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."