Opinion / Columnist
How Zimbabweans have been conditioned to celebrate regression as progress
47 mins ago | Views
Life in Zimbabwe is never easy; each day brings circumstances so far from normal that they are often hard to comprehend.
As I sit in my house in Redcliff, I hear the unmistakable sound of a municipal refuse truck hooting its way down the street.
To directly receive articles from Tendai Ruben Mbofana, please join his WhatsApp Channel on: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VaqprWCIyPtRnKpkHe08
It's a rather loud, almost cheerful announcement of its presence, inviting residents to rush out with their garbage for collection.
The need for this fanfare lies in a sad truth - in our small town, we went for years without ever seeing a refuse truck.
Piles of rubbish would mount up in yards, on street corners, and in open spaces, attracting flies, stray dogs, and disease.
The stench was as constant as the hopelessness.
Today, the truck passes through once a week, on Fridays.
For many, this weekly visit has become an event worth celebrating.
People wave, smile, and even express gratitude to the municipality.
It is almost as if we are being blessed by the mere sight of a service vehicle doing what it is supposed to do.
But here's the twist.
When my family moved to the low-density "white suburb" of Redcliff in 1982, just after independence, refuse collection happened twice a week without fail - on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
Every home had a council-issued bin, and the streets were spotless.
You could walk barefoot without worrying about stepping on a discarded bottle or rotten food.
It was the norm, and no one thought of thanking the council for it.
It was simply expected.
Now, decades later, the service is less frequent, there are no proper bins, and the town is nowhere near as clean.
Yet many people praise this as progress.
That is not progress.
It is regression.
This is not just a Redcliff story.
It is a Zimbabwean story.
Across the country, our standards for what counts as development have been steadily lowered.
We have been conditioned to celebrate mediocrity - even failure - as if it were a great leap forward.
Take water, for instance.
In my own town, some suburbs have gone for years without tap water.
Residents are forced to rely on boreholes, draw from open wells, or purchase water from private sellers at exorbitant prices.
Then, after months or years of dry taps, water suddenly flows for a few hours once a week - and the local authority is showered with praise.
Yet, in the 1980s and 90s, we had running water every single day, without interruption.
By any honest standard, the once-a-week supply is a step backwards, not forwards.
It's the same story with electricity.
We can endure power cuts lasting up to 16 hours a day, and at times, the blackout stretches for more than a full day.
But when the lights come back, people cheer.
On the rare day when power doesn't go off, you can almost feel the euphoria in the air.
We seem to have forgotten that we once had uninterrupted electricity supply for years at a stretch.
Instead of demanding the return of that reliability, we treat a single day of no blackouts as a milestone.
This is the tragedy of long-term suffering - it warps the mind.
We have been so battered by economic collapse, mismanagement, and corruption that we no longer compare our lives to what they should be, but to the worst conditions we've endured.
If things get just slightly better than rock bottom, we feel grateful.
The same mindset is visible on our roads.
For years, we've endured craters and potholes so deep they could serve as fish ponds.
Cars swerve like drunkards to avoid them, accidents are common, and the damage to suspensions, tyres, and other components is both costly and relentless.
Then, when a council or government department repairs a single kilometre, people flood social media with praise.
Yet we forget that in the past, our roads were so well-maintained their black tar stretched out like a smooth, flawless carpet - and these are the same authorities who allowed that standard to crumble into the current state of decay.
It is almost a form of Stockholm Syndrome - a psychological condition where victims begin to empathise with, and even defend, their captors.
In our case, those in power have presided over the dismantling of a once functional, prosperous nation.
Yet, when they give us back a fraction of what they took away, we call them visionaries.
We rarely ask the most important question: How did we get here?
Why must we now fight to access basic services that were once a guaranteed part of daily life?
How did we go from a country with clean streets, reliable water and electricity, functional public transport, and working infrastructure to a place where even a weekly refuse collection feels like a miracle?
This mental shift has not happened by accident.
It is the product of decades of deliberate political conditioning.
Those in authority have normalised collapse to such an extent that our benchmark for development is now mere survival - and simply making it through the day has become an achievement in itself.
