the governor has gone

And with him our power.

For the last two years, we've had more electricity than most. "You've got a VIP living up the road," Mai C told me. In the evenings, she could see our lighted street from her backyard up on the hill as she cooked her family's supper on an open fire. "It was in the paper." At first, I was sceptical. Weren't we on a better line because we were near the Infectious Diseases Hospital? Or the radio mast? Mai C said not. The provincial governor lived just up our road, she said, and he had insisted he have full-time ZESA. OK, so it wasn't full-time but we didn't have the 19 hour cuts every day that other people were having.

We joked about it. When we had long cuts, it was because the governor was away. When the power flicked off and then on again three minutes later, it was because some unknowing ZESA official switched off the governor and then got an angry 'phone call. When the power came back on just before 5 o'clock, we reckoned the governor must be getting ready for his sadza.

Just before Christmas, I took my son to a six-year-old's birthday party on the other side of town. The child's family were celebrating in more ways than one. "The governor's moving into our suburb," announced mum Daphne as she dispensed soggy chocolate lollipops from Mozambique. (She'd made a special shopping trip) No, she didn't know when.

It must have been 10 days ago. Because since then our power has been...well let's say very shaky. Much like the New Zimbabwe.