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Rural councillor, me, no ways
Rejoice Ngwenya
May 16, 2012

Firebrand Zimbabwean feminist political activist Priscilla Misihairabwi-Mushonga recently tossed a challenge at my restive colleagues and me. She dared us to get off our urbane high horses and taste the grueling life of a typical rural Councillor confronted with daily demands of a pre-natal village clinic. This last Labour Day, I quickly made up mind to snub two cars in my garage, wave a lift along Mutare Road and head for Chinyika in Goromonzi - my nearest 'village setting-. Crammed in a tatty 1984 Datsun Bluebird, I was treated to folktales of voodoo entrepreneurs milking US dollars off domesticated anacondas and blood-thirsty goblins as we meandered past dilapidated 'post-land reform- tobacco barns.

Having been misinformed that Chinyika clinic is 'only few kilometers- from the growth point, I braved a stroll along the dusty hill path. Huffing, puffing and scorched by the merciless autumn sun, I wondered how on earth an expectant mother would get to a clinic alive under such hostile conditions. I-m no nerdy couch potato myself, a proven 'proper- marathon runner many decades ago at Cyrene school! But to imagine an elderly Councillor confronted with such regular 'exercise- on a have-to basis! The villagers themselves had big hearts - greeting me at every other opportunity, especially when I would take refuge under a Muzhanje tree for temporary reprieve from the climatic cooker.

Despite years of abuse by misguided revolutionaries, citizens of Chinyika went about their tasks with confident exuberance. Goromonzi shopping centre itself portrays this subdued enthusiasm, a people that are keen to get on with their lives amidst the dust and pebbles. Were I to contest as Councillor, I would still stop one out of every five villagers and enquire on their unfulfilled political expectations. The answers would be torrentially predictable - a functional public health, education and transport system!

Sitting back now working on this piece in retrospect gets me concurring with Ms Mushonga. Perhaps we urbanites are too simplistic about rural politics. We take life so much for granted, anaesthetised with our own material stupor. Imagine a woman who falls [is that the word?] into labour at midnight in Chinyika. How does she maneuver her way through that treacherous footpath? Would she hire a car from the local bottle store owner or get onto a donkey-drawn scotch cart? If she made it to the clinic, would she find the place open - let alone stocked with clean blankets, clean sheets, antiseptics, electricity and running water? Say the sister-in-charge cannot handle a prenatal complication, is there an ambulance to ferry the 'ailing- woman to the nearest referral centre? Answers: she had better not [fall?] into labour at night; rural clinics have very little if any medical provisions; load-shedding is the rule rather than exception; the nearest 'zoned- referral centre is Chitungwiza Hospital, forty kilometers away!

I may be the political delivery type, but certainly don-t make me your rural council candidate! Being liberal, I-ll probably flaunt a 'do-it-yourself- manifesto that most villagers - after 32 years of deceptive ZANU-PF benevolence - would find repulsive. I would hate to promise all-weather roads, medicines, ambulances and regular doctoral visits in a country where central governance has collapsed and patronage has become a vital drip in the political life-support system. As I walk back to the bus rank at sunset, I am convinced why most rural councillors have been reduced to undertakers and food distribution agents. Surrounded by such desolation, what answers would I proffer to anxious voters after 32 years of misery?

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