greenshirts

"There are nine roadblocks on the way to Harare," my mother-in-law warns. "Drive slowly."

The police are on a fund-raising spree, it seems. Spot fines for speeding (and a host of other infractions). That would be good if it curbed Zimbabwe's road chaos. Road accidents are -- state media says -- the second main cause of death here.

We drive carefully, marvelling at the number of flashy, non-number plated cars happily steaming past us. If we're going at just under 120 km per hour -- the legal limit -- what speed must they be going at? There are suspicions (who knows whether they're justified?) that the drivers being targeted are mainly from one racial group.

We watch for police round every bend, every kopje, our hearts leaping every time we see a flash of green. The police wear luminous lime green tank-tops. And then we realise that that particular shade of green is obviously this year's hot colour. Women are wearing it: stretchy T-shirts, lime-green jumpers. Men sport tailored lime-green shirts (possibly Van Heusen, but probably Mbare flea market).

The thing is, you don't know for sure the lime green-wearers are not police until you get near them.

The journey takes us half an hour longer than normal.