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
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