We were greeted by a raging fire in the eyes of the ‘comrades’ who were setting up base. I remember being shoved to the dust as we stepped inside, a slap on my cheek for trying to protest, and a kick on my ribs for ‘disrespecting’ musangano (the gathering).
But that nostalgia is not enough to divert my attention from the traders, whose families are at living in uncertainty right now: the children who may fail to go to school, the man whose family may become homeless after failing to pay his rent, and the old woman who will not receive any supplies from her daughter as a result of the fire own my mind right now.
With hundreds of workers losing their jobs overnight because of the recent Supreme Court ruling, the home industry was probably becoming the next ray of hope for some. It probably still is.
I talk to them, they don’t want to hear it anymore, they don’t want to hear of “childhood fancies”. They want to talk about “real life”.
I ask myself; is it right to give up so young? No it can’t be. We can still dream, our lives are still right in front of us, the best is yet to come.
Not so long ago, the city was hard hit by cholera and typhoid, diseases that can easily spread through the ideal conditions at the eating spots. The City Council seems to be turning a blind eye while the council police and ZRP officers fatten their pockets from bribes from the restaurant owners, but it seems people are quick to forget.
The restaurant owners’ excuse is the high licensing fees, high cost of implementing health and environmental standards that restricts them from operating proper businesses.
While the world was going crazy over the death of Cecil the lion in Zimbabwe, a man trudged from what was his home only a month ago, chased by the government that ‘gave him the land’in the first place. Looking back, his children hung their