The Anger

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The anger waits alongside our waiting. Today on a calm winter day, quiet and hot, there was a car crash at a market near central Harare. The car had collided with several market women and various stalls. The driver was lynched by the customers and passers-by. Beaten because he is an easy target. As we watched from my car parked across the road the crowd swelled as Harare's waiting people gathered and joined into the nyaya, the story. Zimbabweans often give out mob justice like food at a ZANU (PF) rally. We tend to vent our life-anger onto a thief who dared to steal a bar of chocolate and a loaf of bread. We tend to leave the creators of our misery in the luxury of freedom. The anger waits alongside our waiting.