The Grind

I can’t claim to know what it feels like to be poor. My dad always had a steady income. When my mom started working, I was mostly at the University. Although we were never rich, we always had the essentials – food, clothes, a house, and love. Here in Zimbabwe, as contrived as it might sound, I have started to feel what it’s like to be poor.

Working with SHAPE has been an experience. At times rewarding, at times an eye-opening introduction into the way that many people live in Zimbabwe. First, let’s talk about the bills. SHAPE has no money in the bank account. Well, there’s $700 in the Zimbabwean Reserve Bank, but the bank doesn’t have enough hard currency to allow people to withdraw. So, SHAPE has to transfer it to Barclays so they can withdraw it there.

Because SHAPE has no money, it can’t pay its employees. Some are going on their second month without pay. In addition, SHAPE has too many volunteers and employees, which means that the little money allocated from the one grant they do have has to be spread around everyone there. Of the 12 or 13 staff members, 5 are fully paid for. As you can imagine, the organization can’t pay its bills. There are no office phones and they can’t afford to repair the cars that break down on a regular basis. Because the staff hasn’t been paid, they can’t afford to buy airtime, put gas in the cars, or do much other than travel too and from work.

But Chris, what does that have to do with you? You see homeless people on the street in New York and you can’t really say you know what it’s like to be poor . You’re right. That’s not what’s given me the feeling. It’s that when you don’t have access to money – there are no ATMs to just withdraw the small cash savings I have left – you quickly take stock of your situation and think about how you spend it. I found myself wondering if I had enough cash on me to buy food for dinner, and pay for gas to get around town, and buy airtime because someone else used all mine to get a friend to rescue us when the car ran out of gas, again. Quickly, these expenses add up. Equally as quick, my reserves deplete.

The worry about money is ever present. As it the reality of not having enough of it.

Because you can’t get everything you need in Zimbabwe, my host family’s car is still not repaired. Hence, we make use of one of the dilapidated clunkers that SHAPE owns. This clunker ran out of gas. It’s an expected occurrence, first because there is a leak in the fuel tank, and second no one has any money to fill the car up. Because I’m the only one who ever really puts gas in, I don’t want to pay for other people’s errands in town.

Back to the story. Everton and I walked to the gas station about 10 minutes away. When we arrived, the power was out so no gas was pumping. We used my phone to call around for someone who could help. When the friends arrived with the gas about an hour later, they had unfortunately poured $7 of petrol into a container that used to hold oil. Of course, we didn’t know this, so when we poured it into the tank, we all felt our stomachs sink when we saw black stuff moving toward the tank. My stomach sank even further because I knew that $7, my $7, had been wasted and we wouldn’t be leaving the university any time soon. After a second ordeal – gas stations refusing to pump into a plastic container after waiting in the queue for 15 minutes – they returned with the petrol and we could finally leave the office.

When Everton and I finally arrive at home, it had taken three hours to go 11km (~7miles). There was no power at the house. Do folks ever get a break? No.

It’s this not-so-atypical day that makes me think this is what it’s about to be poor. Money constraints, car problems, stress about food and family. Add to that no power, no running water and you just feel like you can’t get ahead. This is the grind.