A Week in the Life of Bulawayo: 17 June 2005
By Anonymous
It’s hard to describe the events of the last week of chaos but, looking back, “they” have gone beyond the bounds of what we could ever have imagined.
Last Saturday, the police (some say the militia) moved into a squatter camp on the edge of the city, smashing down houses, burning them, and then destroying whatever was still left. People were left in the open; they managed to pull all their belongings into one spot in the ruins, and were camped around them. Going down there at night, the small fires were burning in the ruins, around which people were cooking and huddled for warmth. I met an old man there, the picture of sad dignity; as he was telling me his story, one tear appeared at the corner of his right eye, and rolled down his cheek. One elderly woman told me how her husband had died some time back, and her daughter had just died in the last couple of weeks, leaving her with the 3 grandchildren to look after: now she had no home left from which to care for them.
By Sunday, the relief operation had started in earnest: mainly individuals going out in their own vehicles to pick up anyone who wanted to come into the safety of the churches in town. Understandably, most did not want to move without taking their belongings with them; these included dogs, chickens, picks, wheelbarrows, beds, wardrobes, roofing sheets…. It was heart-rending to see how the possessions of one family, and all the family members could be fitted into one small private vehicle.
This whole operation of bringing people into the safety of town has been hampered by the fuel crisis which we have been experiencing, on and off, for 4 years or so. It is now probably at its worst ever – cars are locked in queues at the side of the road leading up to fuel stations, in the hope that a delivery might come. Productive time is spent, not in generating incomes for individuals and in boosting the economy, but in fuel queues. Truck drivers are in the fuel queues and are not available for hire. Resources are strained, yet somehow many people have been moved over the last 6 days.
The churches which have opened their halls to these displaced people, now resemble scrap-iron yards. The corrugated iron sheets from roofs, the wheelbarrows and sundry other possessions – all are piled up outside, and the people sleep inside on the floor, using donated blankets. During the day the children wander around, or play ball (in the cases where some kind person has donated a soccer ball); the women are busy with their usual chores of washing clothes, bathing the children and so on. Many of the men are absent during the day, returning at night to eat and sleep. There is an air of crazy normality within this completely abnormal, man-made crisis.
The impact on their homes, possessions and life is evident. What is not so evident is the trauma that this brutal uprooting must have caused.
In terms of background, the area which was destroyed was the site of a rural village, but as economic hardships increased over the last years, people flooding into Bulawayo set up their homes there - some little more than shacks. Many of the residents had been there for a number of years; quite a few were originally from Malawi, Zambia or South Africa; some were victims of the farm seizures, having lost their jobs as the farms they were on were seized. These diverse people have diverse needs, and the future is uncertain. The churches do not know how long these people will need to stay on their premises, and are taking a day at a time, receiving food, blankets, old clothing and so on from well-wishers. The regime seems to have no plan for assisting these people – not surprising, given the callousness of the operation.
So we continue: taking one day at a time by God’s grace. If you do nothing else, then please at least pray for us all in Zimbabwe.
It’s hard to describe the events of the last week of chaos but, looking back, “they” have gone beyond the bounds of what we could ever have imagined.
Last Saturday, the police (some say the militia) moved into a squatter camp on the edge of the city, smashing down houses, burning them, and then destroying whatever was still left. People were left in the open; they managed to pull all their belongings into one spot in the ruins, and were camped around them. Going down there at night, the small fires were burning in the ruins, around which people were cooking and huddled for warmth. I met an old man there, the picture of sad dignity; as he was telling me his story, one tear appeared at the corner of his right eye, and rolled down his cheek. One elderly woman told me how her husband had died some time back, and her daughter had just died in the last couple of weeks, leaving her with the 3 grandchildren to look after: now she had no home left from which to care for them.
By Sunday, the relief operation had started in earnest: mainly individuals going out in their own vehicles to pick up anyone who wanted to come into the safety of the churches in town. Understandably, most did not want to move without taking their belongings with them; these included dogs, chickens, picks, wheelbarrows, beds, wardrobes, roofing sheets…. It was heart-rending to see how the possessions of one family, and all the family members could be fitted into one small private vehicle.
This whole operation of bringing people into the safety of town has been hampered by the fuel crisis which we have been experiencing, on and off, for 4 years or so. It is now probably at its worst ever – cars are locked in queues at the side of the road leading up to fuel stations, in the hope that a delivery might come. Productive time is spent, not in generating incomes for individuals and in boosting the economy, but in fuel queues. Truck drivers are in the fuel queues and are not available for hire. Resources are strained, yet somehow many people have been moved over the last 6 days.
The churches which have opened their halls to these displaced people, now resemble scrap-iron yards. The corrugated iron sheets from roofs, the wheelbarrows and sundry other possessions – all are piled up outside, and the people sleep inside on the floor, using donated blankets. During the day the children wander around, or play ball (in the cases where some kind person has donated a soccer ball); the women are busy with their usual chores of washing clothes, bathing the children and so on. Many of the men are absent during the day, returning at night to eat and sleep. There is an air of crazy normality within this completely abnormal, man-made crisis.
The impact on their homes, possessions and life is evident. What is not so evident is the trauma that this brutal uprooting must have caused.
In terms of background, the area which was destroyed was the site of a rural village, but as economic hardships increased over the last years, people flooding into Bulawayo set up their homes there - some little more than shacks. Many of the residents had been there for a number of years; quite a few were originally from Malawi, Zambia or South Africa; some were victims of the farm seizures, having lost their jobs as the farms they were on were seized. These diverse people have diverse needs, and the future is uncertain. The churches do not know how long these people will need to stay on their premises, and are taking a day at a time, receiving food, blankets, old clothing and so on from well-wishers. The regime seems to have no plan for assisting these people – not surprising, given the callousness of the operation.
So we continue: taking one day at a time by God’s grace. If you do nothing else, then please at least pray for us all in Zimbabwe.
posted at 8:25 am
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