The Mugabe Diary

Hugo Rifkind:

Monday We are out the back of the sprawling presidential compound, having a relaxed afternoon braai. With three US dollars’ worth of Zimbabwe currency on the fire, the flames have been burning for four hours. And the British say I have harmed this country? “Why do my people no longer love me?” I demand. “What more can I give to them?” I am attended by a team of recent graduates from the University of Zimbabwe. They were given the choice of working for me or going to jail. They are all extremely loyal.

...

Tuesday I cannot see this moustache, although my eyes are not what they were. I would ask my fashionable wife, but she has taken the jumbo jet to Paris to see how many shoes she can get for 20,000 hectares of Matabeleland.

...

Wednesday I am in my compound in Harare, holding a brainstorming session with my graduates. Under pain of death, they have been told to suggest reasons why I might be growing unpopular.

“The moustache?” suggests one, meekly. I glower at him, and he starts to sweat.

“British propaganda!” I shout, after a few minutes of silence. “Tony Blair and the homosexual British Establishment! It is they who have destroyed this country!” The graduates all nod. We agree that the British have consistently presented our abandoned farms, decimated economy, rampaging war veterans and inflation running at 1,800 per cent in a really, really bad light.

...

And, that was a good week. There is also a running joke about the leader of South Africa. Great satire from the Times. Unfortunately for those who must live under this thug things are not so funny.