When my life changed forever

By Mutsa Chasakara
Student Essay

Though we were not rich when I was growing up, my parents worked hard to give us a good life. They tried to give us the best clothes, food and, above all, the best education. We were taught at a young age to work hard in all our studies and make use of all resources that were available to us at school. My parents made it clear to us that we had the power to do as well as anyone in school, regardless of race, origin or sex.

I loved school, and I loved making new friends. My junior years at school were at a low-cost government school with a mostly black student body. Even though I liked school, at times I felt out of place because the other children would talk about how their parents were struggling to make ends meet and how I was a ‘snob’ because my parents were ‘rich.’

For high school my parents decided to send me to a private school. I loved my high school, which was a multi-racial, all-girls boarding school. I got the chance to get to know people who did not judge me, people of different races who accepted me as I was.

The school was situated in the heart of natural, undeveloped land in Zimbabwe. We
were surrounded by tall pine trees and long wheat-colored grass. Besides the loud school bell, we were awakened by the sounds of birds and barking trees. Because we were at a boarding school far from home, we formed close relationships with our peers.

When I was about sixteen years old and still in school, our president, Robert Mugabe, gave a proposal for land resettlement. He explained that there were some people in the country who lived in inaccessible areas and that these people needed to be resettled in areas where the government could develop and provide basic amenities like electricity and running water.

At the time it sounded like a good idea and everyone in the country, whether black or white, supported the idea. Some farmers, black and white, were told they may be asked to sell small portions of their land.

I remembered going for a geography field trip to the farm belonging to the parents of my friend, Anne Robart-Morgan. They grew tobacco and auctioned it for a living. It was a state requirement to know the tobacco-curing process so Anne’s parents offered to show us around their farm. Anne’s parents were the nicest people I have ever met. Despite the fact that they were white, they spoke all native languages fluently. I was impressed because I only understood one out of the four native languages.

About a month after the trip to Anne’s farm, we went back for her birthday party. When we got there, her parents looked upset; they had been told they had to hand over the most productive thirty percent of their land to the government. It was sad, but we passed it off as coincidental that the government picked the most valuable land.
That incident marked the start of the most aggressive racial acts that the country has ever seen. My heart broke as I saw my white friends go from very rich to just managing to be dirt poor. The days when my white friends would come to spend the night and vice versa were gone.

I remember a night when we were all watching the news and President Mugable came on explaining he was returning the land to the rightful owners. He was saying things like: “The white man stole the land of our fathers and they must leave,” and “Mr. Blair must stay out of our affairs.” The atmosphere was tense; I was at a loss for words. The news continued to show how ‘the people were claiming the land’ and how seven white farmers had been killed in the land fights.

To date, more than one hundred white farmers and their families have been killed. The economy in Zimbabwe has gotten worse because ‘the people’ have taken over the farms, and have stopped farming because they don’t know how to farm or don’t have the equipment to farm and process crops like tobacco and cotton. We have lost good people who loved their country. For example, the Robart-Morgan’s are happily farming in Australia.

The loss of friends has affected me the most. My friend Heidi Anderson died at twenty years old during this ‘struggle.’ My friends’ families have been literally beaten and stoned to death.

I watch the news at home on the Internet and I am saddened. People are starving to death in a country that, a few years ago, was doing so well it was representing the continent at international gatherings. I have gone from being excited to get email from home to dreading it because I know there will be some tragic news in the email.

As I was growing up, my parents said all men are created equal and we all have the same rights. Our previous leaders stressed that we should all live in unity, no matter what happened in the past. Suddenly, all those ideals don’t apply anymore. It saddens me that lives are lost almost daily because of racial segregation. I feel like the home I know and loved is no more, and I dread the day I have to go back.

(Mutsa Chasakara is a student in Dr. Castilla’s English class.)