Money, money, money

Makadi henyu (I’m seriously running out of my Shona vocabulary here… Someone help?)

I’m back in Harare, the city of… well, what should I call it? I guess the city of dirt would probably be most fitting, as rubbish is piled up literally everywhere. It should not have come as a surprise, as there was so much litter along Chipinge’s roads that you could hardly see any grass. Yet, I would have expected a city to be at least a little more organised. After all, it shouldn’t be hard to facilitate the people with bins here. It turns out my expectations were a little too high. I have ten full days in Harare, but it already feels like I’m running out of things to do (and I haven’t done anything yet…)

Being back in this big city, I miss the green mountains of Chimanimani and the forests of Chipinge. On the last day of my field work, Blessing picked me up at 7 and drove me to Makunda, a ward in Chipinge district, near the town of Checheche (one of the few Shona towns whose name I have no trouble remembering). We were accompanied by Ellen, who decided she’d rather come with us than work at the hospital. The 2 hour drive felt long, but I was entertained by goats running on the roads (honestly, these creatures have no road sense. They just dash into the road whenever they feel like it), and overcrowded cars with so many people in the boot that their legs were outside.

The road was decent, apart from the last 15 minutes, when Blessing had to turn left and a sand road led us to a hidden village. Like in Chimanimani, we passed deep gorges that had been formed by cyclone Idai. The area was incredibly dry: there was no water to be seen as the riverhad completely dried up. Infrastructure was destroyed: pipes and bricks that used to form bridges were here, there and everywhere. My phone started losing signal and within less than two minutes, I had no clue what direction we had come from.

At some point, we must have reached a village - although it felt more like a collection of random huts to me - where we got off. Here, Victor was waiting for us. Like Blessing, he works as an environmental technician at a local clinic. He has his own NGO which solely focuses on girl child empowerment, and some of his activities have been sponsored by the Dutch embassy.

Victor and I immediately started talking about the status quo in Makunda. Unlike Chimanimani and Chipinge, cyclone Idai has done relatively little damage here. The people in this area are mostly suffering from continuous droughts, which started after cyclone Eloise struck in 2016. Since then, seasons are simply too short and there is either too much, or too little rain. In order to cope with the hunger resulting from massive food shortages, many parents opt to migrate to South Africa, leaving their children behind. According to Victor, every household in the community has at least two or three members who have left for South Africa.

Sometimes, grandparents will take children in, but more often than not, kids are left to their own devices. Girls as young as nine become breadwinners and have to look after their younger siblings. Unless their parents succeed to find a job in South Africa (which is not always the case), there is no food or money. No one takes care of these children and teenagers: they have to cope themselves. These girls are so desperate that they will do anything to get a full tommy. To them, the idea of marriage is tempting. After all, many girls believe that once they marry and start their own households, their husbands will take care of their needs. So, they will find a boyfriend or a “sugar daddy”, and marry them.

But fantasy is different from reality, and like in Mount Selinda, the majority of the girls find that their new lives won’t get any better after marriage. After having dropped out of school to get married, their husbands can’t provide for their needs, and also move to South Africa. The physical intimacy and comfort they were looking for is often not there. That became clear when I talked to Tinotendai, a young woman who wanted to marry at age 17 due to peer pressure. Her parents thought that was too young, but when she turned 20, she married anyway. Tinotendai may not have been a child bride, but she too discovered that she had idealised life as a married woman. After a mere three months, she left her husband, and went back to her family. Fortunately, she was welcomed back, but she told me that is not necessarily the case for other girls. “I know one girl who left her husband. Her family did not want her back. She knew that the only option for her would be selling veggies by the road. It’s hard to provide for yourself, let alone for a child. So, three weeks after she gave birth to her daughter, she put the baby facedown in a bucket, turned on the radio, and walked away. Minutes later, her child was dead.”

Many girls, often aged 13 or 14, may choose to marry because they believe it will put them out of their misery, but arranged marriages also happen in Makunda. Like in Chimanimani and Mount Selinda, rates have risen sharply since the change in weather patterns. Victor told me that October - several months into the drought, when food starts to run out - is the “season for child marriages”. Almost everyone here is involved, from village elders to local police. As Makunda is very isolated - located near the Mozambican border where the government hardly interferes - girls are easily married off. It’s hard to know how many girls become victims of forced child marriages, as many lie about their age to protect their families and husbands. However, Victor told me that the younger a girl, the likelier it is that she will be married off. Older girls know when “marriage season” starts, and run away. Girls between ages 13 and 16 often don’t realise they are likely to be married off, and stay.

Polygamy is very common in this part of Zimbabwe. Men can have as many wives as they like. Quite a number of girls who got married after the droughts became second wives in polygamous marriages. Not too long ago, an 11 year old girl was put in that situation. It was the result of the drought, but covid didn’t help either. As the girl was sitting home all day, her desperate family did not see why they would keep her. This girl is not alone: there are other stories of parents who literally sold their daughters in exchange for food. In 2019, a 15 year old girl was married off to a very old man. Victor is convinced that numbers of child marriages will continue to increase.

