Women of Zimbabwe

 In September I went on a visit to Zimbabwe, that beloved, destroyed country where I had spent most of my life.

I stayed with my son Richard and his wife Fiona at Peterhouse School. There, a reliable supply of electricity and water are available. 
Across green playing fields in the school grounds a great orange ball sinks quite quickly behind the earth’s edge, leaving its glow for some moments and an abundance of purple jacaranda blossoms. This is the oval sun, spilling its heat and light from cloudless skies. What a paradise.

 The school has a game park where granite rocks balance one on top of the other or lie flat in great sheathes where one can picnic and watch the light change, where animals wander freely and the stillness creeps into your soul.

It is only an hour’s drive from this oasis into Harare and I had the opportunity to visit dear friends, some in retirement homes and some still living in their own houses. There are two very well kept retirement homes in Harare, and women living there make friends and communicate and go for walks together. 
Widows living there are sometimes helped by their families who now reside outside the country, far away in Canada, Australia or Dubai, so instead of being surrounded by children and grandchildren they are with friends - and they look after each other. 

They laugh together, play bridge, go to lectures and enjoy entertainments within the generous facilities at the retirement homes. There is fun, laughter and smiles, fellowship and the comfort of companions. 

Yet day-to-day living is not so easy. There were electricity cuts for 18 hours a day. This was not a spasmodic cut, but continued, day after day.

How do we do our washing? When can we iron our clothes? Where did I put the candles? Has my solar lamp run out? Do I need gas for my gas stove? Has everything gone off in the fridge? These are some of their daily thoughts.

Single women living outside retirement homes have a similar battle, perhaps even more difficult when they have to buy water to fill their tanks. Some houses have inverters which give enough power for the television and one light bulb. Wealthier and younger people have generators, meaning they have to buy fuel – all very expensive.

There is too, the problem of turning things off. Sometimes when a tap is turned on it is followed by an expletive such as “Damn! There is no water,” and one easily forgets to turn it off. When – if – the municipal or borehole water does come on, a flood ensues if the offender has been away for an hour or two. 

But I suppose that is better than having to walk for miles to scoop water out of a well or river as other friends like Sophie do.

The same pitfalls apply to electric heaters or electric blankets in the winter. “Damn, the lights have gone, I’ll go to bed without my hot water bottle,” one may say, and while they try to keep warm the electricity switch may have been be forgotten, which can result in a fire.

For survival it is necessary to keep your wits about you all the time.

Less expensive homes for the elderly in the not-so-elite suburbs have walls around them to protect the residents from passers-by, litter and the traders from small businesses that operate in the street. Behind the filth is a secure peaceful haven of care and orderliness.

Yet none of these inconveniences, annoyances and shortages detract from the spirit of the people who live there still. Their cheerfulness, resilience and flexibility are wonderful to see and their faith in a loving father supports them. There seems to be no wingeing and whining, but rather an acceptance and the courage to use each hour they have been granted positively, come what may.

Women of Zimbabwe, I salute you.

 [Illustrations by Pauline Battigelli]