In Zimbabwe, everyone is an expert on everything. If you were trying to get out of a crowded room, you'd trip over at least five experts on your way to the door. The majority of this expert advice, however, is largely based upon what someone's friend told them, what the fuel attendant muttered while filling up their tank, what the shop assistant declared true and what somebody's brother who knows somebody in the government said was going to happen - and what, accompanied by a long, knowing look, 'they' have hinted at. That ubiquitous 'they' is a fount of knowledge on all things, including the government, the currency, what the president plans to do on his birthday and, most importantly, the weather.
'They say there will be a drought this year.'
'They always say if there's rain in July, there's rain in November.'
'My father (and he was a farmer so he should know) always says that a cold winter means good rains.'
'My grandmother always used to swear that if we have rain in September, there will be a drought for the rest of the year.'
'They say this changeable weather is down to climate change. It may snow next year.'
'Our gardener says that out in the rural areas, they believe that the cold weather is a good sign: rain is on its way.'
'I was speaking to a guy selling avocados today and he believes that this cold spell means that the rains will be late but good.'
'They are predicting heavy rain for February due to the unseasonably warm July.'
'In 1992, the year of the worst drought ever recorded, it was also overcast on October 3.' (Long, knowing look).
One thing is certain, Zimbabweans have never got used to being wrong. Many of these predictions are quickly forgotten when the outcome is the opposite of what has been forcasted. Y
ou would think we would have learnt by now. I don't know how many times in the last twenty years the air buzzed with the certainty of Mugabe's demise; so many times in fact that, when he did finally fall off his perch, the occasion was remarkable only for being dishearteningly vapid.
An early Rhodesian book bears the title Next Year Will Be Better. It is one that has become a
maxim in Zimbabwe. We are told prices will come down in April, the economy will improve by November, Zimbabwe will become Africa's success story (no dates given on this one). April and November approach and pass and so does the next April and the next November. But, next year will be better. The guy at the dry cleaner's told me and he should know: his second cousin's wife is the member of parliament for Gokwe East where 'they' know all about it.
'They say there will be a drought this year.'
'They always say if there's rain in July, there's rain in November.'
'My father (and he was a farmer so he should know) always says that a cold winter means good rains.'
'My grandmother always used to swear that if we have rain in September, there will be a drought for the rest of the year.'
'They say this changeable weather is down to climate change. It may snow next year.'
'Our gardener says that out in the rural areas, they believe that the cold weather is a good sign: rain is on its way.'
'I was speaking to a guy selling avocados today and he believes that this cold spell means that the rains will be late but good.'
'They are predicting heavy rain for February due to the unseasonably warm July.'
'In 1992, the year of the worst drought ever recorded, it was also overcast on October 3.' (Long, knowing look).
ou would think we would have learnt by now. I don't know how many times in the last twenty years the air buzzed with the certainty of Mugabe's demise; so many times in fact that, when he did finally fall off his perch, the occasion was remarkable only for being dishearteningly vapid.
An early Rhodesian book bears the title Next Year Will Be Better. It is one that has become a
maxim in Zimbabwe. We are told prices will come down in April, the economy will improve by November, Zimbabwe will become Africa's success story (no dates given on this one). April and November approach and pass and so does the next April and the next November. But, next year will be better. The guy at the dry cleaner's told me and he should know: his second cousin's wife is the member of parliament for Gokwe East where 'they' know all about it.
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