The other border jumber(prolugue1)
posted on Sunday, April 05, 2009 03:40 PM
This is my autobiography, consisting of the events i've toiled through when crossing the border from Zimbabwe, where the economy was at stake, to South Africa.
Inflation falls across my country land, biting hard with gruesome clutched teeth and the pain for every individual remained deep inside, emotionally. Though the causer was closer at hand but few could resist the tribulation he had created, it only was possible, mostly by the tunnel of illegality.
And who could ever be found without a little villainous character could stand and face the whirlwind of suffering? Of course behind their closed doors, by the streets, as they plough on the hard abused soil, Walter, feeling the aching of hunger rumbling in his belly, by, his father telling him to hurry up, as he saw the rain clouds approaching and somewhere on the azure far side of the sky, Walter old men is urged to doubt. The soil was dry and so we were deep in our inside, and the presence of rain couldn’t have changed much. It only was a dream for those with farms to try to till the land, least that could have made their lives a little better, even though, the fertiliser began to be a treasure to seek.
It was the same old story, which was prevailing all around, it had absolutely more abundance of what to do for tomorrow, in other words the future.
It seemed as if someone had opened the forbidden door and suffering gushed out with surprising vicious targets.
Though we fought to stay alive, our needs and wants began to empty from shelves in shops, medical requirements following the same tunnel, the fuel, and problems with electricity. Thieves took in where they found necessary and daughters and mothers sold their bodies, they had families, kids, orphaned, helpless elders, and food was insufficient. These people they had to live, for it was why they were on this earth, come thunder, come lighting within rain, come perils heavy like a Kings footstool, a man has to fight for his/her rightful share to be on this earth.
It all had started already, in the year 2001, by that time I still remember living with one of my niece in Mutoko, where her husband owns a large farm scale. The government had failed to preserve its promises and doubts were still shaping up in most individuals, even the war veterans. They where all in remorse for that X they had scribbled on ZANU PF, run with his excellence president Robert Mugabe, who had given away the farms mostly owned by the British.
From then onwards after the British had left the farms, production began to degrease and the inflation cries followed latter on, nibbling bit by bit until the worse. More events that had followed I had weathered through them, hoping for this, yes to tell my story which is a long-long story indeed in such a small age.
After all, I had came to realise that, a society without a white man at wheels is but a poor draft, for a white man had cursed all lands with his godly wonders, and those who are found to resist his makings are doomed to less.
I guess I was right, for I had witnessed the falling economy of my country after the British’s had been taken off farms. And the black folks though with determination to work hard, it was to no avail, due the lack of working devises.