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Tarisai's Christmas petition
Alex T. Magaisa
December 20, 2008

Little Tarisai often goes kwaFirimoni, the remains of a once vibrant local township just a mile from Warikandwa School. The locals called the place kwaFirimoni after the local entrepreneur, a man called Phillimon who opened the first and for a long time the only store at the place. A few years later a building housing the grinding mill was added. For a long time the two stood on either side of the road that runs to Maware Township.

A few years later, another businessman introduced alcoholic beverages, a perfect accompaniment for greater vibrancy. This is where met to drink masese (opaque beer), process maize, buy a few necessities or just chat and catch up on gossip. But now the place is back to the barren old days. There is not much to come for here. There is no maize to process, let alone the diesel to run the mill.

Tarisai often joined other kids on their weekly pilgrimage to the township. But now, with her mother, Mai Tarisai, ailing at home, there is not much time for Tarisai to do what little kids should do. She does not have the luxury to behave like the little girl she is. But she was there last weekend, a rare opportunity only because it had been announced that some kind-hearted people from Harare would be handing out packets of food. And food here is desperately needed. They waited but nobody came round. They were later told that some bigger people had asked the kind-hearts to turn back to Harare.

It-s December, normally a wet month during the Zimbabwean summer but for the villagers it is more like September in these parts. It-s hot and dry. At this time little boys and girls would usually be out in the pastures looking after cattle and guarding the maize fields. But it doesn-t matter anymore. The few cattle that remain are left to roam the fields. There is nothing in the fields to guard. Nothing to eat. Tarisai and her fellow villagers have been reduced to scrounge in the bushes; to compete with wild animals for the little that nature has to offer. Chava chirimo chisingaperi, they lament, it-s a long, never ending dry season - itself a mirror of the hard times across Zimbabwe.; of the dry season that Zimbabwe is going through. Wedengai adarirei kutiseka kudai? (What have we done to deserve such accurse? the villagers often ask, looking up the blue, cloudless sky and the shrivelled bushes around them.

Only the pastor at the church reminds them that Christmas is around the corner. He exhorts them to prepare to celebrate the birth of the Son of Man. He is an energetic man, the pastor - he never wavers from his faith and every Sunday makes sure that his flock feeds on the good Word. Part of the church-s roof was swept away by the wind last August. But there is no money to repair the roof. But still the flock comes to worship. Talking to their Lord gives them reassurance, that whatever happens, there is always a higher authority up there who, on one god day, will show his abundant mercy.

2008 has been a dark year for Tarisai and her fellow villagers but the future looks even darker. The sun set a long time ago in these parts and whenever they look eastfor signs of the dawn of a new era they have been disappointed. It has been a long night, one that never seems to end.

They had quietly celebrated in September after news filtered that the big men in Harare had signed chibvumirano (the agreement). Then they thought then that they were closer to reaching the oasis; that their thirst would be quenched when they got there. But no sooner had thy started celebrating did they get news that squabbles had commenced yet again. Days passed into weeks and weeks passed into months until they resigned to fate.

More bad news arrived. They heard that some shady people were going round grabbing those who talk too much; those who see more than they should see. It is said they take them away and some are never seen again. So here, they learned a long time ago that politics is not part of their vocabulary. When it comes to politics, they have mastered the language of the monks. They keep their silence. "After all, what can I, a little girl do?" Tarisai often asks herself. She struggles to find an answer.

They heard, a few weeks ago, that there is a disease sweeping across the country. Chodokufa, who arrived back in the village after a trip to Harare spends the day following the beautiful shade of the big Msasa tree. He is gaunt and weak - they have to carry him around to follow the shade whose position is dictated by the earth-s daily motion. His frail wife regularly fixes a sugar and salt solution for him to drink. But they are running out of sugar. And the diarrhoea has not stopped. They heard it could be cholera, the disease that has claimed hundreds elsewhere. There is no point going to the local hospital kwaSadza. There is no medicine. Just a few unhappy and hungry nurses.

They heard that some soldiers had run amok in Harare. Rumours spread that the boys had been sent on a mission. Others said the boys were just hungry and as frustrated as everyone else. Either way, villagers always scurry for cover whenever they hear the sound of a big vehicle. They fear they will come for them one day. They just don-t know when. For older villagers, running away from the soldiers brings back many sad memories of the war; a war for which they sacrificed everything.

They have heard little about the government, save that Mr Mugabe is still in charge. He has been at the helm for the past 28 years and shows no signs that he will be saying au revoir anytime soon. No doubt he will celebrate Christmas with his wife and kids. They will eat, drink and talk about the good life - the pleasures of power. They might even wonder why people are so ungrateful for daddy-s long years of service and sacrifice to the nation. In January they will probably hop onto the big national bird and fly away to the Far East. There they will eat more and shop; they will relax and enjoy in preparation for another year at the office. They will be attended to by good men of medicine to fix their bones and all.

And when they return men and women will welcome them at the airport singing, clapping and dancing for the great gift the nation has even known. They will ululate; some will shed tears of joy, all for the Greatest Zimbabwe has ever seen; the indispensable kind the likes of whom might never be seen again.

They also heard that Mr Tsvangirai is somewhere in Botswana. Villagers look up to Tsvangirai, the man who not so long before appeared to lead them to a better land until he got thwarted on the way. But the trouble is they do not know what their leaders are going to do next. They have been told that their leaders are unhappy with the agreement that they signed in September. They are unhappy with Mutongi Gava (the mediator), Mr Thabo Mbeki, whom they have long thought to be biased. They are unhappy that Mr Mugabe doesn-t want to give them the positions they want. They are unhappy too that Mugabe and ZANU PF have caused fundamental breaches to the agreement. But what-s to be done? The villagers search and find no clear answers from their own leaders. Their leaders say despite all these problems, the unhappiness, anger, alarm, etc, that they are nevertheless still committed to the dialogue. Pane chinobuda ipapa? (Will there be a successful outcome under these circumstances?), the villagers often ask.

Meanwhile Tarisai has little to look forward to on Christmas day. She will go to church, as always, to pray for her mother and for a good future. She will join other members of the flock to petition the good Lord to bring salvation to Zimbabwe. Their petition will be loud and clear, as always and they will hope this time a positive answer will be forthcoming.

* Alex Magaisa is based at, Kent Law School, the University of Kent and can be contacted at wamagaisa@yahoo.co.uk or a.t.magaisa@kent.ac.uk

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