Offering hope to Zimbabwe’s most desperate
As Zimbabweans struggle to cope with food shortages and rising prices, Peta
Thornycroft meets one woman trying to help the ever-growing ranks of
suffering citizens.
By Peta Thornycroft, Bulawayo 7:00AM GMT 16 Jan 2011
As the great great granddaughter of one of imperial Britain’s greatest
African foes, the irony cannot be lost on Sandra Gumede.
Lobengula, her illustrious ancestor, spent much of the late 19th century
trying to fend off colonial encroachment in his Matabeleland kingdom in what
is now western Zimbabwe.
Ultimately he failed, his tribal warriors cut down by British Maxim guns
during a war that provided Rhodesia’s Rorke’s Drift moment – when Maj Allan
Wilson and 31 British volunteers were cut down by a vast Matebele force
after a valiant stand by the Shangani River.
But today Mrs Gumede works with the British, or at least with a British
charity in the form of Zane, set up in 2002 by former MP Tom Benyon to help
the ever-swelling ranks of destitute Zimbabweans, black and white.
At another moment of great crisis in her people’s history, it seems only
right – like her ancestor before her – to rally to their need.
So, at 3am, Mrs Gumede is up and cooking maize meal in a council hall in
Pelindaba, an overcrowded suburb of Bulawayo, the “City of Kings” that was
once Lobengula’s capital.
It is an early start but she has little choice in the matter; Zimbabwe’s
daily power cuts mean that a lie-in is all but impossible.
Soon the corridors are thronged with playing children who have come to the
council hall with their grandparents, penniless pensioners for whom Mrs
Gumede is the only hope of a hot meal. The children are mainly orphans,
their parents mostly carried off by the Aids epidemic that has swept
Zimbabwe, where as many as one in six of the adult population are infected
with the HIV virus.
Maize meal, known in Zimbabwe as sadza when it is cooked, is the staple food
of Zimbabwe. But after years of hyper-inflation and misrule that has
consigned a country once prosperous by African standards to mass
impoverishment, it has almost become a luxury for many in Matabeleland.
As one element of its work in Zimbabwe, Zane provides maize meal and soya so
that many of those who suffer the most — the old and the young — again
have the opportunity to eat.
One of the beneficiaries of the feeding scheme is Thabani, a former teacher
who lived in rural Matabeleland until 1985 when he was forced to flee
President Robert Mugabe’s brutal suppression of Matabele dissidents and
their suspected sympathisers.
It was the height of what became known as the Gukurahundi, and in nearby
villages the dreaded, North Korean trained Fifth Brigade was carrying out
mass executions, forcing villagers to dig their own graves before mowing
them down with machine gun fire.
For Thabani, who thinks he is 69, Mrs Gumede’s sadza is, like for so many
others, quite possibly the difference between life and death.
“I would die without this food, which I collect every day of the week,” he
said. “It is cooked. I have no money for electricity even when it is on. At
weekends, it is a problem to get food. Often I am very hungry on Monday.”
Thabani does not believe there is any immediate prospect for an improvement
in the lives of ordinary Zimbabweans, not while the present government
remains in power, making the role that Zane plays in his life even more
important.
“We know what has happened in Zimbabwe,” he said. “We know why we are
hungry. No one here will support Mugabe in any elections now.”
He continued: “I don’t know this British organisation who send money for the
food for us, but please thank them. We would die without it, so would those
children over there.”
The children continue playing happily as the food is handed out to the
pensioners as they queue patiently for their food.
Having one hot meal a day gives them a future, and some hope – a precious
commodity in Zimbabwe.
Others in Zimbabwe, however, do not want to consider what the next few
years, even months, might bring.
Lorna Webb is one of Zimbabwe’s white victims. She hasn’t been oppressed
politically or singled out for violence. But, like countless others in
modern Zimbabwe, she is penniless.
A distinguished Zimbabwean – her father was Sir Thomas Page, a one-time
pioneering farmer – she lived her life with characteristic prudence. After
her husband died, she sold the family house as a way of supporting herself
into old age.
Instead, she was reduced to penury as her savings were wiped out after Mr
Mugabe’s policies of seizing white-owned farms contributed to inflation so
runaway that prices were doubling every day.
It is hardly surprising that Mrs Webb is not relishing the prospect of
turning 100 later this year. In fact, she just wants to die.
“I am 99 now and my body is worn out,” she said, speaking from her bed in
the frail-care section of a Harare old age home. “I have lived too long, and
I want to move on to the Lord now.”
For Mrs Webb, Zane has been a source of precious comfort since she was taken
under its wing last June when she broke an arm and a leg.
Until then, despite her age, she had lived an active life, walking every day
and enjoying considerable independence at her old people’s home.
Being confined to a bed is difficult for a woman who has seen so much. Her
father, whose story she tells in her book Chintali (“tall man” in the
Chinyanja language), was once speaker of the Legislative Council in Zambia,
or Northern Rhodesia as it was known then. Knighted in 1956, he arrived on
the African coast at the age of 19 and walked across the bush for nine weeks
to reach Nyasaland.
In many ways, her life has been just as adventure-filled. Born in then
Northern Rhodesia, she and her sister had long and difficult journeys to
school in Southern Rhodesia and were parted from their parents for a year at
a time, suffering regular bouts of homesickness for their bush home.
Mrs Webb trained as a nursing sister in Southern Rhodesia before spending
the early years of her working life in the forests of eastern Zimbabwe,
where she worked more as a doctor than a nurse, often having to perform
operations when the missionary doctor was away.
She also nursed in Johannesburg, South Africa, for 15 years, and retired as
deputy matron but returned to Zimbabwe to nurse her dying sister.
“I can’t hear you, and I can’t see you, but I have had a full and wonderful
life and I just want to go, so thank you, but there is no point in living
like this,” she said.
As she prepares to make her final journey, Mrs Webb has no family around
her. She has a much loved stepson, but he lives in Cape Town and does not
have the money to see her often.
Zane fills that gap, its carers and volunteers providing attention and
companionship for a dying woman.
In a clear voice, Mrs Webb reaches out her hand, searching for the Zane
carer next to her. “Thank you for coming to see me,” she said.