This is the story of two exiles, father and teenage son, forced to evacuate out of Zimbabwe March 2006

 

Forced to Leave

This is the story of two exiles, father and teenage son, forced to evacuate out of Zimbabwe March 2006.

The dye was cast at the turn of the Millennium when Zimbabwe started its long and painful slide into perdition: sinking slowly at first but soon destined to plummet into the abyss with the speed of a lead weight falling through space. The cost of living had launched into its long climb towards the stars, and retrenchments unemployment and abject poverty were becoming the order of the day.

There were two mortal blows that led to Zimbabwe’s economic implosion.

The first mortal blow was the extensive and often violent farm invasions. These acted as a catalyst for Zimbabwe’s disastrous and unplanned fast track appropriation of lucrative and productive farmland.

The second mortal blow was substantial and unscheduled payouts to troublesome ex ZANLA and ZIPRA forces. These handouts were not included in any fiscal planning, and were made to placate very angry and frustrated war veterans. In almost the blink of an eye the Zimbabwe currency started to depreciate against the hard currencies of Europe and America, and the country’s once vibrant economy began to self destruct.

The land reform in particular was a contentious issue.

What should have been a noble cause turned into a fiasco. It was more a scramble by the rich and the powerful for the biggest and the best agricultural enterprises, rather than a well executed exercise to resettle and economically empower the majority of rural Zimbabweans. With the value of hindsight critics allege that in fact the rural folk were subjected to a gargantuan confidence trick in order to curry votes and favour.

It was unscrupulous paid political thugs and opportunists posing as hungry landless peasants that were responsible for the violent land invasions, and not the majority of peace loving Zimbabweans from the countryside.

This dastardly act of misleading rural Zimbabweans was also carried out to buy loyalty and support for the dictator Mugabe and his ZANU/PF lackeys. Patronage in the form of acquired productive farms were dished out to senior and influential army air force and police personnel, and to ruling party political heavyweights.

A punitive side effect of the unseemly land grab was the adverse effect it had on the many companies servicing and supplying the agricultural industry. The company that I headed became one of the first of many to suffer serious collateral damage. As a result the jobs and livelihoods of myself and my colleagues were prematurely demolished. I had been involved in the production of farming periodicals since 1979.

Although it was a shocking revelation when the axe fell I was not too concerned as I had received immediate offers of freelance work. This kept me busy whilst at the same time creating additional earnings to supplement my pension. I had a long standing annuity that had accumulated over two decades. It had been continuously topped up by dual contributions paid in by both myself and the company: and I had a house and late model car fully paid up.

Under normal circumstances I should have looked forward to a relaxed happy secure and trouble free retirement. However circumstances were far from normal. Zimbabwe’s agriculture, the bedrock of the economy, was relentlessly being pilloried and taken apart.

Soon crop volumes dropped alarmingly causing basic commodities to become scarcer and more expensive. The deleterious effect on key agricultural exports such as tobacco was crippling. The large spectre of foreign currency shortages cast a longer darker more foreboding shadow over the land, which was becoming more horrible and more scary by the day.

At the time most citizens including myself failed to realise that the stage had been set for an unprecedented economic collapse, unheard of in a peacetime environment.

As 2002 gave way to 2003 Zimbabwe’s malaise irrevocably gathered pace as fast as the quality of life faded. It was exceedingly tough for almost everyone. Except of course for the ZANU/PF ruling party hackers and politicos.

For those like myself with a child or children at school budgeting for massively inflated fees and the basic necessities of life had become mission impossible. The words 'disposable income' had disappeared from the vocabulary.

Particularly frightening aspects of the tottering economy were the in-affordability and shortages of essential drugs, and the massively escalating charges of medical attention. Health care had become beyond the pockets of most Zimbabweans.

Average life expectancy was on a sharp downward spiral. Aids fatalities in particular were increasing due to sufferers being unable to pay for or to even find the medication. Even those fortunate enough to source the medication through a non governmental organisation were losers, because the lack of a proper diet totally negated the medication’s usefulness.

Month on month inflation was creeping up to shocking and unbelievable figures. It began to dawn on stressed Zimbabweans that much worse was yet to come.

There were no queues for the staple food mealie meal or for fuel, simply because neither were available. In fact the long queues for food and fuel had moved to the passport offices up and down the country.

Every day thousands of Zimbabweans were desperately trying to get out and seek sanctuary elsewhere. South Africa and the United Kingdom were choice destinations.

It wasn’t long before both countries were forced to implement a closed door policy imprisoning hungry desperate jobless Zimbabweans in their own country. However most of the horses had already successfully bolted before the stable door was closed, and it is estimated that over three million Zimbabweans now reside outside of their homeland.

My ability to ride out the storm started to seriously crack June 2005. Income from my informal freelance work had shrunk, and with the formal unemployment figure running at over eighty per cent I found myself at the end of a cul-de-sac.

To keep my son at school and meet cost of living expenses I first sold my car and then my house. The rationale behind such a crucial and momentous decision was to increase my capital and in so doing increase my income from the additional interest. What was desperately needed was more time. My son was in form four and writing his Cambridge ordinary level examinations, whilst I was trying to build up my media business.

It was during the September of 2006 that my son and I, there were only the two of us, moved into a two bed roomed flat in Harare’s Avenues. We went in on a sixth months' lease at a monthly rent of thirty million Zimbabwe dollars.

The end for us came suddenly and brutally January 2006 four weeks before the expiration of my lessees’ contract. It was in the form of a letter in the post from the estate agent giving us notice. The owner was selling the property.

