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Invite me home
Evaline Tsumba
August 02, 2004

I was one of the first in my class to leave the country. Of course others had left before me, but they had emigrated with their families, either drawn out by money or pushed out by fear. I was the first to leave on my own. I was going to university in the United States.

Since I left my Zimbabwe in August 2002, I have been lucky enough to come home four times. I pray that I will continue to be able to return so often, and I fear that even this may not be often enough. Over the past two years, since I moved to the United States, I have already begun to feel a rift. Is it possible to find fuel these days? How much money do I need to take when I go grocery shopping? What do you do at a road block? How much is an appropriate tip in a restaurant? How much do I give the guy who was watching my car? Is it safe to go out at night? My homeland and I are growing in different directions.

Earlier this year I attended a lecture by Malian author Manthia Diawara. He discussed an event that took place when he was a student, an incident in which he described his experience as an immigrant in the United States and his worry about becoming too American, to his uncle. Diwara-s uncle replied to him saying, "no matter how long a log stays in the water, it will not turn into a crocodile." The problem faced by myself, and other young Zimbabweans today, is that although we might someday be taken out of the water, we will be rotten and it will be too late for us to re-sprout roots. Basic things that have changed so rapidly in Zimbabwe, that we have not been able to keep up.

Each homecoming has been a different experience for me, and I have begun to know what to expect based on what I see when I arrive at the airport. On my first arrival home, as I was passing through immigration, I looked up at the cyclopean glass window that exhibits the arrivals area to the upstairs cafe. I saw my parents and three friends jumping and waving frantically. There were two friends on my second arrival and one on my third. On my most recent return home, none of my friends were there to welcome me. This is a positive thing for the individual friends. They have moved away, as I did, in order to improve their minds, and increase their opportunities. But an important question to ask is, what does this mean for Zimbabwe? How many of these young minds will return home?

During the first few weeks of my time at home I would go out to the few remaining bars and clubs with a handful of friends who are still in Zim. Harare-s night scene felt like a ghost town. Everything was familiar, in terms of architecture and decor, but it wasn-t quite right. In the two years that I had been away, the city had aged twenty. I felt detached and bewildered, as if I was having a strange dream. I was confused, most of the haunts of my teen years were either deserted, or had been taken over by my former teachers.

As June rolled around there was a sudden and refreshing change. Music was louder, laughter was heavier, conversation was lighter. Bars and night clubs were teaming with youth. While the South African universities were on vac, a breath of dynamism had infiltrated the gray and beige bars that we knew existed only because of the stale smell of cigarette smoke. The brilliance and energy of the 18-25 age group returned to Harare. Only to disappear just as suddenly. After a month, music was muted, laughter became shy, and the gray walls of the night spots were no longer obscured behind colourful, shiny, spandex.

And although the city will be reminded of the existence of youth at regular intervals, it will not forget the young people who have left and cannot afford to come home. Many of them will not be allowed to reenter the country by the time they have saved enough money to return. They will gain training, earn degrees and enter into the workplace elsewhere, all the while, wishing that they could spend their skills in Zimbabwe. But we will lose them, and everything that we have invested in them.

Those who can afford to return home, I am sure, will continue to do so. They love Zimbabwe, her sunshine, her people, her 'perfection-. But most of them will never live here again. They will come back for two weeks every year and wish that it could be longer. We will lose them, and everything that we have invested in them.

When you consider the fact that Zimbabwean family life recognises, and is based upon, the importance of children both for their economic contribution while their parents are alive, as well as the foundation upon which the future will be built; it is ironic that the environment has become so hostile and discouraging to the youth.

Forty years ago my father moved to the United States for the purpose of furthering his education. My mother sometimes tells me stories about that time. There was a large community of young Africans in Washington, where my parents lived. My mother says that there was always a very noticeable difference between the way in which Zimbabweans and the other Africans talked about home. It was clear that the Zimbabweans would return. They were there so that they could return. They had hope, and a unifying dream of going back to something great.

My generation of Zimbabweans abroad is jaded. In February of this year, I attended the sixth annual Harvard Business School, African Business Conference. One of the major themes discussed at this panel was the issue of the 'Brain Drain.- All over the continent of Africa, countries are losing their best educated citizens to higher paying jobs elsewhere. We are losing our future leaders! This phenomenon is impeding the continent-s economic and social development. Many of the people at the conference had big plans of returning home and starting businesses, making their fortunes at the same time as improving their countries of origin. Unfortunately, very few of these young entrepreneurs were Zimbabwean. Young Zimbabweans no longer dream of something great that they will come home to, rather, they mourn for something great that they have been denied.

Make Zimbabwe great once again. Invite the young people home.

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