One of these past few days I entered one of those high security buildings where they scan you with those metal detectors and things for security reasons. This is the process that follows immediately after signing your details in a visitors’ book and handing in your I.D, among other things. Whilst I was still at stage 1 (of filling in personal details), one white lady who had been behind me waltzed past the guards manning the inner entrance after enquiring which floor such and such an organization was. When it was my turn, the female guard quickly moved into place to start zapping me with the metal detector. Instinctively, I stepped back and demanded to know why she had not also zapped the white woman who had entered before me. With a puzzled (if not surprised) look, she just shrugged and without answering my question, told me she had to scan me for security reasons. I neatly refused although I had nothing to hide, and demanded free passage. What criteria did they use to decide who got subjected to that annoying and almost embarrassing ritual? I noticed I was slowly gathering a small crowd and felt I was also getting red in the face. But I was determined, and so were both guards. The male guard told me in my face I had a choice to either get searched or leave. I chose the latter, spun right round, demanded my I.D back and left a puzzled audience. My business there could wait.

My dad was telling me the other day that one afternoon at lunch, he and a fellow (white) workmate set out to hunt for sustenance around the shops. As they drove around town, the most they came across after almost half an hour of searching were a couple of Chelsea buns selling at $100 thousand each. Between them they needed at least ten, and that meant parting with 1 million bucks. They decided they’d rather forego lunch. As they drove back to work, my father spotted a hawker by the roadside and bought two packets of maputi from her; one for him and the other for his workmate. As the two stood outside the car and ate, they realized they had gathered around them a small crowd who were visibly shocked at the sight of a murungu (white man) eating maputi. Someone apparently shouted that: “Nzara yazotiyenzanisa manje baas.” Loosely translated to mean hunger has now made us equal. Apparently very fluent in Shona, my father’s workmate lashed out asking the man who had shouted what the kind of food anyone ate had to do with anything? Did the man think all Zimbabweans were only black? I thought those were good questions.

Then I was reading in the Independent about the few remaining white farmers who were recently served with eviction notices with a 90 day grace period to wrap up and vacate their properties. The farmers have appealed to the regional Southern Africa Development Community (SADC) Tribunal in an effort to stop government from illegally expropriating their properties. According to Vice President Joseph Msika, these few remaining are “remnants of die-hard unrepentant racists. These farmers have done their best to prevent agricultural production in many parts of the country; and have made a significant contribution to the country’s economic collapse.”  I couldn’t help agreeing with Muckraker when he/she wrote: “…primitive racism is now the official creed of Zanu PF.” Now before anyone starts labeling me an unpatriotic born-free who doesn’t understand the sovereignty our ancestors died for; will the real racists please stand up?

Right now the majority of Zimbos wouldn’t mind one bit being anywhere but here. By God, some people daily risk losing life or limb crossing crocodile infested rivers while others pay heavily with an arm, a leg and probably other parts of the anatomy too coarse to mention – as bribes to “officials” in a bid to process passports and visas. Recently I received an email from a friend who is studying in Leeds. I thought sharing it would remove blinkers from the eyes of a few. Did me . . .

Guys thought I could share this with you. Do you know that most Zimbos in the UK don’t want to be associated with their country? They are so ashamed of this thing ya Mugabe. Imagine, I met here a girl from Kariba and she was looking British, my instincts told me that she was a Zimbo and I asked her where she came from, she looked at me straight and then hesitantly said Zimbabwe thinking that I was from Russia or something. I told her I was also from Zim and she was shocked and then started to cool down. She told me she was afraid to say that she was Zimbo coz people would associate her with poverty and all sorts of horrible things. She has been in Leeds for 2 years and she said people had been asking her whether it’s true that Zimbos stay in trees and caves? And also whether people in Zim could afford 1 meal a day or they starve? They also asked her how she came to the UK. Then, as we were chatting I was telling her that I was home a few weeks back and that yes, things are bad but not as bad as they think here. This other Zimbo woman came to where we were chatting. She was walking with this Motswana guy I know and he was happy to introduce her to other Zimbos but she looked embarrassed and was blushing. We talked about problems at home and she said I am not going back and I don’t want to hear about Zim anymore. Yesterday, the University Chaplain paid me a visit at my flat and I was with this guy from Uganda. He said Zimbabwe was a terrible place and said if people don’t do something now, ‘You are all going to starve’. I cooked sadza for him and he enjoyed it though. This is just a tip of the iceberg, Zimbos are ashamed of their country coz we don’t have an image here. That is why most don’t want to come back. It’s a shame what Mugabe is doing to everyone. I have met a lot of people from different countries and none has a positive image about Zim except a few Indians who still think about Andy Flower and the world class cricket that used to be.  Only a Motswana and a Zambian girl have expressed something positive about Zim. My friend from France, a nice girl doing an Undergrad said, “Zim is horrible but you are nice.” At least that’s a consolation. All other students form associations when they come here but there is no Zim association even if there are plenty Zimbos. I have been invited to the Hindu society, Vietnam society and the Japanese society and it’s really nice to have people who are proud of whom they are. They even celebrate their national holidays and yesterday we were at the Hindu festival.

