Today I told Partson that the sponsors had agreed to give the school teachers a small stipend and he wondered if the headmaster wasn’t entitled to a bit more considering his increased responsibility. For the rest of the afternoon I panicked about how we are going to disburse the money. The economic hardship of the displaced is no secret, so I felt that whoever takes money into the camp would be at serious risk.
Tonight a fellow Zimbabwean turned on Joseph and tried to kill him. All day Joseph’s wife Bridget had heard mumblings about dissatisfaction with her husband’s role in the new camp. Then after Joseph had seen to it that everyone had been fed, he sat down to eat his own dinner and the okapi wielding thug tore into Joseph’s tent and accused him of lowering the standard of the meals and keeping the money from the UN. There was no reasoning with the thug, he ripped into Joseph, the knife neatly slicing through the cotton fabric of Joseph’s shirt. Fortunately it was nothing more than a graze and eventually some of Joseph’s friends stepped in. They chased the hooligan down and he was taken away by Metro Police. Bridget says, “The security guards ran away, they said they aren’t allowed to interfere in fights between the people.”
Today representatives of the MDC arrived at the camp; when the refugees were still living at City Hall, Joseph was asked to introduce the representatives from Zanu-PF. He doesn’t take political sides and he made whatever introductions both groups asked him to make. It’s impossible to know if this attack on him was politically motivated or whether Joseph has become the focus on which the discontented can vent their frustrations, anger and disappointment.
We had just eaten dinner when Joseph phoned. As we drove around the camp people were sitting in the soft glow of the lights that have been installed, huddled around fires socialising. We collected Joseph and Bridget and moved them and their belongings into our second garage; the other garage still contains the furniture of Felipe and Ana Paula who returned to Mozambique. The garage is draughty, the windows don’t have latches, the garage door doesn’t close flush and the cement floor bites underfoot. They made their bed in no time at all with the help of Carrington and Bodicea and Ali and Mark listened as they repeated the cheerless conclusion of their involvement with their fellow refugees. We commandeered two more pillows from our children’s beds and gave them mugs of soup.
On this past Wednesday I warned that the mood had changed, the tension in the crisp winter air was tangible. I trust my gut – it’s an important tool. I will continue to assist the school remotely, but I know now that I will not return to Rand Airport Refugee Camp.
0 responses so far ↓
There are no comments yet...Kick things off by filling out the form below.
You must be logged in to post a comment.