Living in Harare - a town mouse's story

Living in Harare has become, for the majority of its citizens, a daily
nightmare and exercise in survival. In the high density areas, people
wake up at 4am to start a wood fire so that they can get a hot bath. An
hour later, they stand by the road side along with thousands of others
jostling to get transport to work, normally at least twenty kilometres
away. They have long lost the right to say "good morning" to their
children. Others, wiser perhaps, have already started the "long walk"
to an elusive economic prosperity.

On the buses, seating is akin to packed sardines and progress is slow.
The road blocks set up by the police looking for arms of war, typically
target the public transport operators who openly fork out fistfuls of
bribes up to four times a day, depending on the number of police check
points. Corruption has become a substitute for survival. The police are
also hungry and have lost their right to integrity because of the
conditions under which they operate.

The worker arrives in town at the same time that the rich rouse from
their whisky induced sleep only to find there is no running water that
morning. They order the gardener to turn on the water bowser that one
finds at the back of almost every house in Borrowdale Brooke but the
water is cold because there has been no electricity for two days.

The generator is empty; diesel has been unavailable since the price
freeze. Walking into the kitchen the children of the wealthy reach for
the box of cornflakes, but their mother points out that she has been
unable to find milk in the stores for the past two days. When the
children complain, munching on Oreo biscuits for breakfast, the maid
suppresses a smile. Her children are used to not having milk for the
past year!

The worker arrives at work as the wealthy leave their homes to drop off
their children. The worker is worried about the meeting that the
directors have called for this afternoon. Is he going to be retrenched
today? Rumours have been rife in the work place and he has been taking
his frustration out on his wife. They argue all the time.

The director drops off his children at work resisting the urge to open
the letter that the school gate man has given him. Are school fees
going up to $250 million dollars as his mate on the school development
council hinted last week? How on earth is he going to afford such high
fees, what with the up-coming hockey tour to South Africa as well?

He sighs to himself as he ignores a policeman at a roadblock, staring
straight ahead while he heads for the factory. He has a meeting with
all the workers today after meeting with the workers' committee the
previous day. He cannot retrench staff because it is not a wise move in
these politically charged times but he has to talk to the staff about
that possibility of that happening. His margins have dropped
drastically and he to keep the ship afloat.

As he drives in to the factory gate, the drone of the massive generator
drowns out his engine. Another sigh: no electricity, more fuel expenses.

The worker sees the director arrive and politely says good morning.

He sighs and wonders what the rest of the day will be like. He will get
home at 10pm, long after his children are gone to bed. He sees them
only on Sundays these days and to a certain extent, it helps - he
cannot afford to look them in the eye when he fails to get home with a
loaf of bread. He cannot wait to go to the tavern at the weekend to
drink his sorrows away.