poll talk

"My brother Sam called," Mai A says. "He is saying there will be elections next year."

"We are worried about our father."

President Robert Mugabe has decided that a referendum must be held by March and elections by June next year. Election-talk has already begun in state media: the lead piece in the Herald today is: Gearing for Post-GPA Zim. No matter that there's not enough money to hold the elections, that the voters' roll is in a shambles and that most Zimbabweans are appalled by the thought of fresh polls, with the violence that's sure to go with them.

Mai A's elderly father was badly beaten by the militias in the 2008 elections. They said he had two children who worked for whites.

"He goes to Nyanga hospital for a checkup every month still," she says. "It is his back, it is still giving him pain."

Of course I say yes.

But later, I wonder: will the rural areas be empty during the elections as villagers flee the threat of violence? Is that part of the master-plan?

manna from heaven

"It's you again -" I've already bumped into the man once, waiting at the till. I'm rushing round OK supermarket before heading to the cafe to do my surfing (GPRS isn't working again).

"Where are you from?" I steel myself. "England. But I've lived here for nearly 10 years," I say defensively.

"Whereabouts?" "Eastern England."

"I live in London. Have done for 17 years," he says. I stop.

"So are you coming back to Zimbabwe?" I say.

"Well -- " and he proceeds to launch into a long account of Prime Minister Morgan Tsvangirai going to London to try to persuade Zimbabweans to go home again. "They found out he talked to the Home Affairs Minister first. When he said: 'I know your problems' they booed him. How could he know their problems when he hadn't talked to them first?"

"You know, the British government offered failed asylum seekers £3,000 to go home. £3,000 and they said they'd pay for their flights and a container to bring their things home in."

(Note to self: check these figures. Were the Brits really this generous?)

"And when they turned it down, they offered them £6,000. And said the British High Commissioner would personally check up on them when they got back. You know, some of them were scared of being attacked."

He looks at the bananas behind us. No-one eavesdropping there.

"They still didn't want to come home. They are mad," he sniffs. "Here at least, they have an extended family. Anyone can get land. This place, why: it's got manna from heaven."