"The police raided the place three or four times," says a B-and-B owner in the eastern city of Mutare. "They never found a thing."
She had diamond dealers staying with her at the height of the rush in 2008.
"The police looked in all the obvious places: toilet cistern, under the mattress. They turned the place upside down."
Two or three hours after the police had gone, the dealers' colleagues (shamwaris, she calls them, friends in the local Shona language) would knock at the door.
"We've just come to pick up something," they'd say.
She watched. The dealers went straight to the plant pots outside the B and B rooms -- the sort every white Zimbabwean keeps, with geraniums and pansies and roses in -- and began to dig with their hands. The diamonds had been hidden in the soil.
"Of course, if they were staying at number 22, they'd hide the stones in the pots outside number 24. Just to be on the safe side. But the police never guessed," she says.
We wonder -- all of us gathered round the table in this plush eatery, a day after Mugabe's government announced it'll take over white-owned businesses -- if there are any diamonds still left in her flowerpots, any stones the shamwaris missed.
Who knows when we'll need them.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
party
"Are you having a party?" the cashier asks.
I'm doing an early-morning dash through TM stores. I've got 20 US to spend on sweets, crisps and cool drink for a once-a-year bash on Saturday for ten kids. My trolley's a good third full of junk food (for the only time in the year).
"Yes," I say. "My son turned six."
There are two youths behind me in the queue, waiting to pay for their sadza-and-stew packed in polystyrene boxes.
"Can we come to the party?" one of them says.
"Sorry," I laugh.
"It's because we're black," he retorts. He pulls his cheek.
"No," I say. "There are black kids coming actually."
"Can my child come then?"
"I'm sorry," I say. "My child doesn't know your child. He's inviting his friends." Shona birthday parties tend to involve the street, the neighbours and the neighbours' friends, though not in the high-income suburbs. Those Shona parties, like white-hosted parties, are invitation-only.
"I know you whites," argues the man. "It's because we're black. You don't want us."
"My child may be white but he has a Shona name," I say. It's not often I come across open animosity these days but incidents like this remind me how deep racial distrust goes, on both sides.
"So, and what does Tinashe mean?" I tell him.
The youths walk off, muttering under their breath. Later, driving home in the car, I wonder what sparked this incident off. Was it the sight of my shopping trolley, with its 20 US worth of sweets? Most probably. Dissatisfaction's gaining ground these days, with low salaries unable to keep pace with high prices. A civil servants' strike is in its third day. It may be poorly followed -- one teacher I spoke to said she couldn't strike because she was effectively being paid 'by the parents' in the form of top-up incentives -- but there's no doubting the disappointment. Legal watchdog Veritas says Zimbabweans blame the unity government: the pro-Mugabe Herald newspaper says they blame...Morgan Tsvangirai, of course
I'm doing an early-morning dash through TM stores. I've got 20 US to spend on sweets, crisps and cool drink for a once-a-year bash on Saturday for ten kids. My trolley's a good third full of junk food (for the only time in the year).
"Yes," I say. "My son turned six."
There are two youths behind me in the queue, waiting to pay for their sadza-and-stew packed in polystyrene boxes.
"Can we come to the party?" one of them says.
"Sorry," I laugh.
"It's because we're black," he retorts. He pulls his cheek.
"No," I say. "There are black kids coming actually."
"Can my child come then?"
"I'm sorry," I say. "My child doesn't know your child. He's inviting his friends." Shona birthday parties tend to involve the street, the neighbours and the neighbours' friends, though not in the high-income suburbs. Those Shona parties, like white-hosted parties, are invitation-only.
"I know you whites," argues the man. "It's because we're black. You don't want us."
"My child may be white but he has a Shona name," I say. It's not often I come across open animosity these days but incidents like this remind me how deep racial distrust goes, on both sides.
"So, and what does Tinashe mean?" I tell him.
The youths walk off, muttering under their breath. Later, driving home in the car, I wonder what sparked this incident off. Was it the sight of my shopping trolley, with its 20 US worth of sweets? Most probably. Dissatisfaction's gaining ground these days, with low salaries unable to keep pace with high prices. A civil servants' strike is in its third day. It may be poorly followed -- one teacher I spoke to said she couldn't strike because she was effectively being paid 'by the parents' in the form of top-up incentives -- but there's no doubting the disappointment. Legal watchdog Veritas says Zimbabweans blame the unity government: the pro-Mugabe Herald newspaper says they blame...Morgan Tsvangirai, of course
another explanation
This time to do with snakes and witches.
An 18-year old witch was arrested in the communal lands near Mutare. She confessed that she worked for her uncle, who kept a python and a spitting cobra. They travelled on the back of the python whenever they needed to, she said.
The judge -- a traditional chief -- was not amused. He said that it was because of the snakes -- especially the spitting cobra -- that there was no rain.
There may be a logical explanation to this. We killed (or rather my mother-in-law's gardener did) a spitting cobra in the garden last week. Grey, not too long: first we thought it might be a male boomslung. But then we saw the black strip under its neck. It bulged in the middle, obviously from the frog my six-year-old had also had his eye on.
What did she get out of being a witch? Apart from free transport, possibly. Actually what the girl wanted was NOT to be a witch. She was confessing because her baby boy had died. She thought witchcraft was to blame.
An 18-year old witch was arrested in the communal lands near Mutare. She confessed that she worked for her uncle, who kept a python and a spitting cobra. They travelled on the back of the python whenever they needed to, she said.
The judge -- a traditional chief -- was not amused. He said that it was because of the snakes -- especially the spitting cobra -- that there was no rain.
There may be a logical explanation to this. We killed (or rather my mother-in-law's gardener did) a spitting cobra in the garden last week. Grey, not too long: first we thought it might be a male boomslung. But then we saw the black strip under its neck. It bulged in the middle, obviously from the frog my six-year-old had also had his eye on.
What did she get out of being a witch? Apart from free transport, possibly. Actually what the girl wanted was NOT to be a witch. She was confessing because her baby boy had died. She thought witchcraft was to blame.
Monday, February 1, 2010
no rain
Forget El Nino, global warming, regional weather patterns. The reason why there's no rain in much of Zimbabwe is, locals say, because of the blood spilt in the Chiadzwa diamond fields. Up to 200 illegal panners were killed in late 2008 when police and soldiers moved into the rich seam. There have been sporadic killings ever since.
The ancestors are holding back the rain in anger, says my son's Shona teacher.
There's another explanation, according to the local Manica Post newspaper. Twenty-five members of an Apostolic sect danced naked on Zimunya Mountain. The guilty were brought to court (presumably clothed). "If you look up to the sky it is clear: there are no rains, it is because of people like you," court assessor Benny Madanhire told the group.
They said they were just taking a bath.
The ancestors are holding back the rain in anger, says my son's Shona teacher.
There's another explanation, according to the local Manica Post newspaper. Twenty-five members of an Apostolic sect danced naked on Zimunya Mountain. The guilty were brought to court (presumably clothed). "If you look up to the sky it is clear: there are no rains, it is because of people like you," court assessor Benny Madanhire told the group.
They said they were just taking a bath.
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