Zimbabwe on My Mind

I spent December 2006 in Mbare, the oldest township of Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe. This was my fourth trip to Zimbabwe, and the first where I lived like most Zimbabweans, instead of like a rich American visitor. I stayed with the Timbenawo family, who named their daughter after me, and who have become my family over the years.

In Mbare, it’s summer in December—the rainy season. Early mornings are cool, but the heat and humidity start to build by 10 and continue until huge cumulonimbus clouds release their rain, or until the sun goes down, whichever comes first. When the rain comes, it comes hard, and we put rags under the door. After a bad storm, the water on the streets can reach mid-calf.

I shared an 800-square-foot house with Linford and Martha Timbenawo and their children: Gladys Valjean (my namesake, then aged 8, now 9) and John Davies, now three. The family rented out what used to be their kitchen, so their living space was reduced to maybe 550 square feet. The house heated up like an oven as the day went on.

I shared a bed with Gladys Valjean. She is a mararo—she thrashes in her sleep, hogs the bed, steals the covers. Once I woke up with her hand in my mouth. I love her fiercely. She has the most amazing skin: it glows copper when the sun rises. She can sleep in any position whatsoever. It makes me happy just to look at her.

Just before dawn, the birds would start to sing, then a rooster would crow. Then you would hear the swish-swish of women starting to sweep and clean, and not too long after that, the lady next door would start in. She is the neighborhood alarm clock. Her whole family is very loud.

On Christmas Day 2006, Martha and I started cooking at 7 a.m. on a two-burner hotplate. By 1 p.m. dinner was ready. The extended family ate in two shifts, plates on laps (no dining room or table). Then we danced until after the sun went down. I will never forget it.

Zimbabwe was in bad shape last year, but nothing like this year. There are only 3-4 hours of electricity per day, from roughly midnight to 4 a.m. Any hot-plate cooking or boiling of drinking water must be done then. Last year the inflation rate was maybe 2500 percent. This year it's 24,000 percent and skyrocketing. Linford, the father of the family, has been selling tchotchkies to tourists in Johannesburg, living away from home for several months at a time. He sends money home when he can, and equally important, sends groceries and supplies -- rice, beans, soap --which are very hard to come by in Harare.

He came home for Christmas, and the family has been struggling with decisions about their future. Elections are scheduled for March, and there is likely to be violence in the township where they live, a hotbed of opposition to the regime. One option is to move Martha and the children for a few months to a low-density suburb near Gladys Valjean's school for $100/month rent -- an exorbitant amount for them, but affordable thanks to the generous donations of guests at my Christmas open house, which raised $677 for the Timbenawos. I will match this amount. Many, many thanks to all who contributed.

Another option is to move the whole family to South Africa. To do this, they will have to pay $300US for travel documents for the children, plus the cost of moving. Then there is the question of where and how to educate the children. South Africa is crawling with millions of refugees from Zimbabwe, many of them much more highly skilled than the Timbenawos. Housing and jobs are hard to find, there is a great deal of resentment toward Zimbabweans (and other immigrants) on the part of many South Africans, and the Timbenawos would be far from the support and love of their extended family.

I cannot advise them from here but have told them I will do my best to support whatever decision they reach.

We used to communicate weekly via the grandfather's land line, but that telephone is on the fritz, so communication has become difficult. Text messages are an option, and we also email - but to do so Martha or Linford or both have to go to town to the Internet cafe, a trip that can take half an hour to an hour in a crowded minibus. Often when they get to town the Internet is down, and they have to turn around and try again the next day. I sometimes phone their cell, but it's hard to get through, and hard to hear and understand one another through the static when I do get through.

I have not yet told them about my illness, but I must do it soon. They sent me a text-message yesterday wishing me a happy new year, and I text-messaged back that I would try to phone their cell today. It's 9:30 p.m. in Harare as I write this, usually a good time to reach them -- the network is not so busy at night. I am not going to try to have this conversation on the phone, but I will ask them to check their email as soon as they can, which will force me to write to them. Their last email contained details of rental and passport costs, as well as the news that the headmaster of Gladys Valjean's school has resigned. He has been doing yoeman's labor to keep the school going, and I fear his departure will mean a rapid decline of educational standards, if not the closure of the school itself.

To the donors to my African family, many thanks for your generosity. Your support will help tremendously, whatever the family decides to do, and that, in turn, will help me because I know they will be provided for. Blessings to all for the new year.