propaganda works

Under the doctor's desk, an old radio blares the headlines from the BBC World Service.

He switches it off as I come in. The surgery is shabby. Peeling magazines lie in a pile by the secretary's desk. From a back room, there's the unmistakeable smell of sadza cooking. But this doctor is patient and thorough. He has his own worries: a son who's at private school who should be taking his A-levels but there are no teachers, another younger child who needs to find a secondary school place. Once he worked in private practice for Kenneth Kaunda. He came back to Zimbabwe when the Zambian kwacha was the currency everyone laughed at.

"We used to get all the medical papers here in Zimbabwe. I could keep up with the latest research," he laments.

"Now, because of sanctions you know -- " he looks up at me keenly, a lone white representing the West -- "they're not getting here."