women's lib

"My husband doesn't like me to walk in the suburb," she says.

I've taken Mai Ruvimbo some No 7 Hand Saviour. (My sister sent it). "Imported hand cream?" she asks, pleased. Imported is the key word. In shortage-hit (until very recently) Zimbabwe, very few bother about buying local. Why, the further something's travelled to you, the better it is. Makes you look richer.

Mai Ruvimbo's husband works for ZESA, the state power utility. That doesn't stop her having power cuts (though ZESA pays her electricity bill, which is some small consolation). "What do you do when you've got no power?" she says. These days the cuts last up to 14 hours, three or four times a week.

"There's nothing to do but sleep," she says. "It's so boring."

"Come walk a bit with me," I say. Our dog is straining at the leash. Mai Ruvimbo looks worried.

"My husband doesn't like it." This is her MBA-ed husband. "He says,' You've got a big yard. What do you want to go out for?'"