REFLECTIONS OF A MIGRANT - Part 2

Empowering and breaking barriers through stories

As the convoy approached Village 20, where Jessie lived, it sent her into a frenzy as it reminded her of fierce battle scenes from the civil war. She heard the sound of gunshots of the past, and wanted to run away. Old age had taken its toll. In a flash she remembered that the war had ended years ago. In this time of independence, the army vehicles looked much stronger and fortified and were a show of the current government's military prowess. Jessie's fear quickly transformed into pride: Of course, the new people's government has full military might. No one will dare attack us again. We have suffered enough. We are free and will no longer be a colony again. No more imperialists!

The day of the visit had finally arrived and most villagers woke up very early to make the journey. It was already a scorcher of a morning. The village head, Sabook, had spread the message earlier and all roads that day led to the KK shopping centre, with many hoping that there would be a big feast awaiting them. Jessie curled from her reed mat and hurriedly splashed the greenish water over her wrinkled face. Every drop of water was precious in this dry region. She could not remember the last time she had a soap tablet and towel to cleanse herself. She used her tatty wrapper to dry her face and got ready. Maria, her orphaned granddaughter, who fetched water and firewood for her, had died unexpectedly. “It was opportunistic infections which killed Maria, mbuya¹,” the nurse at the clinic had confirmed, “she had not reached that stage where she could start taking antiretroviral drugs.” Jessie did not know what opportunistic infections were but knew Maria had succumbed to a high fever two weeks earlier. The fresh mound of soil next to Jessie's ageing hut was a stark reminder of this. Jessie wanted to attend the Premier's meeting to distract her from her sorrowful life and recent bereavement.

Jessie joined other women who were still fit to tackle the stony trail to the venue. They trudged along the dusty trail to the local and rather declining KK shopping centre where tiny and poorly ventilated shops were few and far between and most shelves had been empty for some time.

Everyone waited expectantly and respectfully on the hot sand for most of the morning under the sizzling tropical heat. The villagers felt their bodies baking in the scorching heat, but the past war had taught them resilience and discipline to continue. In the mid-afternoon, armoured cars with heavily armed men soon appeared at the parade of shops. Their leader had arrived in a convoy of metallic cars with dark tinted windows. Their magnificence left the villagers gaping in awe. Indeed, their nation had become a powerful one, a nation among nations. He elegantly emerged out of one of the cars donning a neat suit and was welcomed with a burst of ululation which echoed pride and admiration. This is how they expressed their celebration of independence!

As soon as he arrived, the regional premier wasted no time in giving his pre-election speech.

“I have come to reaffirm my promise to you that after these elections, we will empower and free you from economic oppression. In the past, we failed to make progress due to illegal sanctions imposed on us by other countries. Yes, we gained political independence, but clearly we were still under the subjugation of economic oppression. Give us time, we will not let you down. I am your son, I urge you not to betray our ancestors and hand back the soil to the imperialists. This region is beautiful and rich in natural resources, the sacred wildlife in Musasa Woodlands is precious. These foreign nations impose sanctions on us for no good reason because they want our oil, platinum, sparkling diamonds, fresh fruit, vegetables, flowers; and our granite to grace their state of the art kitchen worktops. They want to recolonise us, leave their freezing countries and come to our African sun and areas of natural heritage. They manufacture diseases in laboratories to inject us so as to decimate our people. We say no to this. Please vote for my party, the best is yet to come!”

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This is an extract from a new book 'New Voices: Empowering and breaking barriers through stories' first published in May 2014 by the New Voices Wagon Project in conjunction with University of Leicester, The Rayne foundation and Praxis Community Projects. Part 3 of the story coming soon

1“grandma”

REFLECTIONS OF A MIGRANT .....

Empowering and breaking barriers ............

The visit had been a long time coming and seemed much longer than their wait for freedom. Finally this was their moment to catch a glimpse of their revered leader. They had been free from their oppressor for fifteen years. Now it was their chance to see their hero in person, to shake the hand of one of those who had liberated them from the yoke of colonialism.

When the civil war had escalated, those in high political places no longer visited tribal villages. It was too dry and dusty, and no longer safe for them. Life in these remote villages was too rural. Stuffy mud huts, fly-infested cattle kraals, anthrax in their livestock, deserted buildings, muddy drinking water, a diseased population. These were all an embarrassment to the outside world. This led the authorities to drive their ancestors to isolated parts of the country, far from the public eye.

During the civil unrest, the national leaders were preoccupied with the needs of the law-abiding minority and had a war to win. The tribal zones had long had their own segregated system, with their infrastructure not up to the required standard and in keeping with their depraved landscape. It looked like they coped well with very little. They lived in self-inflicted poverty, smelled of months – if not years – of sweat and urine, never to be trusted. No, it wasn't government policy to impoverish a segment of its population. It was their choice to lead such a life with beliefs that were far from modern.

It was their own children who had revolted against a legitimate government. They allowed them to cause terror and destroy all forms of government infrastructure, planting landmines on the roads, blowing up bridges and going against good conservation practices. They were killing government officials and innocent civilians. This had caused immense suffering and the blame laid squarely on them. They were terrorists! The war was necessary to teach these people a lesson not to bite the hand that fed them. They needed tougher policies and close monitoring to show who was in charge. The government then imposed dusk-till-dawn curfews and protected villages for everyone's safety.

As Jessie's thoughts flashed back to all of these past miseries, it was befitting that she and her fellow kinsmen were celebrating independence in this way. At her age, she was privileged to experience political freedom first hand. A lot of people, including children, had failed to cross over to this independence. Now they had their freedom and government which they had struggled for countless years. Their own sons of the soil had taken over the reins.

The day before the visit, a convoy of camouflaged vehicles appeared from a distance. It moved cautiously avoiding the pool-sized potholes on the village dirt road. Dark frail silhouettes, including Jessie’s own, swerved uneasily by the doorways of tiny huts wanting to catch a glimpse of the latest news.

Locals had heard that their quality of life exceeded that of the cities which were opposition party strongholds. Life was becoming difficult in the urban areas and the rest of the population thought city dwellers deserved this. Everyone in the village hated the cities and all they stood for – sell-outs, cowards and disease. Whoever governed the cities had failed dismally – electricity and water shortages, treacherous potholes, chipped tarmac roads and overgrown grass on every open space. There were long queues for everything even to view dead bodies. They generated a lot of waste from their commercialised lifestyles, yet blamed the authorities for not collecting it – their own rubbish! What happened to the days of dug out rubbish pits and pit latrines? Urban dwellers had become a disgrace to the nation with their maladies: tuberculosis, cholera, STIs and HIV. At least people in the rural areas proudly breathed fresh air. The Premier was right not to visit or do anything for that urban part of his constituency in Sunshine City. He neither had, nor needed any of their support. They were cowards, who had retreated to the comforts of urban life when everyone was fighting in the bush .......................

To be continued

This is an extract from a new book 'New Voices: Empowering and breaking barriers through stories' first published in May 2014 by the New Voices Wagon Project in conjunction with University of Leicester, The Rayne foundation and Praxis Community Projects. Parts 2 and 3 of the story coming soon

Ruth Pink