allAfrica.com: Zimbabwe: The So Called Diaspora - Hear Me Lord, I Pray (Page 1 of 2)

THE following article is not fact. MacVivo takes a humorous jab at what 'inside' politics would look like.

Zimbabwean politicians and citizens alike should find it funny. If not, then tough. As we do not have access to the 'inside of politics,' so to speak, satirical accounts of what their agenda might resemble will abound. Before you smile, remember, everyone is being ribbed; politicians, citizens, the press, civil society - you're not spared. Remember if you make a fool of yourself in politics, or not, you will pay the price... You have been warned!Here we go.....

WHEN all was said and done, on the eve of the March election, Taurai decided to put his case on the feet of the highest power he knew of: God. Thus, on that dark, silent and overcast night, he got onto his keens, put his trembling hands together and prayed: "God, I have never asked for anything from you. Through all these years, I have lived according to the dictates of your holy Bible. Never have I lusted after another man's wife nor have I been jealous of my neighbor. Ndinoziva muri mwari vanopa. I know you are a God who is fair and just. God, I'm an asylum seeker. Considering the aforementioned, I beseech you to make sure...guarantee it that Mugabe and ZANU-PF win this election. I ask of nothing else. If you fulfill this wish, I..." It was a dramatic end to that day.

The day before the elections in Zimbabwe had began just like any other wintry day: the wind had blown directly from the sea, stirring up large waves that came crushing on to the rugged shore and the ground on the block on which his apartment was located had been covered in a fresh coat of fluffy white snow that had fallen during the long night. That morning, gazing out of the hefty window from his 2nd floor one bedroom apartment, and drinking strong, scalding coffee from a chipped enamel mug, Taurai had assessed his dilemma for the umpteenth time.

Try as he did, no matter which angle he analyzed and looked at his quandary, it seemed there was virtually no solution, no way out for him. A peculiar lassitude had crept over him that morning. He had cursed in utter disgust and anger and rising despair. The overcast weather, as all the days are here in the Diaspora during winter, had subtly contributed to his overwhelming sense of being doomed, cursed perhaps?

A tall, lean, dark, silent, middle-aged man with contemplative dark eyes and a perceptible slow way of speaking, Taurai's life was like a narrative from a child's adventure book in its vivid shades and hues of swift luck and misfortune and long agonizing struggles.

His latest troubles started early during the year. Like his other asylum seeker friends, he had been pinning his hopes of salvation and the success of his asylum claim on Mugabe postponing the elections to June...July perhaps. He had known then that by July, the immigration judge handling his case would have reached a decision, which he hoped and prayed would be a favorable one. But, alas Emperor Gushungo had defied his wishes and expectations by pushing the date of the elections up all the way to late March. And soon after the announcement of the date, Mr. Jameson, his pro bono lawyer, had quickly asked him to stop by his office. To this day, this Election Day eve, Taurai still remembers that meeting clearly, like it happened yesterday.

"Am I right to assume that you are curious as to why I summoned you all of a sudden?" Mr. Jameson had opened the meeting delicately, while the two men sat on comfortable chairs high up on the fiftieth floor in his sparsely furnished office. A chain smoker, Mr. Jameson's neck was narrow and long like that of a gazelle, with a prominent Adam's-apple. A pointy nose defined his face.

"That is true Mr. Jameson," Taurai had let his concern show. "Has there been a change to my case?"

"Not really," Mr. Jameson had said, snapping his long fingers that looked like those of a pianist.

"So why did you call for this meeting? I'm a busy man you know. I had to miss my work today and--"

"Don't get yourself worked up," Mr. Jameson calmed him and quickly added: "I'm afraid I have bad news for you as it is."

"Bad news? What bad news?" Taurai had asked with a sense of rising fear. Could it be that he was going to be deported? Was there an increase in the consultation fees? He had wondered.

"I'm sure you are aware that the situation...the political situation back in Zimbabwe might change next week, after March 29?"

"Um...yeah, I'm very aware of that. But how does that have anything to do with me?"

"Well, to put it in simple terms, if the unimaginable were to happen," Taurai had craned his neck, his eyes wide, listening to Mr. Jameson's every word, "that Tsvangirai wins the election or rather...Mugabe chooses to lose the presidential election, your asylum case will become weak, very weak overnight."

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