I have etched memories in Zimbabwe because it is there where I met people living under very harsh conditions, yet living with anticipation that better days lie ahead. I always ask myself every single day if some of those people that I befriended are faring well.
I miss Zimbabwe. I miss Mashonaland Province particularly because it is at this place where I spent most of my time during my stay in Zimbabwe in October the previous year. Despite interacting with people that had stings of sadness on their faces, I also had some memorable experiences. I vividly remember how a friend and I preferred to remain in the minibus that ferried us around the city while the rest of the people alighted from the bus to see a prominent leatherworks manufacturer in the area.
I had been tired from walking as we had visited numerous places there, and so my feet could not carry me any longer. Staying behind was the only option. It was while in the bus that one, Blessing Manjoro, came over and requested to know about the purpose of the visit, and why suddenly there were so many unfamiliar faces in the usually quiet township. We had a long chat and from time to time he talked of the high employment rate of graduates in Zimbabwe and wanted to know of any job opportunities in Botswana. We also joked about some common names in Zimbabwe such as Blessing of course, Darlington, Memory and so forth. The way he narrated his story touched me. He was a man full of dreams; a high flier who couldn’t help himself or others in the same situation. We exchanged numbers, even though I never honoured my promise to call him.
So just this past Sunday morning, I received an unexpected call from Manjoro, and it is the same call that made me write this article. Although excited, I blamed myself for having been dishonest as I had promised I would be in touch from time to time, more so that he had requested that I connect him with some people here. But to tell the truth, I never communicated with anyone I met there ever since I came back. I thought of it as just one of those trips that came to pass. “After all we meet to part”; that’s what I have been telling myself. We had a long chat before he hung his phone, propably because of low talk time.
My stay at Bulawayo’s N1 Hotel lasted three days. On the fourth day, me and the Botswana delegation which had gone to the country to benchmark on non-meat livestock products or leatherworks projects to be precise proceeded to Gweru, Chegutu, Kadoma and then Harare where we spent close to a week. It should be noted that ours wasn’t just an ordinary trip, as evidenced by the more than three provinces that we passed through, the many stop overs, the learning, but most of all the unforgettable warm welcome. The town of Gweru, otherwise known as the “steep place” is in Midlands Province. Kadoma and Chegutu are in Mashonaland West, while Ruwa is in Mashonaland East.
After we returned to Botswana, Maun to be precise, i wrote a story based on the escalating corruption levels by police on Zimbabwean roads as well as the harassment we endured at the hands of Zimbabwean police. I had also told of the heavy police presence between Mashonaland and Matabeleland Provinces and how their presence was a menace to motorists, particularly in incidents whereby people are charged and their offences never outlined. I wrote how the delegation was made to part with large amounts of money from time to time as bribes. We were made to pay for very indistinguishable offences which we never admitted. The only offence we made, I thought, was travelling in a vehicle bearing Botswana numbers since it is a known fact that they usually mistake Batswana or Zimbabweans staying in Botswana for wealthy people with large amounts of money. However I was thrilled after learning that three media houses in Zimbabwe had shown interest in my story and had also published it.
The story was featured on the Southern Eye newspaper by one Silas Nkala. It was published again on NewZimbabwe as well as The Zimbabwe Daily. That alone left me excited and made me want to write more. It brought little hope that there would be a light at the end of the tunnel and that those who had been on the wrong side of the law will correct their wrongs. Nevertheless I begged to be excused when a colleague phoned to say some radio station there had shown interest in interviewing me on my experiences. I mean how does one find interest in finding the truth from a foreigner on things that happen right under their noses? How was my interview going to help address the situation which had been dragging for so long? These are some of the questions which came to mind, hence my refusal to talk.
I also have fond memories of the trip. It was never in our schedule that we would visit the Botswana Embassy while in Harare. We tried in vain to convince our host to make that visit. I must confess I like my job as a journalist as it gives me opportune time not only to rub shoulders, but also gives me access to high profile people whom most see as untouchable or distant. And to prove the perks that go with my job, I personally got in contact with our ambassador there Kenny Kapinga and told him of our presence in the beautiful city of Harare, or “The one who never sleeps” as they call it. Mind you, the visiting delegation was from Ngamiland, the same place where the ambassador originates. So it appeared to me that it would do him good to see people from home, at least once in a long time or so I thought.
In no time after numerous phone calls, me and my colleagues, Boniface Keakabetse of Mmegi, Aupa Mokotedi of the Department of Broadcasting Services as well as Frisco Gabokakanngwe, chairperson of Lake Ngami Trust were aboard a huge Mercedez Benz heading to the embassy in the Harare Central Business District to see Kapinga. Upon arrival at the highly secured place, we were met by former Lobatse mayor Metlhaeno Gaseitsiwe and now counselor at the embassy who told us to wait for a while as the ambassador was about to finish off a game of tennis as it was late afternoon.
Within a few minutes he joined us for a couple of drinks and we had a long chat before we were driven back to the hotel. He also confessed to having settled well and also told of his undying love for Zimbabwe, its beauty and its loving people. These are some of the memories that will forever be engrained in my memory.
