Praying for Zimbabwe

Praying for our children and their children; Zimbabwe

When Zimbabwe gained independence in 1980, I was in the first batch of black kids that walked into formally "whites-only" A-schools to start the process of integration. At the same time, my parents insisted that we move immediately to the low-density suburbs to live among the formerly "whites-only" neighborhoods. The transformation from where we had been living, "blacks-only" neighborhoods, was jarring. Huge yards where you were completely isolated from your neighbour and the public. Rules after rules set by the neighbourhood watch. Always being quiet and not causing a ruckus. At school, the name calling was intense from the teachers, and constantly being told not to speak the savage language... speak English only. Thank God we had bold heads, they couldn't pull our hair but the ear pulling was equally intense. 

Within  two years I had lost most of my native language, I had learnt to fit-in with age-mate white friends. These friends were cool and accommodating, their parents though, were something else. With my fellow black friends, we developed thick skins to the racism. There could be every reason to have been angry and vindictive, but what would be the point of that, it was actually a fun youth? I'd ride my bike to school and I remember an old white man volunteered every single morning and lunchtime to help us cross the one main road to the school by operating the traffic lights and making sure we crossed safely. 

There was plenty wrong with Rhodesia, and plenty reason for the liberation struggle. With independence in 1980, we expected an amazing resurgence led by majority rule. As a baby the new nation drank milk, today it should be healthy, grown and eating solid quality food. Sadly, it's nostalgic, anemic and failing to get out of the shackles of selfishness and mediocrity. Zimbabwe should be prosperous... but we always find ways of tripping ourselves. 

The nostalgic memories of that past, lead me to almost weep for todays youth in Zimbabwe. The same nation, forty years later, now reduced to rehashing and resurfacing the past and building nothing new for its populace. Where almost 90% of spending and good living is from the less than 5% of the population. Where resources have been drained so much, we now have over a decade with no currency of our own, few municipality operated running water taps in households, constant electricity load-shedding, roads laden with potholes and basic living is grueling.  Pensions were lost. A vast majority, including myself live and invest outside our country and it gets more and more complicated to return the longer we stay away.

Zimbabwe is deeply frustrating. We love it because it is home. We love it for its nostalgia. But we suffer it because of the hurt it has caused to each citizen individually. You can only be an eternal optimist for Zimbabwe. Praying that a leader of good virtue shall arise among the crowded muck to unite, heal and motivate a people to believe that they can be first. That they can all share in prosperity and it is not for the select few. That every youth can believe that corruption is not the only way to get rich. That hard work and diligence pay-off. It can happen. I pray within my lifetime I can re-read this article and proudly say, "wow, look at that, we made it - Zimbabwe and all its people made it".