Today, I’m watching The State Memorial for Nelson Mandela. The camera pans across all the international attendees as the representative of the A.N.C. reads out a list of those dignitaries. As she reads ‘President Robert Mugabe’ a huge roar erupts and I am astounded! Don’t they know how many of his own people he has slaughtered, starved, beaten to within an inch of their lives and stolen from – and continues to do so?
Here Mugabe sits in a now free and democratic South Africa where everyone has a vote. I wonder how the people around him feel? Surely the UK and USA PM and President will not shake his hand… I find his presence insulting and wonder if Mandela would have felt the same way.
There must be more of Africa in me than I thought, because I seem to have the memory of an elephant. How can that despot be feted when he has hated and been responsible for so much misery perpetuated onto his own people – not his enemies, but his fellow citizens of what was once a beautiful country. A country I visited often, before he raped and pillaged, to swell his Swiss Coffers and build a Chinese Palace.
Quite a few years ago now, I wrote a poem inspired by letters smuggled out of Zimbabwe when the killing was at it’s worst when the world was finally taking some notice and new hope was on the horizon in the form of Morgan Tsvangirai. Unfortunately, Mugabe didn’t go quietly and still pulls the purse strings, making it more than difficult for Morgan to help his people.
‘Roots & Wings’ was published in newspapers and on the net by others. A second poem was written at Easter, when I could no longer ignore the obvious metaphor; Mugabe often likens himself to Our Lord : An Easter Tragedy
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