government of Namibia, South Africa Mozambique and Zimbabwe. The purpose of the meeting was to consider the political and security situation in the region, in particular the republics of Madagascar and Zimbabwe.

On Zimbabwe, the Summit received the report on the political and security situation in the country from President Jacob Zuma. He was commended for the frankness with which the report was presented and also on the work that he has been doing on behalf of SADC.

The Summit noted with disappointment the insufficient progress in the implementation of the GPA, and expressed its impatience with the delays. It also noted with grave concern the polarization of the political environment, characterised by a resurgence of violence, arrests and intimidation in Zimbabwe.

Among the resolutions made was a commitment to the full implementation of the GPA and another to the immediate cessation of violence, intimidation, hate speech, harassment and any other form of action that contradicts the letter and spirit of the GPA.

The Troika Organ also resolved to appoint a team of officials to join the Facilitation Team and work with the Joint Monitoring and Implementation Committee (JOMIC) to ensure monitoring evaluation and implementation of the GPA.

While it is heartening to see that Mr. Zuma’s candid report on Zimbabwe was endorsed by the Troika, previous meetings of regional heads of state and government have made similar resolutions on Zimbabwe without them being translated to reality.

Both the President and Prime Minister have made repeated calls for an end to violence and intimidation with no effect. In fact, the violence has greatly increased. In an article published in Newsday on 22nd February 2011, co-Chairperson of JOMIC is quoted as describing the Committee as a “toothless bulldog” with no legal or statutory powers to implement its resolutions. It will be interesting to see how and if this will change with the appointment of SADC officials to the Facilitation Team.

For those of us less than talented in the sporting arena, night golf is a welcome relief from critical eyes. If you’ve tried teeing off in broad daylight in front of the clubhouse, you’ll know what I mean. The pressure, your hands start to sweat, you mutter to yourself “head down, watch the ball, eyes ON the ball!” And then you keep looking over your shoulder as you do a semi-jog, as opposed to a full sprint or a walk – more conspicuous and involving greater hip movement – after your ball, hopefully down the fairway, but inevitably not.

I get totally put off by any sign of water. It doesn’t matter how near, how far, how off to the side, how small, I will find it or hit my ball in the entirely wrong direction JUST to avoid it. I also just dribble it off the tee box (thereby really falling short of the water).

Anyway, night golf is for those who don’t own golfing outfits to match their Callaways. You can encourage your caddy (it is best to pay for one if you don’t know the course – distance and direction becomes an issue even for the most geographically-savvy) to levy fines against you when you do something wrong. This includes hitting fresh air instead of the ball, what I call the “practice swing” (my son always blames on the wind, bless him), or landing in the water – lucky the balls glow.

Remember to get your cooler box from the bar. Each player gets a free six-pack to start (a word of advice, take an extra 2 per person and don’t forget your shooters for spot fines) and then merrily stumble and sing (and swing) your way round nine holes.

Normal golf rules apply. Treat the course, your surroundings and fellow players with due respect. And please pee before you start – white buttocks in the moonlight are made for target practice!

If you’re not much of a golfer, you might consider packing a towel and a change of clothes in case you have to go swimming to retrieve your ball. While eau-de-swamp seems to deter mosquitoes, it doesn’t do anything for the rest of us. And if you’re hoping to hit the town afterwards, and get lucky – make use of the club’s showers!

Next date for night golf at the Borrowdale Brooke is Friday 13 May. Come dressed ghoulish (or pay a fine) and book early – they are always over subscribed.

This homeless Zimbabwean man is rumoured to be insane and has lived in and around the Pomona area for several years. In his hands he holds a 750 000 Zimbabwe dollar note, last used in 2005. Although he keeps to himself and seldom speaks to anyone, both residents and vendors try to steer clear of him.

I am limping.

To make it worse, my wobbly, awkward hobble makes the other parts of my body ache. Which means by bedtime I am an aching mass of tension, and feeling very sorry for myself. And I don’t get a massage or even a little sympathy. Instead, as soon as one of the kids starts screaming, for water, or a pee, or a monster in the bed, I am met with a sudden suspicious stillness next to me. Yes, if you close your eyes, don’t let your eyeballs twitch, regulate your breathing, add a gentle snore and a muscle spasm or two, I might believe you are asleep. Except nobody can sleep with the shouts reverberating down the hall, and you will ask me what was wrong, as soon as I get back to bed.  Without fail.

But let’s discuss husbands and selective hearing another day. It is an inexhaustible topic and we could be here forever. (I have just googled “bobbit”.)

I was asked to speak at my daughter’s School Open Day on Wednesday evening. So I thought it best to dress up to create the right impression. I was going for young and fun so I tugged on my white Versace jeans, a shirt and my platform heels (I NEVER wear heels) and teetered off to the school. I gave my talk, which by my watch lasted less than a minute – a full A4 piece of paper is deceptively quick to read – and listened to everyone else waffling on, in comparison to my speed reading, before I figured it was appropriate for me to leave, this involved some sidling I admit.

So, I hustled and teetered off to the car, paying no attention to the lack of outdoor overhead lighting. My foot disappeared down a hole, cunningly covered with lawn and I gracefully pirouetted “a over t” landing with my full weight, and considerable momentum (maybe it seemed faster because I was higher?) on my knee. I rose after taking a moment or two to curse under my breath, dusted off my grass stained jeans (a gift from my older sister, so yes, really Versace) and gathering my dignity, limped to my car, significantly slower than previously. Which is a shame as it has since come to light that I was spotted, slinking off you understand. I have been avoiding the Principal.

It would be ok if it were an isolated incident. But like my 4-year-old son, I still seem to be finding my feet and learning to judge distance and space and size. Unlike my son, it gets harder to pick myself up. But nothing a slobbery kiss and a bit of vampire blood (Gentian Violet) can’t fix.

Eventually.