Plight of Rural Citizens in 'Dollarised' Economy

Background: I wrote this piece in June 2009, a few months after the dollarization of the Zimbabwean economy when the US dollar officially replaced the battered Zimbabwe dollar. An uncle had told me of the challenges that rural folk were facing in accessing the US dollar. This story therefore captures the challenges of the time:

Zimbabwe: Plight of Rural Citizens in 'Dollarised' Economy

Alex Magaisa

MY cousin, Bessie died last week. She was only 37. She had not been very well for a long time.

She had been away for a lengthy period. Her husband, our mukuwasha brought her back to the village in her fragile state. She stayed there, in her place of birth until her final moments being cared for by maiguru, her mother and the extended family.

There is very little in the village. Things are tough. It is here where a forgotten tribe of Zimbabweans reside and try to eke out a living -- the tribe of the rural dwellers.

As usual funerals are the rare occasions when the city-types meet with this forgotten tribe. They come to pay their last respects. They also come with provisions to cater for the mourners. The city types come face to face with the sad reality of rural life. There is no US dollar here. There is no Rand.

But the sense of community remains intact. You have to admire the spirit. Men and women come from all corners to bury one of their own. And so on this occasion, they came together to bury their daughter for everyone here is everyone's child.

An uncle from the city went down to the village cemetery. There he found the usual types -- the men who whenever communal duty calls, drop everything to attend to the chores attendant upon a funeral. These were the grave diggers, taking turns to dig the dry and hard earth with their basic tools.

If they are lucky in these days someone gets them some opaque beer to get them going. That is why they are happy when they see the city boys -- surely one of them can spare a dollar or two to get a few litres of the good waters. They were happy to see uncle; even happier with the alcoholic beverage they had been waiting for.

One of the diggers called uncle away for a private conversation. It took a while for uncle to recognise him.

They had been together in primary school centuries ago. But a combination of the elements and time had registered heavily on uncle's ex-schoolmate. Here was a man who had clearly had to bear the heavier load of life's burdens and they had left him a broken man. He reminded uncle about the old days.

He chuckled and laughed as he told uncle how large he had become over the years. He was pleased to see his old mate. His name is Champion. No one knows why his father had chosen that title for him.

As the conversation progressed he apologised. Champion apologised for the request that he was about to make. Like every man here, he is proud and tries hard to work his way through life so even the thought of making this request made him uncomfortable. Uncle urged him to feel free.

"Shamwari," Champion started "Ndinokumbirawo dhora. Dhora chete" ("My friend, can I please ask for one US dollar. Just one US Dollar.") He was pleading. He wanted a dollar; a single US dollar. Uncle asked why just a dollar and what he wanted it for.

Champion explained, "Shamwari, zvinhu zvakaoma kuno kumaruzevha. Hatina mari iyoyi yakauya iyi. Ini nemhuri tapedza two weeks tichidya mangai because hatina mari yacho yekugaisa chibage.

Saka hatikwanisi kudya sadza" ("My friend, things are tough for us here in the rural areas. My family and I have been surviving on a daily diet of boiled maize because we have no money to process the maize into maize-meal. So we haven't had Sadza for ages"). Sadza, a thick porridge made from maize-meal is the staple diet in Zimbabwe.

But tell me Champion, how have you survived all along, uncle enquired. He was keen to know more about how the rural folk have been surviving since the introduction of the new money and Champion seemed to be a willing source.

Champion explained, "Well, in the beginning the millers accepted barter trading. To process a bucket of maize into maize-meal, we would give the miller a smaller bucket of maize as payment. It worked for a while. We got maize-meal and he got some maize in return.

At least we could cook sadza and have a decent meal" He paused for moment as he lit his chimonera (rolled cigarette) and took a quick pull, then shook his head as he continued. "But now the miller has changed. Perhaps he now has too much of the maize. So he now demands either US dollars or Rands.

Trouble is, us folks don't have that kind of money. I have never seen a US dollar. I do not even know what it looks like. But, my friend, my children also want sadza. It's embarrassing my friend to be in a position where the children cry and you, as the man of the house you cannot provide for them. That is why I ask for a dollar. Just one dollar will do because I can go to the miller tomorrow to process some maize-meal. Just one dollar, shamwari. At least the family will eat sadza for a few days", he pleaded.

Uncle felt pity for Champion, his old mate. He took out two dollars and handed it to Champion. The man was grateful -- almost going down on his knees to dramatically register his gratitude.

To have asked for just one dollar and then got two dollars seemed like a miracle. He looked long and hard at the two, wrinkly notes -- they have been exchanged so much between so many hands they are barely recognisable.

He was pleased. He was happy to have finally got a US dollar in his hands. "I am probably the richest man among my friends at the moment", he quipped, pointing to his fellow grave-diggers. "I bet none of them has ever seen a US dollar, let alone used it!" he said with a chuckle; the laugh of a very relieved man. He offered uncle a bucketful of maize but uncle declined. He said the two dollars was his gift.

There are many 'Champions' in the rural areas of Zimbabwe. They are the forgotten tribe of Zimbabweans; a tribe of the economically impoverished for whom dollarization of the currency was a catalyst for a harsh displacement from the formal economy. Whatever little they had in the zillions of Zimbabwe dollars was lost when the conversion occurred without adequate notice or the facility for exchange.

Of course even Zimbabweans in the urban areas where affected, particularly pensioners. But at least in the cities the 'kiya-kiya' culture (wheeling-dealing) facilitates opportunities for urban-dwellers to get access to the new currencies. The situation is markedly different in the rural areas where the opportunities are severely limited.

It is here where Zimbabwe's poorest reside. It is in these rural areas where the harsh effects of a severely broken economy have registered more vividly. They have little, if any, access to the multi-currencies in use elsewhere. They are virtual spectators; bystanders whose options are severely limited. They have been reduced to the basic barter-trade economy where you exchange one good for another. It may work sometimes as Champion explained but it is unsustainable in the long run.

Champion may have earned two dollars from his begging enterprise but it is not enough to serve him and his family for the long term.

Meanwhile, they buried my cousin. They say by the time she passed on, she was in a bad state. They had cared for her in the village. There was nothing else that could have been done. They could do no more at the local clinic. So at 37, sisi Bessie was liberated from this world -- a young life taken away.

She leaves young children. Our mukuwasha had stayed on in the village after he brought her back. He is a man of limited means. He could not even mobilise bus fare to return to his home. So the family put together the little that was available and sent him away.

Scenes like this are not isolated. They are a daily occurrence across Zimbabwe; especially in rural Zimbabwe, where the US dollar is still to arrive. There are many who, like Champion are asking for nothing more than just a dollar. There are many who like sisi Bessie are departing in the prime of their lives; many like my community, who continue to plod on toward an uncertain future. They are the forgotten tribe of Zimbabwe -- the rural tribe.