Renewed hope in Zimbabwe: A glimpse after the storm

The first rain in seven months came from a dark, black sky, with strong wind and hail pinging off the windows, rattling on the roof and bouncing on the dusty ground.

In 20 minutes, it had gone, leaving a carpet of hailstones, tree branches strewn on the ground and the promise of hope and renewal in the air.

A couple of days later, I headed out just before sunrise when it was cool and overcast. The dust had gone, the ground was soft underfoot and everything looked fresh, clean and green.

It was quiet as I walked and I carried only a bottle of water. My pockets were empty, ready to hold a few fruits that I knew I would be picking along the way.

The mahobohobo trees are groaning with fruit this year, and everyone’s feasting. People call this tree by all sorts of names: the wild loquat, sugar plum, muzhanje and mushuku, but mine is easy; it’s just: yum.

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Squeezing the soft orange fruit out of its hard shell, I popped it into my mouth, pips and all, and carried on walking.

I tried not to think about the ridiculousness that our lives have gone back to in Zimbabwe, but it’s not possible, not for long.

Two months and two days after disputed election results, which the opposition Citizens Coalition for Change (CCC) said it did not accept, nothing happened.

Like hot air in a balloon, its words just drifted off into the blue October sky. The criticisms and reports from regional and international election observer missions made no difference whatsoever.

The “fake” letter presented to the speaker of the house by a man falsely claiming to be the secretary-general of the CCC was upheld. It resulted in 15 elected CCC MPs being expelled from parliament.

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The CCC’s response of “disengaging” from parliament and local authorities was pointless.

And then the absurdity got even worse.

The same “fake” man who had succeeded in getting 15 elected CCC MPs expelled from parliament has now claimed in writing he will be in charge of screening and endorsing candidates for the by-elections to be held for the vacancies left by the expelled legislators.

The CCC says it “won’t accept” this “embarrassing tomfoolery” and announced it will boycott the elections, calling them a “Muppet Show”.

I took a break from thinking about the mess we’re in, sitting on a rock eating mahobohobos with a troop of baboons rummaging around in the deep leaf litter in front of me, and thought about things I’d seen this week.

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One abiding image says it all: on a trip to Harare the morning after the rain, the storm drain down the centre of the dual carriageway had overflowed and flooded the road.

It’s a shocking section of highway at the best of times. You can expect to take 20 minutes to crawl the last two kilometres down a hill and into a roundabout that feeds into Harare.

The traffic was very slow; there was some obstacle ahead, and then I saw it. There, in the middle of the highway, was a man on his hands and knees.

A fruit and vegetable vendor, he leaves his red plastic crates of tomatoes and cabbages in the storm drain at night. When it rained, all his precious goods rose and were washed away, the remnants squashed and strewn all over the highway.

Very little looked salvageable and I could only imagine his anguish. That was probably a day’s worth of sales gone; a meal he wouldn’t be able to give his family.

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Hand to mouth, that’s what people’s lives have become, and there is no comfort at all in words like “disengage”, “tomfoolery” and “Muppet Shows”.

Every day we look for hope. I found mine in a little baboon sitting in a mahobohobo tree.

He ducked and weaved as he watched me watching him, eyebrows raised, standing on tiptoes, threatening me. Every now and again, he uttered a little selection of angry chitter-chatter, choice swear words, no doubt.

Making himself look bigger and fiercer, the little primate did a couple of arm presses on the branch, dislodging a handful of golden fruit in the process, which rained like manna from heaven onto the troop below.

Oh, Zimbabwe, when it comes to the wild side, you’ve just gotta love it. There is hope; there is always hope. But sometimes, it needs a big hand to help sustain it.

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