🟣When I was seven, every Friday we'd have a cake sale. On a good day, my mom would give me $2. That would get me four large slices of cake - I know, I know. They didn't call me Fat Fat Fadzie for nothing. During this time, they didn't have to announce that they were concluding billion dollar mega deals. The country did not launch new money every two years. Nobody was arrested for “not supporting” the local currency. There was confidence in the monetary system. Progress was in the atmosphere. Agriculture wasn't under command. Local goods - tea, matches, cooking oil, milk, candy, chocolate, fruit, clothes, stationery - even cars were the order of the day. Made in South Africa? For who? Nobody was running away from Zimbabwe to seek asylum in foreign lands. Quite the opposite - the Zambians would cross the border and buy shoes from Bata in bulk. We often laughed at Zambia for having potholes. We laughed at the kwacha. People were flocking to us. Teachers could get mortgages in Mabelreign and Mt Pleasant. Nurses moved around in Datsuns. The CBD was a high street in the true sense. My mom always dressed me up in red glass shoes to go to Barbours...even if it was just to settle her account. Because town. The Zimbabwean passport was gold. Even tough times, like ESAP, were hardly as tough as normal life now. Water flowed...tap water that is. We drank it without thinking. Drilling boreholes not a sign of “progress.” Garbage was collected on schedule. They even gave us rubbish bins! Bottled milk was delivered to our gates. Power cuts were due to genuine faults and occurred bi-ennially at most. Sally Mugabe was a beautiful first lady, inside and out. It was the best of times and it was the best of times. Please continue this story in the comments!