The Sunday News
SOMETIME ago, I found myself in an unbelievably long queue at the South African side of the Beitbridge border post. The lady serving us was taking her sweet time, exhibiting no sense of urgency whatsoever. She animatedly chatted away with her colleagues as she occasionally stamped a passport or two. After what seemed like ages, my turn to be served eventually came.
When I got to her window, she blatantly ignored me and continued talking to her friends as she struggled to shell a groundnut with her ridiculously long nails. It must have taken her about a minute to finally open it and pop the nuts into her mouth. I watched in silence as I thought, well, it has probably been a long day for her too. She tackled another nut and succeeded after another long battle.
I am tolerant by nature, and patient too in most situations. I love giving people chances and I always try and see the best in people. Because of my lenience and “long temper”, when I lose it, I usually go for broke! When she picked a third nut, without once glancing in my direction, or even acknowledging my presence, I lost it. I remember “quietly” saying to her: “You can’t possibly be serious!” I went off at her about how rude she was being and asked her if she realised just how unprofessional she was being. I asked her just how much training they all get for the job as it was clear to me that all of them actually had no idea what they were supposed to be doing or how they were supposed to do it.
I remember ignoring the people behind me, who were literally begging me to be calm because South African immigration officials have a reputation for being ruthless to anyone who does toe the line. I have heard people claiming they had their passports torn-up by angry officials or they were banned from entering South Africa for certain periods for being unruly. Most of us Zimbabweans have therefore learnt to be meek if we want our passports stamped.
Anyway, the lady was shocked to say the least. She apologised profusely and proceeded to stamp me out of what at that moment, I felt was “that godforsaken country!” As I left, I wondered why people usually have to be bulldozed into doing something they are getting paid to do.
What really happens to us when we get jobs? We spend endless hours praying to God to give us our dream jobs. Some of you fast, go for all-night prayers and seed the little you have to your pastors and prophets, both real and fake. Those of you that believe in “dark magic” even sacrifice a relative or two, ingest all sorts of bitter concoctions, and wash away their “bad luck” in fast-flowing rivers, just to get the job of your dreams, or any job for that matter. Only to get that job, and treat it with disdain!
There is something wrong with us. We want jobs, but few of us want to work. There is a time when we used to spend long, cold nights queuing for passports at registry offices throughout the country. After such harrowing conditions, one would expect to be received by polite, sensitive and helpful officials who would swiftly help you to submit the required documents; but I am sure most of you had a rude awakening when they came face to face with passport officers. It’s either they would bark at you for being at the wrong office, or they would throw back your documents at you without ensuring you understood what was missing and how to go about getting it. One had to bribe someone or personally know someone important in order to get a passport, ID or birth certificate. It’s no wonder that those working for that ministry were extremely liquid at that time when most of us were surviving solely on the grace of God!
Then there are these spike-toting policemen. Today we encountered seven officers at one roadblock, each holding a spike. The energy and enthusiasm they exhibited was highly suspicious. It had me thinking there is something that these men benefit from being at this roadblock. Nobody in Zimbabwe is that happy to be at work, unless they are getting a little extra on the side. What strengthens my suspicions is the lack of energy of policemen posted anywhere other than roadblocks and border posts. The “go slow” at charge offices is painful to experience. The officers there are bored, unhelpful and ill equipped. It is either they don’t have transport to go and investigate the robbery you are reporting or they don’t have paper on which to write your statement. I think the ministry spends all its moneys on spikes and button sticks and all policemen reserve all their energy for when they are posted on “bribe-prone” missions!
If you have ever been ill towards tea-time then I feel sorry for you. Nurses in our country take the longest breaks ever, in the history of break times! They will leave you howling on the bench while they happily much away on their margarine and jam-smothered bread while sipping on mugs of steaming white tea. Where do they get the appetite while surrounded by so much pain, illness and even death? You are lucky if you have never encountered a rude nurse. Some nurses have the vilest mouths on the surface of the earth. They are cheeky, short tempered and uncaring. This has been the norm even in “good times,” which is way before our country’s economy crumbled.
The person who introduced solitaire to my countrymen needs to be caught and thrown in prison. I cannot recall the number of times I have been ignored by receptionists as they finish this long and boring game of cards on their computers. Women especially, leave home, dressed to kill with too much make up, only to spend the whole day playing cards on their work computers. Then you hear them refusing to cook for their husbands because they spend “long and painful hours at work!”
What is painful about playing computer games?
If you post anything on Facebook over the weekend, trust me; the response will be weak. By Monday afternoon though, the comments and likes will be numerous. This is clear proof that we go to work just to access Wi-Fi to update our Facebook statuses, boost our Twitter followings and to post pictures on Instagram.
Our work ethic is terrible. There is no chance that there can ever be real economic development in a nation that does not respect productivity. We need to grasp that in order to earn regularly, there has to be regular output. We shamelessly expect our salaries in full at the end of each month knowing we never put in even a day’s worth of work.
We are so lazy that even when we are our own bosses we are unproductive. Barbers spend all day loitering, leading to their clients having to get haircuts elsewhere. Tailors will hold on to your materials for months and only sew when you threaten to find someone else to do the job. Builders disappear for days after you pay them. You leave your shoe with a cobbler only to come back two days later and find it untouched. Mechanics will dismantle your car and abandon it for days. It is so bad that we have learnt that you can never pay anyone before a job is done.
For Zimbabwe to be a better place, for us to have good roads, beautiful buildings and an average standard of living; we need to start valuing our jobs. We need to develop integrity, responsibility, discipline and self-motivation. It is unfortunate that we are a nation of crooks. Those who do work, face the problem of not getting paid by unscrupulous employers. Those employers that diligently pay their employees are shortchanged by their lazy, good for nothing labour-force.
Imagine if we all did what we were mandated to do. From our children at their schools, to us in our workplaces and our politicians at their posts. What a beautiful country this would be!
