African Laughter - Doris May Lessing [197]
Everyone is uneasy about the new Ministry of Political Affairs. At its top levels the Ministry is staffed by impressive men and women, all young, at least scarcely middle-aged. They are dedicated, efficient. But in a country like Zimbabwe, with not enough trained people, what goes on at lower levels does not necessarily reflect the competence of its Chefs.
Sometimes I think that Chefs in every country formulating policies that sound so brilliant as they enunciate them among clever colleagues, might stop and wonder how these same policies will sound–well, for instance, in the mouths of some local official. ‘Why have you got that map on your lap?’
A newspaper editor: ‘Mugabe should take the Central Intelligence Office dogs off our heels. You wouldn’t notice it because you are a visitor, but they are always around sniffing things out. For instance, a novelist was planning a thriller about a country where a coup was being planned from outside. He talked about his idea to a friend: a few days later the CIO came around and warned him not to write the book; people would think he meant Zimbabwe. So he didn’t write it. It is easy to say he should have ignored them. If I lived in Britain I wouldn’t take any notice either. But it’s no joke when those CIO men drop around for a chat. They know how to scare you. And don’t forget the best editor this country ever had–The Chronicle in Bulawayo–got the sack. If there’s a tricky issue, just when you’re thinking, I’ve got a wife and children to look after, it’s funny how the CIO boys just happen to be around, “Let’s have a drink and talk things over.”’
In London an international expert talks about the disaster of Zambia, the demoralization. ‘They are always looking over their shoulders to make sure the secret police aren’t listening.’ I said I saw nothing like this in Zimbabwe. On the contrary, everyone I met said what they thought at the top of their voices: hard to imagine these exuberant, irreverent, witty people putting up with the Thought Police. ‘That’s not what I’ve been told by my people,’ she says. ‘I reckon Zimbabwe has only a short time to decide whether it’s going to be like Zambia. Their culture is authoritarian, it’s hierarchical, not easy for them to challenge authority. Big political movements are one thing, but it’s another to challenge a petty boss out in the sticks somewhere. There is something in their traditions, or their culture, or their history which makes them helpless when they encounter ours. Our organization gives out money for projects, but part of that money will always be stolen, unless you can arrange for checks all the way–and what example do they get from their leaders? All they see when they look at Harare is the Chefs getting rich on fiddles. And what would happen to them if they complained? And now Mugabe is insisting on a one party state and then there won’t be any opposition at all.’
I asked if she ever went out of Harare when she visited Zimbabwe. She was uncomfortable: ‘No, I’ve never been out of Harare, I’m afraid.’
A poem from Tso Tso.
Strong strings tie my…my
Strong strings tie my tongue tight
Strong strings tie my taunting
tongue straight and silent,
With no might nor right or curling
and lick the doors of its cave-empire.
Tongues! Who thought even tongues
could be spiderwebbed silent?
During those days of blighting bullets
amid slogan chants
Those years of the bloody bayonet
to the lull and soothe of ‘honest’ promises
Who could ever have the thought–
–of those tight cutting strings to masses?
Tongues-UES-UES-UES-.
S. Kumbirai Rukuni
PATTERNS
I am shown a piece of stone that has the outline of a leaf impressed in it. The leaf is like the little fish on my mantelpiece, its form obstinately preserved, through so many thousands of years. The fish, the leaf, make me think of something that