Hope is not necessarily feathered

 In Zimbabwe, hope is not necessarily the thing with feathers on. It feels often more like the thing with crampons holding on, only just. The hope that your salary will stretch to month end. A street child hoping for a donation at the traffic intersection. Hope in the continuation of using the US dollar. Everyday hopes that there will be electricity and water. 

In scripture, faith, hope and love remain. Hope and faith build upon each other. A hope of a better afterlife and to take on life's challenges with perseverance. To not put one's faith in earthly things. To the average Zimbabwean though, I'd say put on those crampons and courage and fortitude.

Waiting for the rain

 The clouds are not yet in formation to bring rain and thunderstorms. They dissapate and are mere wisps. How long til the first downpour? Does it still need to be really warm?

My garden is thirsty. I should use more drought resistant plants. Instead of roses and agapanthus, succulents and bushveld.

The flies buzz and the heat forms a haze. Will we get good rains? It has been a drought year. When the municipal water goes, we wonder if this is it and if we'll have to buy water. We've been lucky but how long will it last? We need to rain harvest from our roof.

Stream of Consciousness

 The heat, it saps. My dog sits at my feet and snaps at flies. I must put on flysmear. If only flysmear worked to get rid of all things that bother and bite. I could do with some of that. A fruit chaffer zooms by. Bird song and an aeroplane. Things that I have to do later.

Friendship and writing. I should journal every day but I don't. Life gets busy and time goes by. Agapanthus, a deep blue. My doggie at my feet, faithful girl. I wonder where King has gone? Coffee and water. Two essentials to get through October.  Babblers in the background, come to see what is going on.

Summer

Blue skies before the rains, the building heat. Dust devils and dry leaves. Is it warm enough to swim yet? To plunge into the icy depths. At school we would have jumped in by now. Were we more inured to the cold?

Ice cream men and ice lollies. A bloody nose. Afternoon siestas. Endless watering of the garden. The jacarandas are starting. End of winter duvets. Gin and tonics with lots of ice. The return of the birds. Jasmine makes way for plumbago. Bush fires.

Stream of consciousness

 Sunshine, peeking through the banks of flowers. Snippets of conversation and laughter. Good friends, time to pause. Reflections in the glassware. A cockerel. The heat wafts on the breeze. Noise is not too intrusive. The swimming pool has gone.

The staff clear tables and patrol the garden. High heels on the paving. The high end. The breeze cools and caresses. Summer is here. Hollyhocks and the end of the camellias. 

Zimbabwean Midsummer Night's Dream

 Enter Tembo, the boyfriend, to KFC Avondale and Tendai, the girlfriend, with co-workers.

TEMBO

Ill met by the KFC, proud Tendai.

TENDAI

What do you want now, Tembo?

Colleagues, give us a moment.

TEMBO

What's up Tendai, why are you hurting me?

All I want is a free quarter chicken and chips to satiate my appetite. 

TENDAI

You have to pay for it.

TEMBO

How long is your shift?

TENDAI

Until midnight.

TEMBO

Give me the chicken and chips!!

TENDAI

Not for the whole KFC. Voetsek!

The Others

 I've "known" them since they were little. Street urchins by the Lomagundi traffic lights, foraging for a living, picking up donations from drivers at the intersection. They then went on to directing traffic  when there was no ZESA. Little boys stopping massive trucks and risking life and limb for measly tips.

Since those memories, I've seen the one at the Sam Nujoma and Aberdeen/Churchill lights. He is now selling windscreen wiper sponges and he smiles and waves, even though I am not buying.

Last week a tall, lanky youth came to my car window at the King George intersection with Aberdeen. I didn't recognize him until he smiled and asked where my mother and the Honda CRV were. I unfortunately couldn't buy his luxury toilet rolls and the lights changed. I realized I don't even know their names.

My sister has been living in England since 2015. When she and her husband visited Zimbabwe in 2017, my brother-in-law felt it was a culture shock, primarily with regard to our domestic help system, which he feels is ongoing colonialism. My sister feels very strongly about this now too and is of the opinion we do not pay our gardener enough. At that point in time he was earning more than I was.

I personally think that whilst domestic help is not ideal, it does at least offer employment and benefits. For instance, children of domestic helpers are sent to school and this hopefully offers them better employment options than their parents. It also means their families are kept from living in dire poverty and have an income each month. 

When I look at the ever increasing number of people living on the street and begging for their existence, I believe that offering jobs should not be sniveled at.

We get a steady stream of beggars coming to our gate. Some only want money but some are happy with a bottle of water or a cup of tea and a peanut butter sandwich. It is hard to tell if some of the stories for money are genuine.

We are a bit wary of beggars that come at dusk. My friend's mother was shot dead at her gate one evening in June 2007. We therefore ask that people only come in daylight. 

The number who come can sometimes feel relentless and some seem very desperate. I am angry that our government has failed these people and offers no buffer to poverty.