By Gloria
This narrative is being told from the perspective of the child of a Zimbabwean diplomat, and as such there are many questions I would have loved to answer that I cannot justly claim to have insight on. All I can do is give my account on how life changed for Zimbabweans tasked with the (sometimes unenviable) duty of defending a nation that has, at times been indefensible.
My story begins when I was a child, soon after independence with our family’s first posting. Life was great. It was exactly as everyone would imagine living as a diplomat should be like. We were representing our nation in a foreign country, and enjoyed the many perks that came with the task. Whether it was business class flights to and from home, or paid school fees to some of the best international schools, paid housing and a healthy allowance to go with it all, we wanted for nothing. Zimbabwe was still enjoying its golden years. That first posting was, even in my young mind, gloriously uneventful. Duties were completed and after the designated 4 to 5 year stint, we were recalled home, as had always been the case with all diplomatic families.
Our second posting took us back to the same area again, but by this time things had begun to change. It was the mid-90s and although we generally enjoyed the same perks that were given during the first posting, trouble had already begun to brew before we had reached midway. First came the slashing of superfluous expenses, such as only paying for economy tickets for families – once to get you to your destination and once to go home. We did not complain, because the business class tickets were after all an unnecessary expense. Then the embassy began having problems paying the bills on time, whether it was rent or utilities or hospital bills (for those who needed medical attention). It left most families unnerved, but the situations were often resolved in a somewhat timely manner, so again no one complained. Then came the slashing of salaries. A flat rate (of sorts) was used, meaning someone posted in Mozambique would be paid the same as someone posted in New York or England. If you are familiar with how costly living in any first world nation is and you were in this position you too would vigorously advocate to get a posting on the continent. After all, at least anywhere in Africa home is accessible, the pay is better (meaning whatever little you are given goes much farther), and there is more freedom to start side-businesses if that is what it takes to survive. But posting assignments are like playing roulette. You just never know where you will end up even after spending time and effort campaigning. A posting to a Western nation was the most depressing news a family could get, because the reality was if you did not take it your career would not progress, but if you took it you would suffer quietly for 4 to 5 years…assuming there were funds to actually recall you on time. Some people have gone as long as 8 to 10 years waiting to get called back home again.
Two years into our post and things began to escalate. We were representing our nation in a foreign land, expected to maintain a certain façade (as is always expected among diplomats no matter the nation), yet financially we were painfully unstable, often times going for two to three months without pay. At the time the situation seemed dire, little did we know what challenges we would be faced with less than ten years later. It was a very lonely time, since there was literally no one to discuss this with. We were away from home, basically on our own and had to make do with the situation at hand. My parents were very frugal, so though times were tough we were able to survive.
One example of how we saved was that I used public transportation all the time, especially in the later years. There was no way anyone could make me justify paying $60 a day (yes, A DAY) just to get in and out of the city by car, when I could easily pay $4 for the same trip by public transport. Buses were there and reliable, so why not use them. Granted it would take 2 hours each way to complete the trip, but I saved in the long run.
Our time ended just as our government cut yet another “frivolous” expense – the money allocated to the education of diplomatic children in foreign lands. In a nutshell, what this meant was that if the parents chose to take their children with them to whatever nation they were posted, they were more than welcome to do so, but if they ended up in a non-English speaking nation then the children would have to either learn the local language or parents would have to shoulder the cost of paying for international schools, which is a painfully expensive endeavor to try to pursue. Most parents picked the affordable option, which is to send their children to boarding schools back home – and no, not usually to private boarding schools either.
We were finally home, but the economy began to plummet at an astronomical rate. Something that every Zimbabwean near and far felt, especially if their salary was in some way dependent on the government. There is no need to reiterate the challenges we all faced in Zimbabwe, since I would be preaching to the choir on that front. I feel that it was during this time that resentment towards diplomats and their families grew among Zimbabweans. Sometimes it was justified, often times it was not. Regardless of the animosity they feel towards their representatives, for the millions of Zimbabweans around the world, sooner or later they all come to the embassy for something, since everything one needs processed (such as passports and visas) is handled by the embassy. Demonizing diplomats based on supposed party allegiances has and always will be counterproductive.
To those unfamiliar with embassy politics, the assumption is often made that ALL diplomats are definitely ZANU, but that is as foolish as assuming all American diplomats are definitely democrat (since a democrat is currently in power). A good diplomat never reveals their party preference, no matter what. This is because once outside Zimbabwe it does not matter whether you are ZANU, MDC or undecided, you represent Zimbabwe and that means always showing that we are a united people. Party affiliations go out the window as the tasks at hand are tackled with as much professionalism as possible. That is not to say you are not allowed to ally yourself with a particular party if that is what you chose, but rather judgment cannot be based solely on who do or do not support. At the very least, Zimbabweans should be able to approach you, express discontent and not fear repercussions. That is the way embassies are supposed to work.
As for all diplomats being money mongers – well there are two reasons anyone choses this profession. The first (less glorious) reason being in line with the assumption everyone has already made, that they are just in it to milk the system, while the second is that there are still people who really want to represent Zimbabwe’s best attributes and show case a nation they are still proud of. There is no profession that is immune to this. Some doctors are just in it for the money, title and glory, while others genuinely want to help people. Some lawyers want to make a quick buck off of high profit cases, while others are there to fight for justice. It happens, it’s not excusable, but it happens.
Getting back to my narrative, the third (and final) posting I was a part of saw us move to one of the most expensive first world nations. When we went there was no pretense about what was going to be provided and what was not. We quickly adapted to our reality. The fortunate thing was that it was an English speaking nation, so the family was able to stay together. I came in time to start college, so the first thing that I needed to do was secure a place for university. As the dependent of a diplomat, I was permitted to work and within weeks of being in the country I had found a job as a cashier, because bluntly put we did not know when the next paycheck would be coming in from the embassy. By doing this I was able to help buffer my personal expenses and some of the grocery expenses, while going to school. It was a hectic time, but since each of us had a personal mission in mind – mine was to get into university – we remained focused, even when times were tough.
To this day I cringe to think how parents with young children, especially in non-English speaking environments, are making their postings work. It is an unsaid rule that no one really discusses these woes with each other, yet we all know when someone gets kicked out of their house, because they can no longer pay rent, or when the collection agencies turn up at their doorsteps, because they have outstanding utility bills they can no longer afford to pay off. It is no secret, yet it is at the same time.
I cannot complain too much about my time as a diplomat’s child, because although it was a far cry from the stereotypical “spoiled brat” upbringing that many of my non-Zimbabwean (and possibly some Zimbabwean) peers enjoyed, it shaped who I am today and I believe I am stronger for it. Nothing tests your love for a nation more than having to stand up as a proud Zimbabwean and putting your best foot forward, even when you are struggling in silence, not getting paid month after month, while those at home believe you are living large in a foreign nation and condemn you for it. What I have come to understand is that, whether it is for personal gain or not, it takes a certain strength and commitment to endure the challenges Zimbabwean diplomats face every day in a foreign nation and still keep smiling at the end of it all.
*Gloria* is not her real name.