When we are given scraps, we react as if we have been served a feast.
The political strategy is simple: lower expectations to the point where the bare minimum looks like an extraordinary achievement.
Once people's standards have been eroded, they stop holding leaders to account for the collapse.
They stop demanding the return of what they once had, and instead, they thank their leaders for slightly easing their suffering.
It's why a borehole being drilled in an urban area, where there should be piped water, is hailed as a great achievement.
Why patching up a few potholes in a sea of crumbling roads becomes a political campaign slogan.
Why a day without load-shedding becomes a trending topic.
This thinking is dangerous because it traps us in a cycle of permanent underdevelopment.
We stop aspiring for excellence.
We no longer look to match or surpass the standards of other countries, or even our own past - yet under an ‘independent Zimbabwe', our lives should have been far better than under colonial rule, which we once considered oppressive and fought to overthrow.
Instead, we find ourselves worse off than in the very era we fought to escape, clinging to the few crumbs we are given, fearful that demanding more might cost us even those.
We need to break this cycle.
We need to remember that development is not about returning to conditions we enjoyed 30 or 40 years ago.
True development means improving on the past - moving forward, not merely recovering from decline.
Before we celebrate that newly repaired road, we should ask why it was allowed to become so dangerous in the first place.
Before we post pictures of the water gushing from our taps, we should ask why the taps were dry for years.
Before we praise a weekly refuse collection, we should ask why it is not happening daily in a country with our resources.
Zimbabwe was once the pride of Africa.
Our infrastructure, services, and industries were envied across the continent.
To accept anything less than that - and to call it progress - is to accept a lie.
Those in power have mastered the art of lowering our expectations.
It's time we raised them again.
Because until we demand more, we will continue to live in a country where regression is sold to us as development, and where suffering is dressed up as progress.
And that, perhaps, is the greatest tragedy of all.
©Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice advocate and writer. Please feel free to WhatsApp or Call: +263715667700 | +263782283975, or email: mbofana.tendairuben73@gmail.com, or visit website: https://mbofanatendairuben.news.blog/
As I sit in my house in Redcliff, I hear the unmistakable sound of a municipal refuse truck hooting its way down the street.
To directly receive articles from Tendai Ruben Mbofana, please join his WhatsApp Channel on: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VaqprWCIyPtRnKpkHe08
It's a rather loud, almost cheerful announcement of its presence, inviting residents to rush out with their garbage for collection.
The need for this fanfare lies in a sad truth - in our small town, we went for years without ever seeing a refuse truck.
Piles of rubbish would mount up in yards, on street corners, and in open spaces, attracting flies, stray dogs, and disease.
The stench was as constant as the hopelessness.
Today, the truck passes through once a week, on Fridays.
For many, this weekly visit has become an event worth celebrating.
People wave, smile, and even express gratitude to the municipality.
It is almost as if we are being blessed by the mere sight of a service vehicle doing what it is supposed to do.
But here's the twist.
When my family moved to the low-density "white suburb" of Redcliff in 1982, just after independence, refuse collection happened twice a week without fail - on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
Every home had a council-issued bin, and the streets were spotless.
You could walk barefoot without worrying about stepping on a discarded bottle or rotten food.
It was the norm, and no one thought of thanking the council for it.
It was simply expected.
Now, decades later, the service is less frequent, there are no proper bins, and the town is nowhere near as clean.
Yet many people praise this as progress.
That is not progress.
It is regression.
This is not just a Redcliff story.
It is a Zimbabwean story.
Across the country, our standards for what counts as development have been steadily lowered.
We have been conditioned to celebrate mediocrity - even failure - as if it were a great leap forward.
Take water, for instance.
In my own town, some suburbs have gone for years without tap water.
Residents are forced to rely on boreholes, draw from open wells, or purchase water from private sellers at exorbitant prices.
Then, after months or years of dry taps, water suddenly flows for a few hours once a week - and the local authority is showered with praise.
Yet, in the 1980s and 90s, we had running water every single day, without interruption.
