THE BARMAN spread out the Zim $1,000 note and stared at it longingly. “You know this used to be so much. Now it is nothing. Almost useless,” he said.

The one other drinker in the near-empty Cape to Cairo bar in Bulawayo concurred. “Our money is worthless these days,” he sighed. “Prices go up every month, every day even. It is ridiculous.”

Before talking to one of the few tourists to venture into Zimbabwe’s second city nowadays, both men had nervously checked they could not be overheard. Satisfied that the lone couple dining in the restaurant were too far away to eavesdrop, the barman continued.

“We have nothing now. He has chased it all away,” he said, gesturing at one of the ubiquitous portraits of President Mugabe, Africa’s last “Big Man” ruler, who glowers from every wall in the country.

Officially, inflation in Mr Mugabe’s ruined country — once the region’s breadbasket — is 133 per cent. Unofficially it is put at nearer 400 per cent. In 2000, the currency was Zim $60 to £1. Today, it is around 10,000.

“Every three months prices double. The Government says inflation is less than 150 per cent, but they are lying, just like they lie about everything,” Pius Ncube, the Catholic Archbishop of Bulawayo and one of Mr Mugabe’s most vocal critics, had wearily explained a few hours earlier. Closing his eyes as if in prayer, the Archbishop added that despite economic mismanagement and huge popular discontent, Mr Mugabe’s ruling Zanu (PF) party would romp home in parliamentary elections due on March 31.

“This Government is one of crooks and liars. They will not tolerate any dissent. Zimbabweans have been intimidated into silence. Zanu will win because they control everything. Everything has been set in advance,” he said. He listed all the ploys the Government has taken to ensure a handsome victory: two million dead voters on the electoral register, a muzzled press, opponents deregistered, heavy surveillance, intimidation, fear, and now hunger.

Just in case that is not enough, draconian legislation cements the ruling elite’s advantage. Opposition supporters can be arrested for putting a poster on a tree without written permission from the owner — often the local council or landowner fearful of incurring officialdom’s wrath.

“People have been tortured and humiliated and are afraid. People here have no voice. You can’t make any protest at all,” the Archbishop said. Under new legislation, the votes can now also be counted at individual polling stations rather than in the constituency’s main office.

“This means they will know how every village votes. The people know the crop is poor, and only the Government can give them food aid,” said a woman human rights activist who asked not to be named for fear of retribution. One Zanu (PF) supporter openly told people this week not to vote for the opposition if they wanted to eat well. “In addition, much of the counting will take place late at night in remote areas where there is no electricity. Most of the people there will belong to a state organisation, it will take a very brave person to object to the result they come up with,” the activist added.

Outside the Archbishop’s cathedral in the half-light of an African dusk, dozens of people line the pavements, waving disconsolately at every passing vehicle in the hope of hitching a ride home.

On the surface, Bulawayo — capital of Matabeleland and long an opposition stronghold — is a bustling commercial centre. Unlike most African cities, there are few potholes in the roads and its grand old colonial buildings appear well maintained. The suburbs have quaint English names, sports clubs and smart houses with neat gardens. But like many things in Zimbabwe, appearan- ces are deceptive. Drive on to a garage forecourt and more often than not the attendant politely explains there is “no fuel, only oil”. He then gives instructions on how to find the one garage with petrol that day. Order a cup of tea in a modern-looking café and you are told that there is no milk.

Hawkers selling African curios line the streets, but there are no customers. “Please buy this. I’m hungry. I want to get something to eat,” said one man proferring a poorly made sheepskin hat. The town’s main cricket pitch is brown and dry. The irrigation system broke down, and there are no spare parts available to repair it. Many of the seats in the main stand are broken and the white paint is peeling.

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