So there you go. Really what are a people to do? Maybe like my Dad thinks Zimbos are just the Jews of Africa persecuted from all corners. I wonder how it must feel, being confronted daily with something you have no control over; constantly self-conscious and having no peace of mind. I feel sorry for those who are embarrassed to be “Zimbo”. I’m not. And I know that the people who matter do not expect me to be either, and none of this is my fault, but one man’s – well, maybe a few other people too.

I learnt from the Herald that the Islamic Republic of Iran has opened a library at their culture centre in Harare “in a bid to foster and promote cultural cooperation between their country and Zimbabwe.” The Iran ambassador was quoted saying he hoped the relations that exist between the two countries will go a long way in improving “cultural exchange”.

Cultural exchange? I’m wondering what else this country is coming to, I sure don’t want any cultural exchanges with a country that is well documented for its disrespect, nay disregard for the rights of women. In Iran, you risk getting stoned to death for anything from getting raped to dyeing your hair a different color, or wearing a skirt that comes slightly above your knee. No sir. Talk about a desperation for friends!

On a different note, my maternal grandmother paid us a visit from the village, seeking better medical treatment. She is 80 years old. Of late my siblings had been complaining about how difficult she is. I never paid much attention to this until last Sunday when I spent the day at home with her. It has always been a tradition in my house that if certain foodstuffs are running out, they are left for the youngest kids. There were only two bananas left in the fridge; naturally my two young sisters shared them between themselves. While they were eating the bananas, my grandmother called one of them and asked for a bite. Initially I thought she was just playing, but when the child brought the banana to her, she broke off almost half of it. Clearly shocked and disappointed, the child left. Then the old lady called the other child for another bite, but having witnessed what had just happened, my sister refused.

You will not believe how disappointed the old lady got. In fact, she became angry, and threw a major childish tantrum complaining that one of my sisters was stingy. Later in the evening, she demanded meat (despite our constantly telling her there was none in the shops or anywhere). Although she knows very well the situation, she still demanded the impossible. My best friend also told me her paternal grandfather who is 81 behaves the same way. I was beginning to lose it myself and was considering giving her a piece of my mind when my mother stopped me and explained that its common regressive behavior in the elderly. They become more like children as they grow older. They have their “moments of madness” she said. I imagined somebody like this running a country, and I got very scared . . .

I also cannot help remembering someone’s self-described “moment of madness” in the 1980′s and then, that person was only in his late 50s. No disrespect, but honestly, shouldn’t we be worried, just a little?

I learnt from The Standard of August 26 with great shock that the decision to introduce sex education in India’s schools is being widely opposed by so-called elders. Some teachers in Uttar Pradesh even threatened to make a bonfire of books. The training kit aimed primarily at creating awareness about HIV and AIDS is being condemned on the grounds that it is too “graphic”. How crass can the Indians get? How ironic and funny too for a country with a population of one billion+ people. Clearly a majority of them are having a lot of unprotected sex. You know what’s funnier? When applying for an Indian visa one of the questions on the form is: “Upon arrival in India, if you test HIV positive, will you return to Zimbabwe?” Talk about discrimination! All this is in the name of protecting the “Indian value system”. Whatever that means!

I recall also Zambia’s Information Minister Mike Mlongoti being quoted in the Mail and Guardian (24/08/07) as saying that the region “can’t pressure Zimbabwe because it is a sovereign state”. Whatever that means! The Zimbabwe government insists there is enough food when the supermarkets have become shelf brokers and some NGOs are implementing feeding programmes in parts of Harare urban. The UN will tell you it does not and cannot intervene where a government’s actions do not constitute a threat to international peace. Yet neighboring South Africa spends millions just trying to get rid of illegal Zimbabwean migrants daily while other Zimbabweans flock into other neighboring countries where they are reportedly hoarding commodities at a rate that locusts demolish a maize field. Another unprecedented number leaves daily to the “Diaspora”. I mean come on, what is it with people and refusing to see things as they are? What do people gain from pretending not to see certain things? Surely the UN can see the impending disaster here? Are we going to ask ourselves again whether this could have been avoided, just like the Rwanda holocaust could have been?

I do not recall where exactly I read it, but someone was imploring Zimbabweans not to despair commenting that AU members will live to regret ever bootlicking Mugabe for they did not foresee how our crisis can so easily affect them. Already Botswana, “small Botswana” is complaining of shelves being wiped clean in seconds every time Zimba’s walk into their supermarkets. I feel so much like saying, “that oughta teach em” but somehow, that just doesn’t seem to cut it.

I was one of those lucky enough to receive from Kubatana a hard copy of Amnesty International’s latest report on Zimbabwe; Between a rock and a hard place: Women human rights defenders at risk.

