Bulawayo

4 April 2008

Reporter: Martin Bondi

We are being told by the gentlemen of the Zimbabwean press are telling us that the MDC have won the parliamentary elections but that there is likely to be a run-off for the presidential vote and Mugabe looks like he's going to fight on when it comes to the presidential run-off.

The streets of Bulawayo were quiet this morning. The presence of riot police has, it would seem, done nothing to dampen the mood of the people. It is clear that they are restless for change but, as yet, there is no sign that the mood of the people will turn ugly.

There are more signs from the agencies of the state that things may be about to warm up. I heard that Renata was picked up in Harare for lacking accreditation (I always gave her a great deal of credit, though) and one of Cindy's friends from CNBC was shipped off to the local militia for the same reasons. I have not picked up on anything similar happening here, but we wait and see.

I doubt I'll have much trouble, mainly as I'm freelance and pretty much firing out copy when I can be arsed. Not like poor old Cindy-poos who has to check in with her bosses every couple of hours - oh the travails of a 24-hour news network journalist!

Still, it hasn't stopped old MB from having fun! We had a great meal at the hotel on Thursday evening, actually, it was a meal that started sometime around lunchtime. We got up late and kicked off the day with a few bottles of the hotel's best champers, which we enjoyed in the confines of our rather splendid little suit (thanks CNN!). As you can imagine, things went from good to better (as they always seem to do for old Bondi, eh) - we had a rather strenuous morning work out, fuelled by champagne and some rather exceptional cigars, before moving on to lunch and then dinner. I cannot recommend zebra more highly - it has a great taste and, if the beast is less than two years old, the meat is so gloriously succulent!

Following dinner, naturally, we polished off some of Bondi's uncle Johnny and Cindy-poo entertained yours truly in a most original fashion… Quality!

Best.

MB.

p.s. Bridge, if you're reading this, you've probably worked out that I won't be home this evening. Pops and Mummsy are coming over from the estate, so you won't be a lonely old Bridgy-widgey will you, grumpy goat? I had meant to tell you earlier but, well, things got a bit out of hand.

p.p.s. Bridge, Hope you've got that dry cleaning - should be home in a week or two - see how things pan out here, eh.

Bulawayo

2 April 2008

Reporter: Martin Bondi

I am sat here in Bulawayo's most luxurious hotel. They tell me that it is the place that John Simpson and Bishop Lower Second stay at when they're in town. (No suggestion from the natives that they bunk together, though!)

The atmosphere has changed since yesterday. Things seem more optimistic. The election results that are coming out indicate that the MDC have done well and that Mugabe's grip on power is weakening - the fact that the 'papers are reporting this is, I am told, significant. The media here, we must remember, operates under a certain amount of control from the authorities.

I have to confess that I'd been hoping for a bit more action in the way of reportage, but it's been pretty tame so far. Fortunately, MB's being leading the charge on the fun dept. as per…

The drive down here was sensational. All you could expect from a Rhodesian road trip and more! Bumpy bumpy roads, crazy sod behind the wheel and lots of Johnny Walker!

Another good thing is that Cindy and I seem to be getting on a lot better! It's a bloody relief, I can tell you. I'd had visions of icy silences in the car on the way here but there was none of it. I suspect the fact that nothing happened between me and the Italian filly had something to do with that. Not going to say too much, given that you're probably reading this back home, Bridge, but, well, let me just say: wild cat! Wasn't just those roads going bumpy bumpy - I sure that our driver, Randolph, poor bugger, didn't know where to look half the time - he must have kept his eyes on the road, as we got here in one piece!

I've heard that the roof top restaurant here serves up some pretty good game, so I'm heading down there with Cindy (steady on boy!) in an hour or so. For now I'm relaxing with a cigar, a bit of tapping on the old 'top (working okay now) and, of course, sipping that old Black Label.

Best.

MB.

Harare

1 April 2008

Reporter: Martin Bondi

I don't have much time. I have to be out and on my way to Bulawayo. Randolph, my driver, tells me that the roads between here and there are pretty dodgy, so I've decided to write this now, as I figure the journey's going to be uncomfortable.

Today there is a sense of hope and frustration.

Hope, that the long days of the Zanu-PF are about to come to an end; and frustration, that the result is slow in coming.

Frustration leads to worry, so, last night I as I dined alone and had only the passing conversation of the waiters for company, I spoke to an imaginary Zimbabwean that I am going to refer to here as Mosphotali, which means "Hope Flowering" or something.

Martin Bondi: Mosphotali, thank you for joining me this evening.

Mosphotali: It is no problem, Mr Bondi.

MB: What do the elections mean for you.

M: They mean the possible end to Mugabe and is misrule. They mean a light at the end of a long tunnel.

MB: Thank you. Do you know where the toilets are?

