Only in Zimbabwe do miracles happen on demand. A train that usually exists only in nostalgic songs suddenly becomes “luxury” because there’s an expo in Mutare.
For three days, the nation’s weary steel snake will be dusted off, polished, and told to smile for the cameras as it ferries exhibitors, officials, and the odd journalist pretending to be an investor.
And then there’s Air Zimbabwe — our beloved time-travelling airline that occasionally takes off when the stars align. For the Sanganayi/Hlanganani/Kumbanayi Expo, the flag carrier's leased aircraft-leased only for this event, I am told- will flap its wings from Harare to Mutare, shaving off hours on the highway.
A marvel! Except it begs the obvious question: if we can manage it for three days, why can’t we do it… well… always?
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Surely, tourism doesn’t start and end with one calendar event.
Mutare is still in Mutare in October, still beautiful in November, and still desperately waiting for December visitors who won’t come because the so-called “luxury” train has gone back into hibernation. Air Zimbabwe, too, will clip its wings, retreating to “maintenance” until another ribbon-cutting demands its services.
It’s like only cooking when guests come over — the pots are there, the stove works, but every other day you’re living on maputi and hope. Regular services would actually grow the economy, create jobs, and make Mutare feel like a destination instead of a seasonal afterthought.
But perhaps I misunderstand. Maybe the whole point is to keep us in a permanent state of amazement. “Look! A train that works!” “Look! A plane that flew!” It’s the magic trick approach to development: do the impossible occasionally so that the bar never rises.
Still, one wonders: if we can conjure transport for three days, why not for three hundred and sixty-five? Or is consistency too… un-Zimbabwean?
Simbarashe Namusi is a peace, leadership and governance scholar as well as media expert. He writes in his personal capacity
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