The report had very good observations, as I expected. The researcher really did justice to her work. However, going through the report, you really get the feeling you are reading a Women of Zimbabwe Arise (WOZA) corporal abuse report. In the forty paged report, most of the researcher’s examples are the activities of WOZA. Not that I have anything against them, as a matter of fact; I am a huge fan and admirer of their resilience. But those women are not the only outstanding human rights defenders in this country.

How is it possible for one to talk about women human rights defenders, and leave out Beatrice Mtetwa, President of the Law Society of Zimbabwe who in May of this year was made to lie on the ground and get thoroughly beaten up together with her male counterparts in public? Is she not at some sort of risk too? What of her long record of sterling work as a defender of the very fundamental and most important right to freedom of expression? Mtetwa is the recipient of the CPJ’s International Press Freedom 2005 Award. I kept the picture of her from the Standard, half naked with bruises all over. I was glad at least that Grace Kwinje was mentioned in passing as being one of the MDC members who got severely injured and needed hospitalization.

How about the women who risk breaking their backs or literally dropping dead carrying impossible weights of groceries across hostile borders to feed not only their families but also you and I? They come back with scarce commodities like cooking oil from South Africa for you and me to buy. These are informal cross border traders who have been pushed by the harsh economic climate and food shortages to go for days on end away from family in territories where Zimbabweans are considered the enemy. They are especially vulnerable to harassment, abuse and health risks, spending extended periods in high HIV transmission areas where those who command authority, e.g. border/customs officials/money changers/ taxi drivers often take advantage.

These women, Reiko Matsuyama – Project Officer with an IOM programme called Partnership on HIV and Mobility in Southern Africa (PHAMSA) – aptly described as “a largely invisible population”. Just for the realization of the right to live; they are in constant friction with the police, sometimes braving cold nights in the open trying to get visas. Does being an activist necessarily mean you have to first get a thorough beating before you are recognized as such? So many other rights defenders go unnoticed everyday of their lives, but fight tooth and nail for the well being of this country. But then again, I guess it just had to be a forty-page report!

As for going through the recommendations, I could not help but feel a certain kind of despair. I mean the researcher writes that, “Where injury is caused by use of force, police must ensure that assistance and medical aid are rendered to the injured . . . at the earliest possible moment . . .” Is this a joke? Injury, especially by the police to non-violent protesters is not by accident.  The researcher also recommends that the perpetrators ensure aid comes through. How about a recommendation to confront the errant police themselves? No one is above the law. Why treat them like they act absent mindedly, the I-slid-my-foot-under-yours kind of mentality. Being a cop does not mean you are always right and are following rules. It would be nice to see a sentence that reads, “Errant police terrorizing innocent and non-violent protesters should be prosecuted, despite rank or office.”

As for recommendations to Mbeki, I think lets rather forget about those, and look at how best to deal with the next theatrical piece coming from the Mwanawasa productions. The last annual SADC summit in Lusaka provided an excellent preamble to what we should anticipate.

Often when one travels abroad, one struggles with regaining balance and adjusting to the differences in time, and jet lag of course. But this becomes inconsequential the moment you touch down in the hotbed of chaos that is India. Traffic provides your first rude awakening crucial for survival in a country with a population of 1.2 billion+. Several parallel universes of traffic descend on narrow strip of road and somehow conspire not to collide. The same road accommodates a staggering diversity of conveyances – overcrowded buses that stop as and when they like, overloaded trucks that rarely condescend to brake, cars that believe they are supple acrobats that can twist themselves out of any jam, auto rickshaws (three-wheeled cart-like vehicles) that weave in and out of mainstream traffic, tractors that for some reason always travel down your side of the road, pedestrians who jump out from anywhere even from moving vehicles and then, cows that are highly respected and do not mind taking a nap in the middle of the road and block traffic.

But then a worse kind of assault rises from the need to adjust to a totally different yet stable economy. My first shopping encounter provoked the panic-buyer instinct before I reminded myself that even if I come back next week, these sneakers would not only still be here, but would also still be Rs 200 (USD 5.00) and the packet of pads still Rs 90 (roughly USD 2.00). Too cheap does not even begin to describe it.

Ironically, India is just as much ‘third world’ as Zimbabwe, with more poorer people everywhere. Among dirty buildings, littered streets and clogged sewer systems, opulence is juxtaposed to extreme poverty as it is not unusual to find plastic and thatch slum dwellings right next door to McDonalds or U.S Pizza. Barefooted poor women wearing rags torment tourists in front of opulent malls, pointing at their small children as they beg.

My comfort is a cute little pizza place, called Pizza Hut. I can’t afford pizza back home but here you get it double cheese AND a Pepsi all for Rs95. There is a bell near the exit that is marked: “If you had a great time, please ring bell.” And when you do, the voices of the many waiters in various postures of service echo a resounding, “Thank you!”

Despite the apparent hardships, everyone seems so happy, and friendly. I guess that’s some of the magic that stable prices of goods and single digit inflation can work. There is a strong temptation, just this one month to stop oneself from reading the news back home because it’s the complete opposite.