There’s an insightful article called “Toast Masters” by William Mervin Gumede published in Focus on Africa (October to December 2010).  It’s centred on how power, privilege and all things nice are entrenched amongst a minority elite.  This is something that I, and I believe many others, have always known, have experienced first-hand and have found quite depressing.

The last paragraph really got me thinking.  Apparently, in parts of deepest darkest Africa, there are pockets of democratic success that are enjoying the economic progress that comes with it.  “Bully for Africa” I thought.  How nice that we don’t have to look far across the ocean for examples of good governance.  (You know how the West likes to dictate to us).  I then thought that it would be even nicer if African leaders could be as jealous for their countries as they are for their positions, innumerable assets and vast network of family and friends.  Can you imagine?  One president reads how Botswana created room at the feeding trough for formally marginalised groups.  Irritated by the success of his neighbour, he decides to generously give the entire trough to the poor.  Or in another case, a certain prime minister might discover that his brother in Mauritius has given small businesses substantial access to finance.  Not to be outdone, the honourable one decides that entrepreneurs should not only get funding but they will receive free training, input subsidies and tax rebates. Wouldn’t that be marvellous! Gumede suggests that if the traditional elite adopted a more inclusive approach, it would result in widespread prosperity in society.  Maybe then the masses wouldn’t resent that their lives are controlled by a handful of people.

I have a friend, one of many, who is based overseas.  Like thousands of others, she left the country in 2008, at the time when Zimbabwe’s main export was people.  Whilst her adopted home has treated her quite well, recent phone calls have been distinctly nostalgic, with her expressing a longing to return home.  The last time we talked, it came up again.  She was dead serious about coming back.  Somewhat disturbed by the resoluteness in her tone, I asked, for the umpteenth time except more forcefully this time, “but why?”   I quickly pointed out that there was nothing attractive about leaving there to be here, of all places.  If she returned, it would be to a stagnant economy, with no job opportunities and a dodgy social situation.  Despite what many of us had hoped, there was nothing democratic about the change the movement had brought to the government, or life in general.  And unlike the gold rushes recorded in history, which turned out to be quite bountiful for various parts across the globe, sadly, our own diamond rush had not had the same effect.  (Indeed, all that glitters is not gold).  With all Zimbabwe’s issues, coming back would only be to poor prospects for an ordinary existence.

My argument was really sensible but my friend was determined to make me understand her feelings.  She began to make a list of several people who had returned.  This was true.  Certainly, in my own personal circles, I have also observed a slow but steady trickle of Zimbabweans who have come back, to live here, for good!  But why?  It didn’t make sense to me so I put it down to the fact that there are an inconceivable number of people who have a sick desire for the type of punishment that only Zimbabwe can mete out.  Perhaps those who had returned had been enticed back by the minor changes we had experienced; after all, people no longer endure shortages of basic commodities.  But it is no secret that we continue to suffer the effects of shortages in common sense.  Thus, I told my friend that there was (and still is) a lot that needs fixing in health care, schooling, infrastructure, politics and … and … and.

Despite my very logical arguments against her returning, I was rather taken aback by her response, quiet as it was. “But it’s home”.  It reminded me of 2008, when she was preparing to leave to take advantage of her wonderful opportunity abroad.  Despite how bad things were back then, she had second thoughts about going.  Two years ago, I understood her hesitation.  Now that she was mulling over the idea of returning home, that same understanding dawned on me again.  With this realisation, it was my turn to quietly acknowledge, “I guess we are all certifiable.”

There are many Zimbabweans who didn’t go when things got tough.  There are many of us who are still here, in spite of it still being difficult.  “But why?’ I don’t have a definite answer.  But I can appreciate why such a decision would be made, in the same way that I understand what makes Zimbabwe, Zimbabwe and know that that is what informs such a decision.  It can’t be pinpointed to a single thing or explained by anything tangible.  However, there’s certainly something we know, value, and dare I say, love, about this place.  It’s the thing that keeps us calling it home and that makes us feel at home.

In the end, the focus of our conversation turned to what my friend missed about home.  Turns out, they were some of the things that, being here, I took for granted.   Thinking positively, not only lifted the mood of our conversation but it also lifted my spirits long after I had said bye.  (There is truth in some of that pop-psychology mumbo-jumbo).

Of course, it didn’t take long for something to irritate me about life in Zimbabwe – irritation is a given.  But, I have become less focused on it and have found that what works better is to focus on the positive.  I have begun to compose a “But why?” list of my own – reasons for sticking around.  Maybe, having accepted and explored your own insanity, you could find stuff to add to this list too:

1.    A little bit of rustic, a dash of modernity; this is the absolute best place to start a family and raise children.
2.    With the influx of imported foods, I have a greater appreciation for our local produce.  There’s nothing as delicious and wholesome as homegrown Zimbabwean.
3.    The sunrise over the Matobo Hills will touch you in a special place.
4.    Its musical; the melodic chatter of a familiar vernacular language.  Just have a listen to the animated banter of a group of women.
5.    Some may find us docile but I’d say that we have a peaceful spirit that persists no matter how far we are pushed to the edge.