Zimbabwe under lockdown: The struggle for survival goes a notch higher

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WHEN a movie about the virulent novel coronavirus outbreak is made, the standout star will most undoubtedly be an old bespectacled doctor on the point of retirement, whose last role is saving his country, and possibly the world.

BY ANDREW KUNAMBURA

WHEN a movie about the virulent novel coronavirus outbreak is made, the standout star will most undoubtedly be an old bespectacled doctor on the point of retirement, whose last role is saving his country, and possibly the world.

The setting could be the Chinese city of Wuhan, the epicentre of the outbreak, or Rome — in the worst affected country, Italy — or Madrid, or even New York. After all, such movies are rarely ever cast in African societies.

In that fictional version, the doctor — in an act of noble self-sacrifice — will most likely survive the horrendous situation in which some of his colleagues perish.

The scriptwriter can ill-afford to ignore the current lockdowns decreed by heads of state around the globe as they seek to minimise the contagion’s severity, copying from China, which first employed the brutal tactic that involved security forces ensuring everyone stayed indoors.

Those that dared violate the decree faced the wrath thereof, often giving rise to the democratic human rights abuse tunes.

The script may not include Zimbabwe, thus far one of the world’s least affected countries with just nine officially confirmed cases of Covid-19, the disease caused by coronavirus, and one death.

As countries globally began enforcing strict lockdowns to prevent the spread of the coronavirus, Zimbabwe followed suit.

President Emmerson Mnangagwa on March 27 announced a 21-day lockdown to contain the virus spread that has now killed over 50 000 people around the world and infected close to one million.

The sluggish approach by government in responding to the calamity courted a lot of criticism, with worried public health experts suggesting government should have acted sooner.

I am writing at my sitting room table in Harare, and taking breaks to join the rest of the family at meal times.

The kids, one eight, the other three, are a constant irritation.

As you try to concentrate on your work, they often tend to race on their miniature feet into the room making infuriating noise.

Amid all that, I still have to find from the back of my mind the appropriate words to knit into a meaningful story, and in such circumstances, literature may help frame a catastrophic historic moment and put it into perspective.

For any literature enthusiast, there is one reference which is frequently popping up on Facebook entitled: The Decameron, Giovanni Boccasio’s 1350 book in which a group of young people flee Florence for a countryhouse where they end up riding out the plague by telling stories to the unaffected communities.

With so much time on everyone’s hands now, reading through it should not be too difficult.

The book turned out to be a perfect fit for the current lockdown, if what was witnessed at the country’s busiest bus terminus in Mbare, Harare’s densely populated neighbourhood, the day before the lockdown kicked in is anything to go by.

When the lockdown was announced that grey Friday evening, Zimbabweans reacted with a mixture of fear and relief.

On Sunday morning, thousands had turned up at the bus terminus hoping to catch the first bus to the “safer” countryside.

Public transport would not be available for the next 21 days and many sought to trade the expensive city life for the laid-back, tranquility of the village. Transport operators sensed an opportunity to make a killing, doubling or even tripling fares.

“I just have to make it to the village. I cannot bear the prospect of having to spend 21 days locked down in the city,” said Bikita-bound Sheunesu Mudzviti as he squeezed through a crowd fighting to get into the bus, charging US$20 for a trip whose fare is normally half the amount.

In the adjacent fresh produce market, hundreds of people had turned up to make last-minute purchases of vegetables and other supplies they would need to cover the period of solitude.

Prices were crazy.

For instance, a pocket of potatoes, which normally costs US$5, was now selling at US$15 while a cabbage head was selling at US$3, up from US$0,50.

“This is ridiculous,” a huge muscular man shouted after being told the price of the cabbage as he dragged along a woman whom this reporter assumed was his wife.

“Let’s go home, we won’t die,” he said as the young woman nodded and tagged along, in no mood to talk to this reporter.

On Tuesday, I decided to drive around the city as the lockdown started to truly bite.

At a butcher shop in the high-density suburb I live in, I saw patrons quietly standing in a line that extended into the street, with everyone spaced a metre or two apart.

In compliance with the government’s order against nightspots, bars and nightclubs had their doors tightly bolted while sports betting halls were closed.

As the curfew descended, the police showed they were seriously patrolling the streets with lists of bars and restaurants to check that they were empty and locked.

Across Harare, the traditions of a gregarious social people were upended as everyone sought to play their role in the fight against the invisible killer.

Fast food outlets, the heart of any Zimbabwean city or town — where kids rough-and-tumble and their parents meet for a hot meal — were abandoned.

Someone spoke of a story in Highfield where police issued cautions to an entire funeral cortege for violating a ban on group activities.

Government has said while funerals are exempted, the number should not exceed 50.

While the war against the invisible monster rages on, the lockdown threatens a chain reaction of unpaid bills, defaulted loans, and an economic crisis, which the International Monetary Fund has predicted will be worse than the 2008 global financial crisis.

This will trigger an unprecedented social calamity, pronounced in job losses, hunger and poverty.

Better-footed governments such as in the United States, United Kingdom, Germany and Australia have offered huge rescue packages to mitigate the shocks.

Yet, in Zimbabwe, there is a realistic concern that a good number of the few companies still operational may fold.

“We are at war,” said Kennias Magodo, owner of a small furniture shop in central Harare, as he rolled the shutters on Sunday evening, leaving a note with his mobile number on the metal gate.

“This might the last day for us here. We have been trying to stay in business under very harsh circumstances, but this is coming as a technical knockout,” he said.

Near Harare’s historic Africa Unity Square, a trendy clothing boutique paid tribute to “the medical and paramedic personnel struggling on the frontlines” of the coronavirus, concluding the note with the bold inscription: “The disruption of today will allow us to restart as soon as possible, ALL TOGETHER.”

The lockdown may have just entered its sixth day today, but for the majority of poor Zimbabweans already struggling to fend for their families, the stress of a lockdown already appears to be overtaking the stress of the disease.

Last Monday the government announced that it would be giving money to the affected poor, and had set aside $100 million to cover one million of the poorest families.

The figure is evidently too small and insufficient.

“People shouldn’t be stranded without income, without work. “The cushion announced by government is too little to cover everyone,” unemployed single mother Precious Tangwara, who ekes out a living from vending on the now deserted streets of Harare, said.

Zimbabweans in cities and towns also have to spend the better part of the lockdown without potable water as the respective local authorities are failing to deliver the critical service.

Yet, there is a collective consensus that by staying apart, Zimbabweans might emerge from the storm with very few affected citizens.