There is a saying in Zimbabwe that a "dying horse kicks very hard". As President Robert Mugabe clings to power despite a political crisis that forced him into a unity government with the opposition, nobody knows how bad things can become.

By most indications, Zimbabwe is not on the brink of an all-out emergency but it is festering, worn and beaten.

In this country of over 12 million people, political turmoil led to economic collapse, which then became a humanitarian crisis. Because of this linear order, fixing the problem must done in the same way - in other words, humanitarian aid will only address the symptoms; a durable political settlement is the only way out.

The Zimbabweans involved in dealing with the country's cholera outbreak are smart and hardworking. They articulate their needs and solutions. But they are trapped by the double-problem of political uncertainty and salaries that are worthless even if they are there.

Teachers and health workers have not been paid in months. Because of cholera, paying health workers' salaries (one of the main challenges in the outbreak response) is widely agreed upon as a necessity, but donors debate whether paying teachers' salaries is an "emergency response" and do not want to inadvertently support the current regime.

Lack of supplies, equipment and other necessities is another challenge for Zimbabwe. Many health facilities function without lights at night. Even in government buildings in Harare, dereliction seems the norm now.

I told a colleague working for an NGO that going up to one of the fifth-floor offices "was a real experience" because the stairwell was almost pitch black and filled with a stench and, in one room along the way, overflowing with refuse. When she returned, she said, laughing, "On the first floor, I wondered if it could get any way worse but by the fourth floor I thought I might need to turn back..."

In rural areas, of course, things are much more difficult.

I visited one of the Cholera Treatment Centres (CTCs) set up to isolate cholera patients and care for them properly. Nurses in clean white uniforms talked about their work. They are overworked and underpaid in a way few can really know, but they continue on.

There are people with intravenous drips in their arms lying on cots with holes cut out of the centre so faeces and urine can drain into buckets.

When patients go to the CTCs they have about a 99 percent chance of living, but when they stay in their villages their chances drop to around 94 percent countrywide, and in some areas much lower.

Water mains leak in the streets. Getting a decent phone connection can be a 30-minute ordeal. Most grocery store shelves are half-full at best.

The switch to the U.S. dollar has improved things but the government continues to try to revise and adjust the Zimbabwean dollar. The most recent step was to lop off 12 zeros and issue yet more new currency notes (from billions back down to hundreds). Zimbabweans are becoming weary of these steps.

A man working at our building showed me his paycheque for Z$260 billion, which was about US$2.60 at the time. All the standard deductions were still there, including the government pension scheme and an AIDS fund.

"I can't even get to and from work with this," he said. "Forget about buying bread for my kids."

Perhaps more than in other countries, the approach to life in general and the emergency response is chilled.

"Development", with its multi-year planning cycles and family postings, has been underway in the country for a long time. Perhaps understandably, getting people into first gear about a six-month-old epidemic is hard to do.

In any case, cholera happens every year in Zimbabwe, so many long-term aid workers take their holidays and continue with coordination meetings.

As one jaded international staffer told me after a coordination meeting: "It's hard to feel any urgency about this - it's about people eating and drinking shit and them not doing the basic things, like washing their hands, to prevent it."

Meetings focusing on cholera take place weekly (all others take place monthly). They are attended by nearly all involved - U.N., ministry officials and NGOs. The meetings are long but usually worthwhile. But the numbers become a bit numbing after a while.

At a meeting last week, a prescient young doctor asked something to the effect of: 'The worst-case scenario was 60,000 people affected. What is the revised figure?'

Gasps and chuckles were heard throughout the room. But within the next few days the revised estimates said that as many as another 55,000 people might get cholera before the outbreak has run its course.

As of March 1, the World Health Organisation estimated cumulative cholera cases at 85,300 with 3,939 deaths.

The government and the opposition may have agreed to share power, but no one is sure that any real power-sharing will take place. In the midst of such uncertainty, people continue to do what they can to get by and pass the time.

With several friends and colleagues, local and foreign, I attended a dance party - crowded, sweaty, chaotic and fun. The country's relatively small number of white Zimbabweans go to their own places, so we were the only "muzugus" there. Beers sold for US$1 and people where generous with buying rounds.

The music was loud, mixing Western and African dance tracks. Where people danced, I noticed pieces of paper on the floor like giant confetti. I picked one up and saw it was a Z$50 billion note.

My Zimbabwean friend came over to me and said: "Throw that away. It is worthless." He laughed and took a swig of his beer.

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