Dear Father Christmas,
It’s been a very long time since I last wrote you a letter.
I got the idea to write to you from a friend who’s been in exile in the Diaspora for many years. Like four million other Zimbabweans in the Diaspora he’d love to come home but wouldn’t survive if he did.
I’ve tried everything to stand on my own two feet but one after the other every plan has failed. Sixteen years ago the government stole my farm and haven’t paid for it yet. The new farmers don’t produce food and sell the free crop inputs they’re given so we have to eat South African food. A few months ago the government spent all our US dollars and now the banks won’t let us withdraw our own money. The traffic police fine us every time we venture out onto the roads, coming up with all sorts of new offences every week. Our leaders and MP’s are so busy fighting for positions on the power ladder that they’ve completely forgotten about us. Our industrial areas are full of closed factories. There are no jobs to find. There’s no money to spend.
In a few days time it will be Christmas. We can’t buy gifts for our children. We can’t get cash for transport to travel to our families in the rural areas. We can’t buy groceries to take home to our relations. We can’t even withdraw money from Ecocash, Western Union or Mukuru because they’ve also got no money despite it having been given to them by our families in the Diaspora.
So that’s why I’m writing to you Father Christmas because I don’t know where else to turn.