Dear Family and Friends,
Coming back to Zimbabwe after a month away is a huge shock to the
system. Conditions in our third world country can probably best be
described as surreal, and that’s being polite! The strangeness of
the experience starts before you even set foot in the country. Sitting
in an international airport looking down the list of departures for
destinations all over Africa, your eyes are drawn to the word
‘cancelled’ and your heart goes into your mouth. You look back
across the line and are not surprised to see that it’s Air Zimbabwe
flights that are cancelled. Our national airline is still on its
knees, a litany of excuses continuing to humiliate us with the word
‘cancelled’ on airport departure boards around the world. It could
be any number of reasons today: unpaid fuel bills, unpaid staff,
striking air crew.
 
Arriving at Harare International Airport, the contrast with the
service you’ve just left behind in the first world is dramatic.
Bored surly and unwelcoming Immigration Officials do not greet you or
smile at you; they scowl as they thumb through your passport leaving
you feeling as if you should turn round and go away again. In the
ladies toilets only one of the door latches on the row of stalls
closes; there is no soap in the dispenser and a huge plastic barrel of
water stands in the corner, uncovered and exposed to a myriad of
germs.
 
Encountering two police roadblocks in the first ten kilometres from
the airport is the surest sign that you are back in Zimbabwe. What do
they want? What are they looking for at their incessant roadblocks? It
takes just a few minutes to be reminded that these officials have
perfected the art of making everyone feel as if they are a criminal.
With pity you look at the crowd of commuter omnibuses that are
inevitably pulled over at every roadblock. Their passengers tired,
thirsty and frustrated as time and again the vehicles are stopped by
the police and the drivers have to hand over money.
 
Out of the long grass on the roadside four school children wearing
bright purple uniforms and white shirts emerge. They look to be eight
or nine year olds and on their backs they wear little school satchels
but this is not their only load to bear. Each child carries a large
bundle of sticks and branches balanced on their heads: firewood for
their Mum’s to cook supper with. Wood for the fire which will be
their buffer against the freezing winter nights and provide the
flickering light by which they will do their homework.
 
After iPods and iPads, trains, buses and aeroplanes, computers,
laptops and broadband – this contrast is so dramatic that it leaves
you wide- eyed and deeply shocked at just how far behind the world
Zimbabwe has fallen.
 
Arriving home the potholes and gullies on the suburban roads are
deeper than ever and there is no water and no electricity in the
house. An African Hoopoe stabs the browning grass for the last insects
of the day, calling its mate again and again: “Whoop–whoop,
whoop-whoop.” The sun turns blood red as it sinks into the dust
smothered horizon and for a moment the absurdity and abnormality is
banished, because this is home. Until next time, thanks for reading,
love cathy. 2nd July 2011 Copyright  Cathy Buckle.
www.cathybuckle.com a>http://www.cathybuckle.com/>

Please note that **BACK IN PRINT** I now have stock of AFRICAN TEARS
and BEYOND TEARS.
For information on my new book “IMIRE”, about Norman Travers and
Imire Game Park, or my other books about Zimbabwe: “Innocent
Victims,” African Tears,” “Beyond Tears;” and “History of
the Mukuvisi Woodlands 1910-2010”, or to subscribe/unsubscribe to
this letter, please visit my website or contact cbuckle@zol.co.zw
a>mailto:cbuckle@zol.co.zw>