Once upon a time (well, in the early 80s), my mother kept some cash in the hem of a beautiful blue coat hanging in her wardrobe. Blue two-dollar notes were rolled like cigarettes and stuffed into the hem of that coat. I do not recall how I stumbled across this secret home bank, but it certainly gladdened my heart.
Looking at the way the money had been lined up, I knew she did not have an idea of how much it added up to. As a teen who had just started experimenting with firewater at the local tavern, this mutual bank was heaven-sent. While my mother used to push the notes from one side, I began to help myself from the other. It was like thatching a hut – bata neko tiwadzane sembariro.
But this was not a case of solidarity and common vision. One person was working hard and saving their cash, another was nonchalantly dipping their fingers into the cookie jar. In short, I was behaving like a typical senior civil servant or town clerk. Or maybe more like Sir WC.
When your mother demands her change
We were raised by grandmothers and mothers who demanded that you come back with the correct change whenever they sent you to the shops. They knew our habits of getting distracted on our way to buy salt, cooking oil, bread or meat. You might end up playing a game of soccer and then when you entered Mr Kapenzi’s Butchery & Supermarket you could not recall any of the items you had been sent. At the point of being given the money and the instructions on what to buy, you had hummed repeatedly: “Chingwa nemabhonzo. Chingwa nemabhonzo.” And now facing the stern face of the storekeeper, Mr Zimunya, you wondered whether it was salt and liver you had been asked to buy.
Rather than buy the wrong items, you risked your mother’s ire by going back and asking again what she wanted from the shops. She would describe your head as full of water (quite true) and that you were too playful (very, very true). Redeemed, you now headed back and avoided all the temptations on the way lest corporal punishment be administered on you.
Going home proudly carrying the right items and avoiding your soccer-playing friends and the eyes of Laura, your crush, you walked with a spring in your step whistling:
Little Jack Horner
Sat in a corner
Eating a Christmas pie
He put in his thumb
And pulled out a plum
And said, “What a good boy am I!”
Your mother did not care about your singing of a Christmas pie that you had never seen in your life. She inspected the shopping items and then asked: “Where is the change?” She would count all the coins meticulously.
Despite our stubborn reluctance, our sorry Tom Sawyer selves we were being trained to be accountable.
Accountability – the foreign word to politicians and government workers
I always find the arrogance of civil servants amusing. Whether it is an immigration officer who behaves like they are doing you a mighty favour by stamping your passport or the officer processing your child’s birth certificate. Maybe it is time to assist our civil servants with a breakdown of what accountability means.
Good government does come about because of employing nice people at Makombe, Kaguvi and Mkwati Buildings. The state and government have to be deliberate in designing institutions and cultures that ensure the accountability of public officials. This means every public official sees themselves as a public servant and, therefore, responsible for their actions. Mechanisms such as reports to Parliament, disciplinary procedures etc would be part of the mechanisms for answerability and enforcement.
Impunity versus social accountability
In a Zimbabwe where gangsters and looters are protected by the state, government and party the notion of public accountability seems farfetched. But it is a fruitful terrain for mobilisation of the people using the framework of social accountability.
Despite the years of ZANU PF’s impunity, the rapid degradation of urban spaces and the ritual of electoral theft, accountability should be a priority for the people, civic actors and reform-minded policymakers. It is about demanding transparency and responsiveness. The social accountability part emphasises the consultation and participation of the people by those who occupy governance structures whether that is your ward councillor, Jacob Mafume, or some minister.
In a Zimbabwe where the people feel alienated from those in power and the structures they occupy, this does sound idealistic. For the majority of the people, merely surviving is tough enough. However, the work in the townships of retired people is largely undocumented. In Dangamvura, for many years, we had retired teacher Mr Nkomo leading the Dangamvura Residents Association. He had his team of “golden oldies” who had no clue that there was something called a per diem. It was an organic, bottom-up process.
It is in this that I have hope that when people are driven by the common good, they can take collective action to demand responsiveness, transparency and accountability from public servants. You, reader, can also do your part. Do not steal your mother’s change.
Read more from Chris Kabwato here:
Once upon a media: The slow death of journalism
Voodoonomics: ZANU PF’s decades-old economic policies
Africa’s political thieves and the hijacking of youth’s dreams
