Dear Family and Friends,

When a youngster came running up to my gate as I arrived home I wondered what had happened. A ball thrown into my yard maybe, a broken window perhaps or a missing dog. ‘Hello, are you ok?’ I asked. Polite and courteous the youngster greeted me, asked me how I was, shuffled his feet a bit and then plucked up his courage and asked me if he could have a book. Just starting senior school he was looking for a copy of one of my books which is a prescribed English set-book for young seniors in government schools. I told him I didn’t have any books on hand and was sorry that I couldn’t help him but wished him good luck with his studies. He walked off slowly up the hill, kicking stones, the way youngsters do to let you know they’re feeling sulky and dejected. The book he wanted is priced at US$8.50, before the retail mark-up, a fortune in a country where teachers’ salaries are less than they were in 2018 before the Zimbabwe dollar was re-introduced. The President of the Teachers Union said this week that the recent decision to tax the US dollar portion of teachers’ salaries was not a product of collective bargaining, he described the latest government tax as ‘one-armed banditry.’ It is the latest in a plethora of one-armed banditry tactics here including a 100% increase in road toll gate fees, 15% tax on lenses and frames of spectacles, 15% tax on braille books, braille typewriters, braille watches, non-motorized wheelchairs and even crutches. Its all become so obscene, so punitive.

Year after year, decade after decade through Zimbabwe’s decline I seem to be writing almost this exact same letter to you; nothing has changed and yet there is such a hunger for knowledge in our country. Early in the mornings out there on the main highways, through the suburban neighbourhoods and down the country roads the children are heading off to school before most people are even out of bed. Lines and lines of them, little poppets walking miles to school every day. Rain or shine they are there in their bright purple or navy blue or bottle green uniforms, satchels on their backs walking to school. Along the roads, single file down invisible paths in the towering green grass or dodging puddles on red, muddy country roads. Many of them walk barefoot, their shoes laced together and hanging round their necks so they don’t get them dirty before they get to school. Around little muddy puddles near the schools you see them laughing and joking, taking turns to wash the mud off their legs before they put their shoes back on. On the highways if you wave at them when you pass by you catch their excited voices on the wind, laughing and calling out hello, little hands up everywhere waving back.

It’s such a romantic, emotional picture I can paint for you with my words but nothing is ever as it seems. The reality is that teachers are on a rolling, go- slow because they just aren’t being paid enough to even get to work, let alone pay rent, buy food and medicine or buy an $8.50 English Literature set book for their own child. We can only draw our own conclusions about how much learning is going on in those schools because this week when the 2023 national Zimsec O- Level examination results were released only 29,4 % of candidates across the country had managed to pass five subjects.

Waiting at a traffic light near a brand new, very fancy shopping mall in an Harare suburb this week, a young man caught my attention. Perhaps 19 years old he stood at the traffic lights holding a cardboard sign and in charcoal he had written two words: PLIZ HELP. It wasn’t that long ago he too had been one of those little poppets walking to school, through the tall green grass, shoes round his neck, waving excitedly. The irony of it hit me in the face, and then the shame of it. A long line of big fancy vehicles in front of me were waiting for the lights to change but no one helped him. As I drew near I put my window down and held out a few dollars to the youngster. He patted his chest in gratitude and took the money and that was it, a fleeting moment and our lives went in different directions. I know what I saw in that youngster’s eyes in that brief moment at the traffic lights; it’s a look so many of us here have had at one time or other in the last twenty-four years in Zimbabwe as we navigate endless cycles of disputed elections, political turmoil and economic crisis. If only our leaders would walk in our shoes for one day, just one day. If only. 

There is no charge for this Letter From Zimbabwe but if you would like to donate please visit my website. Until next time, thanks for reading this Letter From Zimbabwe now in its 24th year, and my books about life in Zimbabwe, a country in waiting.

Ndini shamwari yenyu (I am your friend)

Love Cathy 24 January 2024. Copyright © Cathy Buckle

All my books are now available on Amazon and Kindle The hardback edition of my evocative Photo-books: “Zimbabwe’s Timeless Beauty” (the 2021, 2022 and 2023 collections) and my Beautiful Zimbabwe Calendar for 2024 are available exclusively on LULU Please visit my website for further details, to contact me or to see pictures that accompany these letters