Desperate isn't the word. It's not even close. Human beings dying from hunger in what was once a bread basket. Inflation reducing souls to scavengers. No, Zimbabwe isn't desperate. It's dying. Slowly.
Street kids litter the streets like a Marechera nursery tale. Children who should be singing in school uniforms are on the streets hustling for a breath of life. But they still smile. Like all Zimbabweans. We have a disease. Maybe our smile is supposed to make you feel sorry for us. Maybe our smile is to show you that we are powerful enough to rise above the decay. Maybe our smile is just laughter on hold until it can continue once again. But still we smile.
While ZANU PF decides ministries are more important than people. While the West goes through a credit crunch. Still we smile. We have no credit to crunch. Their crunch comes from years of shop-til-you-drop greed and consumerism. Our crisis means drop-til-you-shop. Their crunch comes from economies built on fat cats' fantasies. Our crisis comes from non-economies built on politicians' illusions. They thought they had endless credit. We have no doubt about our debt. Maybe we can teach them a lesson. Maybe we can export smiles to London and New York. Smiles during times of hardship. Smiles that mean nothing. And everything. A smile that you wear when you wake in the morning without a penny in your pocket. A smile that means victory and defeat. A smile that is just laughter on hold until it can continue once again.
Purple flowers carpet Harare's streets. The jacarandas have blossomed and fallen. The seasons have changed. Heat has replaced cold. But the sun has never made poverty smile. The poor stand in sun-drunk bank queues that have now been dubbed 'bank crowds'. Because any semblance of a queue disappeared along time ago. Now the mobs are on the streets. Paused. Waiting for cash. Because who has the energy to demonstrate. For what? Don't we now have an opposition ruling party?
