Bad Day

Today is my birthday and it was not a good day.

My morning started out with a meeting with a lawyer. I was required to attend a hearing at the Labor Department where a dispute between a former employee and myself was supposed to be mediated. I say supposed to be mediated because I believe that a mediator is supposed to be in the middle but this guy definitely had an opinion that he wasn’t afraid to share. He ended the meeting with a five minute lecture on how it is the employer’s responsibility to take care of employees and to think about their psychological well-being and the damage that it can cause an employee to lose their job.

I decided not to offer this employee a contract at the end of the probationary period for various reasons, which are only being reinforced by his current actions. This was entirely in my rights according to the labor law. The employee filed a complaint with the Labor Department claiming unfair labor practices. Today he demanded reinstatement in his position or the amount of full salary and benefits for one year. When my lawyer told him that the law was not on his side, he argued that the law was not meant to be interpreted in black and white and that there is a social justice that is implied by the labor law. He clarified that this is the new labor law that was drafted after 1980 and that allowed for these types of hearings that were never allowed before. (A veiled accusation of racism?) So, we move on to arbitration and I can only hope that the arbitrator is a little less biased. To date, his escapades have cost the project $850 in lawyer’s fees.

To try and turn my day around, at lunchtime I went to see an exhibit of photographs from the National Archives that was in the National Gallery. On Sunday it is the 30th anniversary of Zimbabwean independence. The exhibition was advertised as follows:

“National Archives: 75 @ 30 (Moments of People’s History): On the occasion of the 30th anniversary of Independence and the 75th anniversary of the National Archives of Zimbabwe, the Embassy of Spain, the National Arts Gallery and the National Archives of Zimbabwe present a collection of 75 images showcasing remarkable moments of people’s lives over more than 100 years. Venue: National Gallery of Zimbabwe, Park Lane/Central Avenue.”

The reality was a little different. I paid my dollar and was told the exhibition was upstairs. As I walked up the stairs there was a huge photograph of Mugabe with XXX of China and a banner above the photograph that said, “Celebrating 30 years since the establishment of diplomatic relations between Zimbabwe and China”. I smiled sarcastically to myself but it was only when I got to the top of the steps that I realized that this was the photo exhibition. It was over a hundred photos of Mugabe, his wife or his cronies with various Chinese politicians or businessmen. There were photos of diplomatic meetings, mines, stadiums, planes, and even of Sally Mugabe on a camel. The most interesting photo for me was the one of the Zimbabwe delegation to the Chinese Olympics as they walked into the bird’s nest. More than half of the Zimbabwean athletes were white. An interesting thought in the middle of this strange exhibition. Fortunately I was able to leave on a high note as there was an exhibition in the corridor of Zimbabwean artists under the age of 30, which was a reminder of the amazing artistic talent of Zimbabweans.

But the upswing was not to last. As I drove back to the office I suddenly saw a police officer step out into the road in front of me and indicate that I was to pull over. I did so, and he told me that I had just gone through a red light and right before the President is due to drive by. I swallowed my inclination to tell him that I couldn’t give a stuff about the president. To give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe he was color blind because that light was definitely green when I went through – and I am 100 percent positive of that fact. He told me that they would impound my car (a rental) and that I would have to come to the police station to collect it tomorrow. Having seen the inside of the Central Police Station in Harare, I was not interested in seeing it again. So I gave him my license and he asked where I was going and what I did. Once in ascertained that I managed an NGO here in Zimbabwe, he changed his tune and asked if I had money on me to pay the fine. I adamantly assured him that I had no cash on me (as I refuse to pay bribes) and he must have believed me because the next thing I know, I was being allowed to drive away.