13 & 14 June.   Small stories from Zimbabwe 

The CountryZimbabwe is beautiful!  Simply beautiful.  Watching Giraffes and Zebras exchange friendly glances in their natural habitat; driving mile after mile alongside maize crops, banana plants and other rich plantations, all basking in the warm sun; admiring the slower pace of life of local people as they set aside time to greet each other in a way that emphasises the value of community; -  not the picture we get from BBC.    

Arrivals Arriving in Harare Airport is a lonely experience – few flights arrive here, staff stand around:  in empty airport shops; in empty duty free shops; at empty customs areas and baggage claims, almost hoping that maybe some other flight will arrive.  The absence of noise is felt all too keenly.  In an area where noise is the norm, the absence of such is even more keenly felt.  Within this silent enclave, a large, golden framed picture of the President greets you as you leave the plane.  If you didn’t know beforehand, you are from then on, left in no doubt about who is in charge of this wonderful country.    

Money Changing money a pointless exercise because the daily ever increasing exchange rate makes you feel like you have entered a game of Monopoly!  Today, 60 billion Zimbabwean dollars = 90p.  Tomorrow it will be worth even less.  New billion dollar notes of different amounts are being printed by the Zimbabwean bank, in an attempt to cope with this ever deepening crisis.  But even they struggle.  Before the notes are ready for print and circulation, they become worthless.  I witnessed money – 500 thousand, 100 thousand, & 50 thousand and 500 hundred dollar notes all thrown away like rubbish – on the road side, by trees, in bins, beside rubbish!  Foreign currency here is illegal, but to survive, black-market exchange deals are the only way to survive.    But even when one has the currency, there is very little here to buy.  The supermarket I visited on the outskirts of Harare was lined with empty shelves.  Well, almost!  No bread or milk.  A few shelves of tins of beans, and 1 lane of S. African wines.  Little else.   

A sign on the door reminds you:  customers have a quantity restriction - in case provisions like bread or milk do arrive, customers are limited in the quantity of food they can purchase.  For those that can, shopping around lots of supermarkets to find food is the norm.

 Fuel Buying petrol takes place with pre paid vouchers. Post war rations - in the form of fuel!  For local people, especially in the rural areas, and for businesses, this is an impossible task and leads to back street deals. One clergy person I chatted to told me that to survive you almost have to engage in what would be called “criminal” activities” at home.  “But the insane gets normalised in Zimbabwe,” he told me. “ It’s the way of survival here.” 

Farms  I visited a farm, now taken over by 20,000 people, but there is only one water-hole for all of them.  These families were forced to go and take over the farm.  But since they do not know how to sustain it, both they and the farm have become obsolete.    In addition to the farmers who have lost homes and livelihoods, there is, I was told by 1 farmer, a growing number of un-seen, displaced people: those who worked on farms as paid workers prior to the take-over.  They have lost their jobs, their homes, their lives, and have nowhere to go. I met a farmer whose land had been taken over by the man who is now the Government Minister for Justice in Zimbabwe.  The farmer told me he was very concerned about the welfare of the farm workers prior to the take over of his and the many other farms. Forgotten displaced people, he told me.  This farmer and his wife were, and continue to work, campaigning for “justice for agriculture,” but not in a way we might expect.  Although they themselves have lost everything, he expressed a desire to see what is happening now in Zimbabwe as a painful and uncomfortable invitation for Zimbabwe to change, to re-set their path, to really begin to understand and value each other, to know that people exist because of the Other.   From someone who had lost everything, I sat in humble admiration, listening to the living Gospel.    

Aid I witnessed aid sitting in a room in the form of mealy meal, blankets and provisons.  But because the aid came from the US, it was forbidden to give it out.  And the risk of getting caught was considered too dangerous.  So there it was, lying in wait.

Local People

I, thankfully, had missed the visit of the President two days before I arrived.  He came with a fleet of buses loaded with people, and the local people in the township were forced to go and hear the President speak - failure to be seen at such an event would have resulted in severe beatings later. 

The Church

I sat in a cafe and listened to two white Zimbabwians share their dilemma of going to church on Sundays and sitting beside government ministers who they know are corrupting the country and who are spooning off it.  They laughed a hollow laugh.  The clergy person I chatted to shared how difficult it is to try to minister to those in the congregation who are  from “within” that corrupted element.

And finally…..

I met a woman, white Zimbabwian, who with her husband is committed to the promotion of human rights.  Her daughter, like most who can, is leaving Zimbabwe with her young family, in an attempt to find a life elsewhere.  When she does, the woman and her husband will be left homeless because the house belonged to her daughter.  Buying a new property wont be possible - the nonsensical nature of the exchange rate, and the incredibly difficult climate.  But Zimbabwe is her home, so she doesnt want to leave.  Two weeks ago she discovered she has a tumour…..  her heart is broken.  But she has not given up hope.  For me she zymbolises the country.  Broken hearted, threatened with death and still turning to Hope.

Lets pray for them all.