An hour later, we headed to the local high school for a conversation about child marriages. The girls were very shy but all agreed that many had girls gotten married after the continuous droughts and cyclone Eloise and Idai then ever before. The majority seemed to think that these girls chose to get married themselves. Arranged child marriages are happening, but early marriage is particularly used as a coping mechanism by the girls instead of the parents. I had also brought every girl six re-usable sanitary pads and soap. The head teacher thanked me, and I was once again confronted with a “donor mentality”.

The first time I realised that it would become tough to talk to people without having to give something in return, was in Westward Ho! Aoife had told me that as a token of appreciation, we would have to give some money for lunch. That seemed reasonable to me: after all, some of these people had travelled quite far to talk to me. However, when not six but fourteen people showed up, the chief started demanding more money. He also wanted money for his airtime. I ended up paying $45, quite a substantial amount if you consider the fact that half of the people present did not even contribute to the conversation. What struck me even more was that a mere second after I had thanked them for their time and had told everyone they would get money for lunch, the chief literally asked Aoife and Augustine what the Rafiki Network would do in exchange for this information. He said that his community was an island which no NGO ever visited. I’m not sure if it’s my place to judge here, but the six Unicef tents suggested that this was not the entire story…

According to Aoife and Cliff, people often come to these events when they think they can get something out of it. Cliff told me that during his research in in Mashonaland Central, some random people who did not meet the inclusion criteria would come to the focus group discussions - just because they knew they would get a small reward. What doesn’t help is that as a researcher, you are obliged to pay your interviewees here. Although it makes sense to give them a reimbursement for travel fees and such, you want to avoid that they merely come because they will get money or a present. I’m not sure yet how I will deal with this in the future, but Cliff advised me to tell people that apart from a small reward, they will not get anything tangible out of participating in your research. Of course, the risk here is that you will end up without interviewees.

The donor mentality is also something I experienced a number of times in Chipinge. As Blessing and I were leaving the community garden that the Green Institute had built with help from the Australian embassy, a group of men told him that he should get them some chickens. Something similar happened at the schools in Mount Selinda and Makunda. After distributing the pads, it seemed like it was not enough: the teachers came to me and said they hoped that next time, I would bring pads for all girls in the school. And maybe I could also invest in a sewage system? At the second school, it was suggested that I’d pay for a second sewing machine, as the current one was only being used for exams. Much later, on the bus back to Harare, the woman I was sitting next to asked if I could sponsor her: she wanted to work as a carer in Europe and needed someone with money.

Although the requests for goods, support, and sponsors are uncomfortable and at some times even frustrating, it’s easy to understand where it comes from. After a week in this country, I am deeply shocked by the dire the economic situation and the hopelessness that people feel here. 95 percent of all Zimbabweans work in the informal sector. All Zimbabweans are hustlers, even those with stable jobs will have a side-hustle in order to provide for themselves. For some people, a side-hustle may involve doing hair, or selling eggs. But extremer cases exist as well: when I had dinner in Harare yesterday, we drove past the “red light district”. At least thirty women were waiting to be picked up by potential clients at 8 pm. A nurse told me that as a side-hustle, she buys medicines at the pharmacy, and sells it with profit at the hospital. For those of you who wonder how this is possible: in Zimbabwean hospitals, you have to pay for everything, including your needles, bandages, and painkillers.

Because of the economic situation and lack of investments, young people can hardly get jobs. Many graduates move abroad because there is no employment. People who studied IT work as part-time wedding photographers, phone sellers, and tour guides. And at the end of the month, it is always a surprise if they have enough money to pay rent.

I have been to a number of poor countries and I know that there are many more where I might not have been. Yet, I feel like the situation in Zimbabwe is unique: people here have told me that it is deliberately kept unstable. After the hyperinflation, which was partly solved by the introduction of the US dollar, the Zimbabwean currency “Bond” was re-introduced in 2016. When I asked why, as the economy had finally started to recover a bit, the answer I got was simple: the US dollar cannot be manipulated as easily as a local currency. The value of the Bond drastically changes day by day: within a few days, money can become as good as worthless. People are paid in Bonds, and unlike the past, it is now impossible for locals to open a US dollar account. Ironically though, most things need to be paid in dollars: for rent, school fees and the like, you cannot use Bonds. Yet, locals can’t withdraw Dollars. The only option for them is to go to illegal hustlers in town, which will buy your Bonds and give you US Dollars back. This is often a tenth of the actual value of your money.

When I ask people here if they think the situation will change within their lifetimes, the answer is usually negative. Being here and witnessing the misery that people in this country go through has really made me realise how incredibly lucky I am that I can come and leave whenever I want. For most Zimbabweans, this is not an option.

The history of Zimbabwe is complicated. For decades, the country was ruled by a white minority government that confiscated the land of Black Zimbabweans and stripped them off their rights. That government was replaced forty years ago, but merely two decades later, the country went into decline. Corruption and economic manipulation are normal practices here. The colonial era was disastrous. But I genuinely do not know what’s worse: to be terrorised by and subjugated to a foreign coloniser, or to be abused and manipulated by your very own people, whilst they once promised they would make things better for everyone.