Yesterday the first flush of crimson appeared on the lucky bean trees
a promise of flowering yet to be

yesterday was a rough day

we have been without cash for a week so I went foraging . . .

As I wait at a traffic light
I see a man and woman make their way slowly across the road in front of me
on the mans back he carries a load
a human reduced to nothing but bones
the shaft of a shin bone hangs down at his side
a human, ageless, of unknown gender
reduced to this

I am consumed by pain, and the need to do something
try to get off the road to offer them a lift
am pushed forwards by impatient traffic
tears running
‘I’m, sorry, I’m sorry’ as I drive on

I go to the ATM (no cash available) to try and establish what money there is in our account
in my disarray, I manage to put in the wrong pin code and my card is taken
(at least something still works!)
I rush into the bank to try and regain my card
it is crammed with about 200 customers queuing to cash the maximum cheque they can
(5 billion – today this translates to US$ 5)

I queue along side 2 men in army uniform as an SMS comes through on my cell
‘the police and army are marching through the crowded streets of Mbare Musika
firing guns into the air.’
and find myself staring at their boots
looking for splatters of blood

Why do none of us say anything?
we are so compelled to behave properly

I am in the wrong queue, but am told that I will have to reapply for a card – it could take 2 weeks (in which time my money will be worth nothing)
into another queue (only 30 minutes) – and I persuade the wonderful, patient woman to try and get my card
20 minutes later it appears –with a big smile

Back to the ATM – I have 28 billion
there is an urgency to spend it before tomorrow
with 28 individual swipes on the cash machine I can buy US$ 28 worth of floor polish and some potatoes
BUT – the cash machines aren’t working today – and no one takes cheques
I go home empty handed

Mel has been out trying to sell onions and convert it to soap, oil, sugar and salt to pay workers
but there is no cash for the onions – only a cheque – a wait of 8 days (at which time it has halved and halved again)
Yesterday he worked out that our 1$ coins that used to be worth 1 US$ would now build a 3 metre high wall around the equator to make an equivalent amount.

The air above the vleis and hillsides are filled with prayers
I wonder if they are praying for deliverance
or for the strength and courage to endure?

We hear of someone who is being pursued by the police
the fear of death hangs over him
a sudden urgency to find a safe place, food to survive

News comes of Morgan being arrested for speaking to his electorate at Lupane

These are the early mornings when the shadows lean long on the earth
and at a slow shifting of the sun an unseen spider web is lit with rainbows
invisible magic hidden in the shadows
waiting for a shift in the light

Walking the grey clouds
no black and white, good and bad

Everything is everything
fuel coupons are illegal
Pius Ncube in an adulterer
electricity cuts are increasing
cell phones cut off from the outside world
generators are without fuel

Everything is everything
no power in the mornings
no hot tea and BBC
no power at night living in candle light
fridges defrosting with the last precious food
no time on computers to connect with the world

We will survive but the things that people do . . .
gathering information / writing reports / bringing people together / food and fuel parents / feeding and healing / recording the stories
will this survive?

Walking grey clouds
no clear path.
Holding on to the ground
whilst learning to fly.

Everything is everything
I see God in everything
where people speak with sacred voice
we are everything
we have a choice at every step
with random acts of kindness
learning to fly

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

Crystal spread sunlight
early morning rainbows on the bedroom wall

What day is this?
what turn of the planet?
carrying what new story?
where from, this wind that stirs the canopy?

Shadows from last week

Of the broken man called Stephen – son of a man I knew 15 years back
tortured for not attending a government rally
in his rural home

He had come for treatment from human rights doctors
and now needed bus fare
to reach his sister.

Safety on other side of the country
where he is unknown

Broken man on the run

And yesterday
the sad line of his relatives

‘Stephen died – after the bus journey’

Rainbows on the wall

News to a father in Gokwe . . .
your son is dead
news brought by a bus driver

Sell 2 cows
to pay bus fares and mortuary fees and coffin costs
sell two cows
your son is dead for not attending a rally

Rainbows on the wall

Hidden lies of silent diplomacy
the SADC leaders blame the West
for economic sanctions held against those responsible for the violence
and speak about land already taken by chefs

In the back garden
green glowing lettuces capture the light
curling new leaves in rapturous delight

News carried by a bus driver
your son is dead

Rhythmic call of the sun bird
dancing the honeysuckle

your son is dead