THE hospitality and tourism industry is one of the fastest growing in the country as tourists continue to flock to Zimbabwe for different experiences.
The country’s pristine and unequalled tourism products as well as the people’s warmth have drawn thousands of tourists into Zimbabwe.
However, there are very sad and isolated incidents of racism in the hospitality industry targeted at black workers and patrons.
Unfortunately, many have kept quiet, choosing to let this abuse slide for the sake of preserving jobs.
Infuriatingly, they say, ‘We are now used to it’.
The colonial legacy lives on.
There are whites who think it is right to call black people ‘baboons’ and ‘kaffirs’.
Tourists coming from countries that are hostile to Zimbabwe 37 years after independence and some Rhodies who left at independence are abusing black folk, especially in resorts tucked in the far corners of the country.
I was recently a victim of such racial abuse.
At that time, I dismissed these racial outbursts as madness and did not make any noise or protest.
But as we head towards the Heroes Day holiday, I could not help but reflect some more on the issue.
We lost fathers, mothers, brothers and sisters to be free in our country.
At what I now term a white exclusive lodge along the Zambezi River, in my home area of Binga, I was subjected to brutal racism.
I was invited to go to the lodge by a brother from Zambia who had come for the funeral of our maternal aunt.
He had decided that we had mourned enough and wanted us to have drinks at a quiet and serene place.
I never imagined that I would be racially abused in my home area, at a place along the river that my ancestors depended on for survival through fishing and farming.
We arrived at the lodge at around eight in the evening and we settled for the local lagers at a small corner table in the bar.
After a few rounds, nature called and as I sauntered to the male bathroom, two burly white tourists, presumably from South Africa because of their Boer accent, blocked my way and asked me why I wanted to use the same bathroom that the whites were using.
I was told I was a kaffir and baboon and thus had to use the bush.
Initially I did not take them seriously.
I thought they had taken one too many.
It was when one of them manhandled me that I realised they meant business — racist business!
They were burly.
I was outnumbered and was forced to retreat.
I went to relieve myself outside.
But I boiled inside.
How dare they!
In my own country where my forefathers and mothers had suffered for my rights and privileges!
I went back into the bar, but as I was about to take my seat, two elderly white women and some young men in their 30s beckoned me to their table.
I thought they wanted to apologise for the previous altercation I had with the two men.
Little did I know that I was in for some more racial tirade and abuse.
“Hey what is wrong with you blacks? Can’t you see we don’t have drinks anymore. Can you get us our orders fast, you slob,” shouted one hag to the amusement of her table mates who joined in with a barrage of racial slurs from the unprintable ‘f’ word to kaffir.
They had mistaken me for one of the bar tenders. I was wearing safari clothing popular with tourists and I wondered how they mistook me for a waiter.
I lost my patience and told the group that I was not serving any drinks but was also a tourist like them.
One young male, apparently not amused by my firm response, told me point blank that no matter who I was, as long as I was a blackman I should serve a whiteman because I was a slave and he was the master.
“Listen darkie (whatever that meant) go and call us someone who can serve us then, don’t waste our f***** time. We are spending real dollars that your country needs,” he shouted at me.
I could not take their insults anymore and I quickly reminded them that this was not the way they should abuse our hospitality, and the fact that we needed their money did not make us sub-humans.
In no time the manager, another burly whiteman, came and asked what was wrong.
Again I explained that I had been racially abused, but he could not assist.
Instead, he rudely asked me and my brother to leave his place and join other ‘blacks’ in our own neighbourhoods.
He apologised to the whites and offered them free drinks for the misunderstanding that we had caused.
In that moment I got the full import of what freedom fighters, vana mujibha and chimbwidos, all the heroes and heroines had done for the masses.
The Ministry of Tourism and Hospitality must quickly act; sons and daughters, the progeny of freedom fighters working in these exclusive resorts, are being abused.
Hospitality workers should not be subjected to such abuse.
The fact that we want to promote and encourage tourism growth does not mean we are a desperate people.
Our warmth towards visitors should not be (mis)taken for weakness or desperation.
We celebrate this year’s Heroes’ Day proud owners of the resources these tourists come to enjoy.
We will forever be grateful to all who heeded the call to dislodge the colonial system.