By any honest standard, the once-a-week supply is a step backwards, not forwards.
It's the same story with electricity.
We can endure power cuts lasting up to 16 hours a day, and at times, the blackout stretches for more than a full day.
But when the lights come back, people cheer.
On the rare day when power doesn't go off, you can almost feel the euphoria in the air.
We seem to have forgotten that we once had uninterrupted electricity supply for years at a stretch.
Instead of demanding the return of that reliability, we treat a single day of no blackouts as a milestone.
This is the tragedy of long-term suffering - it warps the mind.
We have been so battered by economic collapse, mismanagement, and corruption that we no longer compare our lives to what they should be, but to the worst conditions we've endured.
If things get just slightly better than rock bottom, we feel grateful.
The same mindset is visible on our roads.
For years, we've endured craters and potholes so deep they could serve as fish ponds.
Cars swerve like drunkards to avoid them, accidents are common, and the damage to suspensions, tyres, and other components is both costly and relentless.
Then, when a council or government department repairs a single kilometre, people flood social media with praise.
Yet we forget that in the past, our roads were so well-maintained their black tar stretched out like a smooth, flawless carpet - and these are the same authorities who allowed that standard to crumble into the current state of decay.
It is almost a form of Stockholm Syndrome - a psychological condition where victims begin to empathise with, and even defend, their captors.
In our case, those in power have presided over the dismantling of a once functional, prosperous nation.
Yet, when they give us back a fraction of what they took away, we call them visionaries.
We rarely ask the most important question: How did we get here?
Why must we now fight to access basic services that were once a guaranteed part of daily life?
How did we go from a country with clean streets, reliable water and electricity, functional public transport, and working infrastructure to a place where even a weekly refuse collection feels like a miracle?
This mental shift has not happened by accident.
It is the product of decades of deliberate political conditioning.
Those in authority have normalised collapse to such an extent that our benchmark for development is now mere survival - and simply making it through the day has become an achievement in itself.
When we are given scraps, we react as if we have been served a feast.
The political strategy is simple: lower expectations to the point where the bare minimum looks like an extraordinary achievement.
Once people's standards have been eroded, they stop holding leaders to account for the collapse.
They stop demanding the return of what they once had, and instead, they thank their leaders for slightly easing their suffering.
It's why a borehole being drilled in an urban area, where there should be piped water, is hailed as a great achievement.
Why patching up a few potholes in a sea of crumbling roads becomes a political campaign slogan.
Why a day without load-shedding becomes a trending topic.
This thinking is dangerous because it traps us in a cycle of permanent underdevelopment.
We stop aspiring for excellence.
We no longer look to match or surpass the standards of other countries, or even our own past - yet under an ‘independent Zimbabwe', our lives should have been far better than under colonial rule, which we once considered oppressive and fought to overthrow.
Instead, we find ourselves worse off than in the very era we fought to escape, clinging to the few crumbs we are given, fearful that demanding more might cost us even those.
We need to break this cycle.
We need to remember that development is not about returning to conditions we enjoyed 30 or 40 years ago.
True development means improving on the past - moving forward, not merely recovering from decline.
Before we celebrate that newly repaired road, we should ask why it was allowed to become so dangerous in the first place.
Before we post pictures of the water gushing from our taps, we should ask why the taps were dry for years.
Before we praise a weekly refuse collection, we should ask why it is not happening daily in a country with our resources.
Zimbabwe was once the pride of Africa.
Our infrastructure, services, and industries were envied across the continent.
To accept anything less than that - and to call it progress - is to accept a lie.
Those in power have mastered the art of lowering our expectations.
It's time we raised them again.
Because until we demand more, we will continue to live in a country where regression is sold to us as development, and where suffering is dressed up as progress.
And that, perhaps, is the greatest tragedy of all.
©Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice advocate and writer. Please feel free to WhatsApp or Call: +263715667700 | +263782283975, or email: mbofana.tendairuben73@gmail.com, or visit website: https://mbofanatendairuben.news.blog/
Source - Tendai Ruben Mbofana
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