Enquiries confirmed that if alternative accommodation was available the rent would be pitched at approximately twice the amount we’d been paying, around sixty million per month. I didn’t ask about the deposit.

As carefully and as many times as I did my sums I found expenditure always ahead of income. It was at last time up and time to leave. The one and only silver lining in a black cloud of despair was that my son had completed his public examinations and his school year.

A few hours before heading for the airport we packed what clothes we could into two suitcases.

Shortly before the issue of a new one hundred thousand dollars bearer cheque, my son and I were on our way out of Zimbabwe and out of Africa in search of a new life.

A Sad Farewell

The morning of the 18th March 2006 was cold with an ominous dark sky overhead. A chilly wind blew in through the airport terminal entrances and exits. Father and teenage son had arrived at Gatwick United Kingdom from Harare Zimbabwe.

We were just like millions of other Zimbabweans, forced out of our beloved country in order to get a life and to rediscover a future. We had left behind worthless money, almost zero employment, scarce and unaffordable commodities and services, and a shattered economy in free fall.

We had also left behind a citizenry in despair.

Many felt betrayed, not only by their ZANU/PF government but also by Britain and the European Union: and worse still by their brothers and sisters in the SADCC region and the African Union.

The previous day our Air Zimbabwe evening flight from Harare left very late. This was in order that the authorities could buy more time to search the highways and byways for enough aviation fuel to fly to London.

Harare airport had seemed strangely quiet and subdued, almost in a state of mourning reflecting perhaps the general feeling pervading the nation.

We had struggled to lift our cases on to the baggage scales. They were most definitely overweight. Not surprisingly, as my son and I were endeavouring to take with us as much clothing as we could pack.

Even though we had millions of Zimbabwe dollars to pay for excess baggage it was not enough.

The asking price was tens of millions for those extra kilos, and there was no option except to dig into our suitcases and shed some of our much-needed clothes and footwear. This was a dreadful setback.

We had no choice but to arrive destitute into the United Kingdom as Zimbabwe’s Reserve Bank had no foreign currency to issue. The items left behind would be impossible to replace in the near future. As the saying goes, it never rains but it pours.

We passed through immigration and customs control without incident…

I had always chosen to play by the rules in a country that by its very nature made criminals of everyone. Now as I was saying goodbye was not the time to falter. For many desperate hungry unemployed Zimbabweans locked into their miserable and misruled country, there is no choice but to act illegally and to keep on making a plan. With absolutely no possibility of work in the formal sector the informal sector thrives. Buying and selling on the black market, smuggling, money changing; anything to put some food on the table once a day, and perhaps some meat once a week.

My son and I soon found ourselves wandering through the duty fee shop. We were almost alone except for one or two fellow travellers grabbing bottles of quality liquor. The local supermarkets and bottle stores had not stocked such imported luxuries for years.

We had paper worth a few hundred thousand Zimbabwe dollars left over, and sensibly decided to buy chocolate. This was because after the partaking of dinner and breakfast on the flight we had no idea when we might eat again. My son did treat himself to a lucky charm bracelet reminding him of home.

Walking onwards to the airport’s inner sanctum we sat patiently waiting for the announcement to board. I wondered how many others booked onto the flight were also saying a final goodbye to their motherland. If not leaving for good it is safe to say that many were certainly visiting loved ones already exiled and settled on the far side of the planet.

Juice to feed the ’plane’s engines had finally been located and one by one and two by two passengers entered the connecting tube snaking from the terminal exit to the aircraft door.

We were on our way.

I am not ashamed to say that as the big jet lifted off Zimbabwean soil and started its climb over the outskirts of Harare, there were tears rolling down my cheeks.

My son’s tears had come much earlier just before leaving the public area of the airport. Unlike me, he had been born in Zimbabwe. He had never before left his native Africa.

The National Airline epitomises the friendliness and the hospitality of the average Zimbabwean. Upgraded to Business Class we left in style. Our arrival was to be a traumatic contrast.

As we descended into Gatwick Airport, I peered out the cabin window only to see thick greyish clouds scudding by. Only minutes before landing was there visual contact with the runway. After taxiing to the terminal we alighting from our cosy and comfortable transportation, but not before my son and I had exchanged handshakes and smiles with the cabin crew. Air Zimbabwe was to us the final connection with home. When that last umbilical cord was severed, I remember feeling a distinct foreboding.

I stared in awe as standing on a moving walkway overlooking the airport apron I saw dozens of parked aircraft from airlines I never knew existed. Father and son made their way towards the baggage collection area. Trolley at the ready we collected our worldly belongings, and once again passed through immigration and customs with truly nothing to declare. Suddenly we were in the public domain, alone and penniless in the maddening crowd.

The information desk and the Travel Care staff at Gatwick's south terminal have seen it many times before. They've witnessed victims of civil wars and misrule from Africa, Asia, Eastern Europe, and from all corners of the earth. My son and I were just two more unfortunate victims.

I knew we were in for a rough ride ahead, but for my son it all seemed an amazing adventure. Having said that I salute his courage, tenacity, optimism; and most of all his invaluable support.

With him by my side, failure was not an option.

We are now comfortable housed, and my son has graduated and is employed.

My elder sibling a daughter, who had left Zimbabwe for South Africa some years before, has now joined my son and I here in UK. I am looking forward to my 71st birthday and although time is running away from me, for my children the world is their oyster.

That for me makes it all worthwhile!

*Addendum

Zimbabwe's currency eventually completely failed, totally collapsing and leaving thousands destitute. The British government offered repatriation to elderly Zimbabwean citizens and residents of British descent. Those remaining rely on charities and NGO's to stay alive.