This Christmas we take time to remember the hundreds who have died in the struggle for democracy.

I went walking a little after dawn and was struck by the contrasts of Zimbabwe this Christmas. The natural picture is of paradise flycatchers, pintailed whydahs and olive bush shrikes flitting through the deep green Msasa's and on the roadsides the poinsettias showing the first few red flowers for Christmas. The grass is lush, green and wet with thick dew glistening in the early sunlight. It's cool and quiet as I walk, the only sound the flicking and slapping of my flip flops against the soles of my feet.

I was going to visit the grave of my baby nephew and spend a quiet time thinking about all that has happened in the 11 years since he died. I look down and see a brown ear tick crawling on my leg, and then another - ever the opportunists looking for a meal! I notice for the first time that in the grass there are swathes of flowering sedges: rusty brown spikes, clear, white balls and big creamy clusters.

A young eagle is disturbed from its perch and stares down at me with startled, unblinking eyes. A scarlet flame lily, the first I've seen this Christmas, stands tall against a headstone and many more, heads bowed with unopened flowers are plentiful amongst the graves.

Walking quietly in the cemetery, the reality sinks in. So many graves are of young people, died long before their time.

'Rest in peace, brother,' says a sign on a piece of rusty tin, marking the grave of a man named Marvellous, born in 1983, died in 2009 - just 26 years old. This young man lived his entire life knowing the rule of only one President, the greedy, oppressive policies of only one political party. Over a dozen newly dug graves in a line wait for the inevitable weekend ceremonies. Three times this cemetery has been extended in the nine years I've lived here and now all the boundary fences have been stolen. For a moment I am shocked at how people have planted maize less than two metres from the nearest lines of graves. The irony of a country covered in seized but unplanted farms and maize alongside urban graves really says it all.

Later I pay a brief visit to town where the picture is different but the message the same. Lines of buses are heading to the rural areas. Despite all the hardships people are determined to go 'home', kumusha. Roof racks of buses are crammed with bags and the odd bicycle and bed is balanced atop the pile. The grocery shops are bustling but when you look in the trolleys its not crackers, chocolates and wine that you see but salt, sugar, laundry soap and rice. These are the essentials so needed at home in the rural areas.

This Christmas we take time to remember the generation lost to Aids, and the hundreds who have died in the struggle for democracy. We also think of the millions of Zimbabweans who are in the Diaspora, away from home, apart from their families - not by choice but by necessity. May 2010 be the year we see meaningful change in our country.

I am taking a break for a few weeks but thank you all for reading and for caring for so many years. I'm delighted to say that I've at last got a small stock of Innocent Victims available in Zim so please do email me. Until next time, Happy Christmas, love cathy.

©Copyright cathy buckle 19 December 2009.

www.cathybuckle.com

For information on my new book: "INNOCENT VICTIMS" or my previous
books, "African Tears" and "Beyond Tears," or to
subscribe/unsubscribe to this newsletter, please write to: cbuckle@mango.zw

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