M: They are in the lobby and then off to the right.

MB: Thanks.

[MB leaves. Returning 10 minutes later.]

MB: That's better. So, where were we? Where's my steak?

M: There is also frustration that the results are taking a long time. I do not know whether this is because they are trying to rig the results or whether they are trying to work out what to do. Maybe they are trying to make the results seem less rigged that usual.

MB: Mmmm. Can you believe my wife, Bridge? I mean. Christ. I only tried it on with the Italian and she goes spiritual on me. What's that all about? I need a whiskey.

M: Are you listening to me, Mr Bondi.

MB: Mmmmm, you see we've been together for ages but she knows that I'm not a one-horse type of guy. I was with her sister when I met her for God's sake.

M: It is time for me to go.

========

Okay so, I have to get going. I'm taking my 'top and some supplies (cigarettes and that god-awful Johnny Walker) oh, and fucking Cindy's coming too.

Best.

MB.

Okay. This is breaking so many rules that I imposed upon myself when I started out on this blog.

First:

Regina, I meant you when I referred to Renata in my last post to Bridge. Admittedly, I did not mention to you that I was married yesterday evening, but what does that have to do with anything? You did not accept my invitation, in any event. So I cannot be to blame for failing to get a few letters of your name wrong.

Second:

Bridge, I am still sorry, but you do have to grow up. I am a writer and a rover. I am not a one town a year kind of guy. You knew that, you know that. You're giving me a headache. I know you'll not like me addressing Regina ahead of you but please realise that I'm in a situation here where Regina is in close proximity and, therefore, must be pacified first.

You choose completely the wrong moment to pick me up on my Renata/Regina thing. Look, I am sure I told you about Renata. She was the nice Slovakian cleaner that Giles and Max had when I was staying with them in New York towards the end of last year. What happened between us (me and Renata, you'll understand) was without doubt fantastic, but not in any way serious. Please believe me.

All things considered and, in light of my return to London on Thursday, I'd be grateful if you could pick up my suits from the dry cleaners, as well as ordering some cigars and some decent whisky. For Christ's sake, darl, I've been drinking Johnny Walker for the past few days and I am in some need of a decent dram. If you have any doubts, give Mummsy a call or Tom Hawkes.

The battery is about to go on my 'top, so I will have to leave for now.

MB.

I've had a few emails about my last post. Mainly from Bridge, look I meant nothing by this but you know that when I am not there, I cannot be yours and yours alone. I have to pursue a story and sometimes, you know that I have too much love to give.

Renata was just a fling, a one-night dalliance. Get over it. I am bigger than this. If you want this marriage to work, you've got to grow up.

Cheers.

Martin.

Today, do we watch as Zimbabwe, heads, inexorably towards change?

Harare

Reporter: Martin Bondi

The heady air in Harare is captivating my reality perspective. In this jailed illusion of a cloud we are seeing real change occurring within the human context. I am no more alone in this hotel - beside me, as I type from the balcony, are Cindy and Regina, two young ladies that I have met in the lobby of my hotel. Cindy is a journalist with CNN and Regina is nominally working for Italian TV network RAI.

We are sipping glasses of Johnny Walker Black Label and smoking some cigarettes as we listen to the crowds below dance and sing, the occasional crackle of gunfire punctuates the joyous gathering. Things can go one of two ways: an acceptance of the MDC's victory or, a crackdown by the Zanu PF Party of Mugabe.

Cindy hails from Baltimore. I know very little of that part of the States, so I am pretending to be interested in conversation. In fact, I wish that she'd go back to her room for a moment, so that I can make a pass at Regina. Regina is from Florence - I have, at least, been there once and know something of its location and main attractions.

Regina's dark hair glistens in the sunlight. Her brooding eyes and sensuousness captivate me: to cap it all, she seems to have a cracking pair of breasts.

Cindy is taking no hint that I might not be interested in listening to her. I force the conversation off road, and into the minutiae of Zimbabwean politics, hoping that this will discourage her to such an extent that she goes to her room for a while.

Cindy's PhD was in Southern African politics, she is a formidable interlocutor, I find myself somewhat flailing as she ripostes my latest pronouncements - it is, at the same time clear, that she knows very little of this subject and so, after a two hour discussion I ask her to leave whilst Regina is at the toilet.

After Cindy has left, the conversation turns to art and architecture. I notice that Regina has a small tattoo on her left forearm. It is of a goose. I ask her about its significance. "Another time" she tells me.

The air is warm. I feel like a mask has been placed over my face and I can only smell the Johnny Walker and the cigarettes. I watch, as Regina looks on, horrified, as I slump toward the table, the glass hitting the floor, the computer crashing to the ground as my head hits the side of the table.

"It is time I leave" she says.