dyton mupawaenda
Dr Masimba Mavaza
“Right, we’re off to Mereki.” My mum and dad have just crossed the threshold of the living room, where I am trying to watch Netflix in peace.
“We’re going out for gochi gochi,” I grunt, “Where are you going?”, surprising myself with the resurrection of my sulky teen persona. “Mereki for gochi gochi, that is were we meet friends and discuss issues affecting our country,” came the reply
What? Mereki? Private dining on a Friday night in Harare? In my Zara dress… mother? They might as well have said, “Don’t wait up”, as they strutted off, leaving me in my M&S jim-jams.
We’ve been staying with my parents while I on holiday in Zimbabwe. Now, two weeks on, “staying with” has pretty much become “living with” and my daughter insists on calling it “home.”
In those two weeks I have seen a lot and have appreciated a lot.
People in Zimbabwe are living their lives. They have enough social life. They go out at will it does not matter which day of the week it is.
I have realised that going home is a stress releasing therapy. Home is soothing.
However as one from diaspora this therapy comes at a cost
Food prices have gone up so much that you will not believe it. Friends are not friends anymore. Once they see you, they see money and nothing else. The relationship between us and our friends is built on money.
Once you plan a journey, everybody wants to go with you. Nothing wrong with that, but all of them have no bus fare although they want to accompany you.
You scratch out the few dollars you have to hire a big car to ferry all friends and relatives. Once you are in the car, every person is hungry. Zimbabwe has turned people evil. They direct you to most expensive places. Places they have never gone there themselves for lunch. They chose the expensive takeaways, and before you know it, US$300 is gone.
The way they clean you, it will be like they are at war with your pocket. No mercy at all, but free for all on your pocket.
Now coming to the groceries, nobody will help, they will all choose what thet want, but never contribute a penny to buy.
They behave as if you are long sworn enemies. Despite the fact that you have hired a car, no one will offer to help with fuel expenses.
There is this policy that yours is ours, but mine is mine. Money is special as long as it is in their pockets, not yours.
The only person who understands you is your mother and father. Everybody will be seeing money, and money only.
Peter Tadzimirwa had a sad story to narrate; “I went to see my old friend in his office in Harare. The moment I arrived there he greeted me with a request for money. I gave him US$100. Then we sat down to chat. We then agreed to go for lunch. Since I had left Zimbabwe a while ago I gave him the honour to chose a place. He took me to a house where they were selling food.
“As we were going there he called a few of his friends and by the time we got there about six friends were. Already there already booked a table. The lunch was good. After eating, I saw the friends thanking my friend and going away.
“My friend looked at me and said ‘hey, pay the bill, we ate late’.
“ I replied that I had given him money, why could we not pay together? He said what I gave him was for fuel. Lunch was on me. That included paying for his friends too. We are a sort of some ATMs. Our friends at home are ruthless on your pocket. “
Tindo from Marlborough UK smiled and said; “People gave changed in Zimbabwe, the relationship we have is only tied by money. You just say I have no money, friends will just go away.”
Lizzie from Stock chipped in and said it is not only friends, but relatives too. Once you go into your relative’s home, they suddenly have no money for food or fuel, and children will need school fees. From nowhere, you are a big Santa”
Nicole from Scotland had this to say Her friend is on tap, and she has access to all her personal belongings — clothes, toiletries, the contents of her Ocado order. The roles have reversed and now I’m the uptight parent and my parents are eating my crunchy peanut butter.
“When we first arrived I was very conscious of free-loading, so I made a point of doing our own weekly shopping. However, like a pair of students, they consumed all of my food, so I stopped doing that.
“However, their free-wheeling antics don’t stop there — they share bathwater (ideal for someone who has to be on the commute promptly in the morning). First one gets in, then the other, soaking leisurely — with the door open. All the bills are shoved to me. It is not real at all. People have changed,” she said.
“They have the most peculiar routines, including refusing to cook at home and clearly from this weekend’s escapades, that includes having a better social life than I do. They still want me to pay.”
Despite their harshness on our pockets people in Zimbabwe have a better social life than us in the UK.
The fact that they know where to take you to clean your pockets means they have been there before. Zimbabwe has more restaurants than people. So when it comes to go out, they are really have it up their sleeves.
The problem is that once you get off the plane, you owe everyone in Zimbabwe money.
Joshua H from Huntingdon said it was even worse with women. You just greet her suddenly her rent is due.
Her hair needs to be done, her dad suddenly falls sick and she needs fuel to go and see her. All debts are on you. Are we ever going to heal, our beloved country?
I will be better off in the diaspora afraid of my own what a shame.
Online Reporter