The wind blows, sucking little particles from the earth’s surface, throwing them up as dust. On a gentle slope at Caledonia farm, 35km east of Harare, 500 families are tucked away in flimsy plastic shelters in this no-man’s-land, far away from the world’s gaze. The overcast firmament spits light showers and trees rustle in the winter breeze.
These people are victims of the Zanu-PF government’s “operation restore order”, which has turned them into refugees in their own country.
Four armed policemen man the entrance to Caledonia and visitors are expected to produce identity documents, even though there is ostensibly nothing of a sensitive security nature to be protected here.
A thin black plastic structure is supported by sticks hacked from the surrounding bush. A 17-year-old orphan, Michael Ncube*, sits next to it, clearly traumatised. One heavy downpour would be enough to collapse his shelter.
His mother died nine years ago and three years ago his father died too, leaving him, as head of the household, to take care of his young brother and sister, who are both in primary school. The family survived by doing odd jobs and growing a little food. The only security they had was the house their father left them at Hatcliffe farm. Two months ago the government’s bulldozers came and Ncube saw the legacy from his parents literally going up in smoke, his dreams and hopes going with it.
He and his siblings watched in horror as armed police came to oversee the municipal workers as they destroyed the family’s only safe space. Their paraffin stove, beds and the few groceries they had were burnt to ashes.
The next morning they and the few belongings they had salvaged — blankets, soap and some clothes — were loaded on to trucks and dumped at Caledonia.
Reeling from the shock of being made a homeless breadwinner, Ncube set about trying to make their miserable shelter habitable. He went into the bush to find wood, but when he came back he found that a distant relative had arrived and taken his young brother and sister away. He has no idea where they have been taken or how to find them. He has never been to his ancestral home in Chipinge, in the country’s eastern highlands.
His parents were second generation city dwellers and had lost contact with the family at home. He is now totally alone in the world.
As he stares into the crackling fire, his only companion, tears run down his cheeks. “We had a house there. We could do everything we wanted; go to shops and school. I can’t go to school because there is nothing for us here.
“We came here with nothing except blankets and very few clothes,” he says, almost breaking down.
“I want to go back to school, I want to learn — but for the last months I have been just sleeping, eating and not doing anything,” Ncube says.
Relief agencies provide food and water, but Ncube doesn’t want to have to rely on handouts. “We had a little patch of land at Hatcliffe,” he said. “It provided vegetables and tomatoes, but there isn’t enough land to do that here. We have been told we will be moving to another place, but nothing has been done up to now.”
At Caledonia there is no space for children to play, to distract themselves from the horror of being displaced. For weeks they have simply sat, as stunned as the adults around them.
“I want anybody to help me,” he says, looking me in the eye. “Do you know anybody out there?”
* Not his real name