African Laughter - Doris May Lessing [114]
The official had to sit and listen while one old man after another, and then the women, scolded him. But on the way home he said it had been a wonderful experience. He had been reminded of where his duty lay.
‘So you see,’ says my interlocutor persuasively, but sighing, ‘things can’t be so bad, can they?’
‘And has the official changed his ways?’
‘That I am afraid I don’t know.’
A POLITICAL OFFICE
A young woman of medium rank (black) lectures me about the disadvantages of a civil service. ‘We are going to make sure the civil service has no power,’ she says. ‘Otherwise they hold things up when we make decisions. Did you see “Yes, Minister”?’
‘It has been argued,’ I suggest, ‘that a responsible civil service can prevent the excesses of a bad government.’
‘But our government isn’t bad, it is good, and it will only do what is best for everyone.’
This particular department is manned and womaned by a host of attractive young people, all in their thirties and committed to any ‘line’ put forth by Comrade Mugabe. That means they must sound like marxists, even if they are not, must support a one-party state, and–this is the important point–support the ever-spreading control by the ruling party over every part of administration. The new bureaucracy doubles every year–exponentially, people claim, it is like the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, it is like a fungus devouring everything. That these intelligent people are unaware of the bad things that go on is impossible: what they say to each other behind closed doors can be guessed at. But they present a smiling united front to anyone from outside who might be a critic.
I remark that Lao Tzu said, ‘You must govern a country as you would fry a small fish–lightly.’
They exchange looks, hesitate, then laugh. ‘Is he Chinese?’
I see they think he is modern Chinese, therefore marxist, therefore good.
My companion, a woman who spends much time in the villages, mentions the new Sheraton Hotel, built by the Yugoslavs, claimed to be the ugliest building ever built anywhere. It is called the People’s Hotel, but no Povo would dare to go near it, for they would be shown the door at once. The officials exchange quick looks: they are aware of all the criticism.
‘I heard a village woman from Central Province say, “What they have spent on the Sheraton would give all this province clean water.”’
The officials do not look at us, nor at each other. From this I deduce they probably agree with the woman from Central Province.
A bit later in the conversation one remarks, ‘Of course we have made mistakes.’
The great new buildings are more than a sore point: in some conversations with Povos, even with Passionate Protagonists, it becomes clear they are a symbol of everything people hate about the new regime. There is not only this luxurious People’s Hotel, used only by fat cats and prestigious visitors, but there is the new Party HQ, for which money has been collected from even the poorest people. There is Heroes Acre, which cost a lot of money. And now there is talk that the new Houses of Parliament will be built on top of the kopje. ‘What is wrong with the old one?’ people ask. And, in fact, it is an attractive place.
‘And now I suppose the Chefs will travel from their nice homes up to Parliament by helicopter, they’ll never touch ground at all, they’ll see us even less than they do now.’
The Povos do not approve, either, of the Chefs travelling abroad all the time. There is a new joke about Mugabe. ‘Why is Comrade Mugabe like Christopher Columbus?’ ‘Because he is always discovering new countries.’
AIDS
In every conversation these days, sooner or later, AIDS appears. Not in government offices: officially Zimbabwe is not supposed to have a problem with AIDS. The Minister of Health has just announced publicly that talk of AIDS is put about by ill-wishing whites to destroy the infant tourist