I think a lot about economics and the way economic systems effect people groups. I’ve asked questions about economies in every country we’ve been to, but here in Zimbabwe, the people obsess over the economy and money.
Twenty years ago, Zimbabwe was Africa’s second strongest economy after South Africa. It had fertile farmlands, hardworking people, and factories exporting products to other African countries. Zimbabwe prospered.
And then, a few greedy men at the top of the system worried about losing an election and made nearly impossible promises to the people. In 1980, the Zimbabwean government instituted a land redistribution program wherein they promised to take tracts of land from the largest land owners and redistribute it to individuals living in the bush rural areas.
Between 1980 and 2000, this land redistribution crashed the economy. Most of the largest producers lost their land, forcing them to fire hundreds of thousands of workers and grinding major exports of coffee, tobacco, cotton, and maize to a halt.
A few Band-Aids were slapped onto the problem in the early 2000s (mostly by order of the UN or other western powers) but nothing lasting happened. Then, in the mid-2000s (every local I talk to cites a different year), the drought began, sending even subsistence farmers into poverty.
All of this compounded in 2008 when the Zimbabwean dollar reached around a 200 million percent peak of hyperinflation—the world record for hyperinflation. Their money officially became worthless with the printing of billion dollar notes that were worth less than $0.10 USD.
The economy and the people became devastated. There was no money, no production, no food, and no rains. Zimbabwe fell from a great power in Africa to a country trying to scrape by all because of the decisions of a few men. The people lost everything.
And now, here I am, in Zimbabwe seeing the average person trying to pick up their lives again. I’ve talked to many, many people about all of this and I’ve heard story after story of loss and desperation.
I am currently in Victoria Falls, which is vastly different from Bulawayo, where I’ve lived all month, in many ways. The people here wholly rely on tourism to make their income. Tourist trap shops line the downtown area and men stand on street corners selling carved wooden bowls or statues of animals. These men will follow you and hassle you in hopes that you buy from them to get them away.
One man started doing this to me as I was walking back to my hostel with a couple other squadmates. I started getting a bit annoyed when he wouldn’t take no for an answer. I decided, because of the wrong reasons, I’ll admit, to start evangelizing to him in the hopes that my “Jesus talk” would get him to leave me alone.
“Do you know Jesus?” I asked. He pulled up short, caught off guard.
“Of course I do.”
“Do you go to church?”
“No, why would I?” His face pulled up in anger, or perhaps disgust, and he looked at me like I’d sprouted a second head. Yet, he didn’t go away, he kept walking with me.
“So that you can know true hope—true hope in Jesus.”
“There is no hope. For Zimbabwe people, there is no hope.”
Oh. Okay, Holy Spirit, I see you. Sorry I tried to use Your message to push this man away who clearly needs to be drawn close.
We started a conversation, the proper way this time, with me asking his name. It’s Thabile which means “happiness” in Ndebele. I asked if he was happy and he replied again, “No I’m not. There is no hope.”
“There is hope, just not hope in the world. You cannot have you hope in money. See how money failed you before?” I told him.
“But money is everything. How am I to live without money? I have none. It is probably better if I was dead.”
About a month before we arrived in Zimbabwe, the rains returned. Everything is green and beautiful, the season finally changing, the Lord transforming and renewing the lands. And even while we’ve been here, rain has poured down almost daily, all the locals rejoicing in it.
I told Thabile that life runs in seasons, just like the rains. When it was dry and dead, it was impossible to imagine rain, but now that rain is here, life and hope are here too. I told him the same thing can and will happen in his life if he puts his trust and hope in Jesus. And lastly, I told him that Zimbabwe is about to go through a season transformation emotionally and spiritually just as it has physically.
“How can you know this?” he asked, his whole being deflated under the weight of his life.
“I’ve lived here for one month. I’m not a tourist, I’m a missionary. I love Zimbabwe because God loves Zimbabwe and I have hope in Zimbabwe because God has hope in Zimbabwe. I’ve talked to many people. I know how you hurt. I cannot fully understand, but I’ve listened to many people. Children without families, homeless men, whites who lost everything, and shop keepers trying to make it. You must have hope.”
Thabile got quiet and grunted in the back of his throat a few times. He didn’t say anything for a long while, but kept walking with me.
“Change is coming, friend. You must have hope in Jesus,” I said.
“If you want real change, you’ll buy something from me.”
I laughed and agreed to buy a 50 billion Zimbabwean dollar note from him for $2 USD (“I give you a very, very good price”) despite it being worthless. It bought it more for the memory, more for the conversation, and more for my friend than anything else.
He wouldn’t let me pray for him there on the street, but I prayed as he finally left me behind and I continued on my way, catching up with my squadmates ahead of me.
I wish I could fix all the problems of the world. I really, really do. But I’m learning, through evangelism (something I thought I abhorred at the start of this month), all I can do is offer true hope and offer prayer.
The Lord has transformed my heart in the area of evangelism and I’m praying big prayers that He transforms Zimbabwe by His Truth and His Hope and His Love. After all, that’s what I’m here to bring, right?
