Stephen Madagaisa’s face carries the telltale traces of bitterness, hope and resignation common to many Zimbabweans trying to rebuild their lives in a shattered economy taking its first tentative steps on the road to recovery.

The 53-year-old trucker remains grateful to Zanu PF. It brought him freedom from white minority rule, a stand in Glen View township outside Harare big enough to build a modest two-bedroom house with a vegetable garden, and a decent education for his six children. But since 2000, when state-sanctioned land grabs, price controls and looting of the fiscus by party fat cats destroyed Zimbabwe’s economy, his patience has worn thin. It finally snapped when he contracted cholera in January after his bankrupt government failed to maintain rusting pipes and valves that keep raw sewage separate from drinking water. "The water I drank from my tap was green. It nearly killed me," he says. "I blame (Robert) Mugabe’s government for that."
He knows the few tangible improvements in Zimbabwe since the Movement for Democratic Change (MDC) and Zanu PF formed a unity government in February are largely thanks to foreign aid. Emergency relief workers have sunk boreholes, built pit latrines, supplied water treatment chemicals and fed 5,2-million people. Schools and hospitals are functioning again after being closed for nine months because aid agencies pay a $100 monthly stipend directly into the bank accounts of doctors, teachers and nurses. But Zimbabwe remains a humanitarian disaster zone. It is experiencing Africa’s worst cholera epidemic in a decade, which has claimed 4200 lives and infected 94000 people, and faces renewed food shortages. Disaster relief agencies are bringing the cholera epidemic under control - for now. This week, medics at a treatment centre in Budiriro township outside Harare, the worst hit in the country, admitted fewer than 30 cases a day, compared with more than 300 during the December peak. But children are still playing in open sewers, raw sewage seeps into ditches and open water courses, and infant malnutrition has increased 70% in the past 12 months, according to one study.
"In the past two years we haven’t had any water from our taps so we have to use the wells in our suburb contaminated with sewage," says Bakili Weseri, 28. "Yesterday my daughter started vomiting and having diarrhoea. The doctors say she will live, but I am worried. So many have died." Zimbabweans remain desperate for reconstruction funds, says Weseri. "We want the sewers closed, our kids at school and investment to revive the economy." Their cause is being taken up by aid workers, who warn unless donors spend substantially more than the current trickle of humanitarian aid on repairing ageing sanitation infrastructure and reviving food production capacity, the twin scourge of cholera and famine could easily return. "Oxfam will be talking to the donor community and pressing them to move on from crisis aid to funding Zimbabwe’s recovery," says Barbara Stocking, the head of the British-based charity who visited Zimbabwe on a fact-finding mission this week.
Education is another sector crucial to Zimbabwe’s long-term recovery in dire need of funding. Rennie Gombera is the principal of a primary school in Budiriro township. Her pupils take their lessons on cement floors because there’s no money to repair broken chairs, and each class shares a single textbook paid for by her teachers. She’s grateful classes have resumed since donor stipends started last month, but the subsequent introduction of exorbitant tuition fees has forced many parents to take their children out of school. "Without education our country has no future." Zimbabweans interviewed all welcomed currency reforms introduced last month. By abolishing the Zimbabwean dollar and allowing trade in any convertible currency, the government has helped fill shelves with basic goods, whose prices have halved. This week grocery and clothing stores on Samora Michel Avenue thronged with shoppers. There were no queues outside banks, petrol stations or bakeries.
But the reforms have killed the black market, the only source of income for many. This, together with skyrocketing utility bills payable in US dollars, has led to a dramatic increase in hijackings and muggings, aid workers say. "They say we must pay $60 a month for electricity and $150 a term for school fees," says a cab driver. "Before, we could still make deals." The unity government has calculated it needs $8,5bn in reconstruction funds. Of this, $1,5bn would be spent on health, sanitation and education, $1bn on agriculture and $2bn on electricity infrastructure. The country has gone on an unprecedented funding drive, spearheaded by MDC finance minister Tendai Biti. This week Harare hosted delegations from India, Iran and SA. Donor conferences focused on health, tourism and education. But so far, apart from a promised credit line from SA believed to be $30m, little has been forthcoming. Even last week’s pledge by the Southern African Development Community to mobilise $2bn is unlikely to deliver much until Zimbabwe confronts some uncomfortable political and economic realities.
Despite winning last year’s elections, Morgan Tsvangirai’s MDC remains a junior partner in a cabinet still dominated by Mugabe, who lost no time flexing his muscles. Within days of forming the new government Mugabe publicly supported a fresh wave of land grabs by party bosses. He also rejected calls to replace Gideon Gono, the Reserve Bank governor accused of running a shadowy parallel government funded by raiding business bank accounts. Recent reforms introduced by Biti have stripped Gono of most of his powers. But the lingering fear that these changes can be reversed remains. "There has been a return to normalcy but not confidence," says local economist Enoch Moyo. "This transitional arrangement is too fragile for most investors. Until a real government is elected you can forget long-term commitment." Nevertheless, Zimbabweans are enjoying political freedoms unheard of months ago. Rallies are no longer crushed with riot police batons, and opinions are shared freely without fear of arrest and torture. Reports of political abductions, violence by militia squads and harassment by the secret police have decreased dramatically. After years of relentless misery, Zimbabweans are daring to dream again. "For me it is too late to have a good life," says Madagaisa. "But at least my children have a chance now."

Business Day

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