guest column:Kudzai Mubaiwa I GOT my current passport in 2016, three years after the election that ended the government of national unity. This was also the year the government introduced bond coins and notes, and foreign currency became, once again, scarce. I opted for the 24-hour delivery, which can mean three working days or literally the next day, depending on the mood of the officer who serves you. The passport cost me just over US$260 (this was, in theory, exactly equivalent to the $260, but not in practice). I was harassed, infantilised and generally condescended by the officers at the passport office but my work involves travel, so it was a business expense and a worthy investment. The next time I was at the passport office was in March 2017 during Zimbabwe’s cash crunch. I applied for a passport for my infant daughter. By then, the situation had deteriorated and getting an emergency passport was the only sure way of securing one, regardless of the cost. But in Zimbabwe, “emergency” doesn’t mean fast. We were lucky to get it. In January 2020, when I checked the progress of a relative’s passport, I found that they had just begun processing applications from September 2018. A passport is a privilege in Zimbabwe. It is one of my most prized possessions — more than my favourite gadgets of similar or greater value — because you can’t always get another one even if you have the money. It is my guarantee that I can exit the country and breathe once in a while. The currency crisis means that most now cannot afford it, even at $150. I know from the financial literacy classes I teach across Zimbabwe that it remains among the things for which many students and young people save and aspire for. Sadly, the government just does not produce them fast enough. Materials are an issue because of insufficient foreign currency, even though money is seemingly available for other things like government travel. It is about control. In late 2019, the situation was so dire that it was said even the largest bribe could not get you one and fewer than 50 passports were being produced in a day at any one centre. Insiders were quoted saying “kurikupisa” (it is getting hot) as the corruption also naturally escalated, until the few that were produced were sanctioned literally from the highest offices in the land. As the passport situation has deteriorated, many Zimbabweans have suffered serious personal losses. Families had loved ones who were sick to the point of death but could not get medical assistance outside the country while our largest referral hospitals were understaffed and poorly resourced. Young bright students from underprivileged backgrounds that had miraculously secured full scholarships for further study at top international colleges could not make visa and admissions cut-off dates. Professionals who could not renew their permits for great jobs got stuck in foreign countries, unable to communicate a clear date to employers. There was deep anguish and helplessness of being a victim of a dysfunction that you cannot individually