Harare, Zimbabwe -- You can sip a cappuccino and snack on a wedge of cheesecake at a trendy Harare cafe while starving women in the Zimbabwean countryside eat worms scavenged from rotting fruit.

In a city where a man was stabbed to death for a loaf of bread last week and the rich can still buy Danish cheese, Zimbabweans are obsessed with two subjects -- food shortages and prospects for the end of President Robert Mugabe's reign.

"There is no doubt that a power struggle is under way within the ranks of the party," says a former government official who lost his job after he was suspected of sympathizing with the opposition. "The hard men in the party can see the writing on the wall. They know the world wants Mugabe gone, and they don't want to go down with him."

Zimbabweans have plenty of reasons to want to get rid of Mugabe. The country has been isolated internationally since his government carried out a land reform program that drove most white commercial farmers, who were responsible for much of the country's food production, from their land. Since then, drought in southern Africa, combined with the disruptions in farming, have pushed more than half of the population to the brink of starvation.

Now there are hints that after 22 years in power, Mugabe may be on shaky ground.

Earlier this month, the government-owned newspaper, the Sunday Mirror, reported that two of Mugabe's closest aides, Defense chief Vitalis Zvinavashe and parliamentary speaker Emmerson Mnangagwa, were negotiating a deal with opposition politicians to allow Mugabe to retire in exile in return for immunity from prosecution for human rights violations during his long rule.

In this scenario, Mugabe would settle in another country, probably Malaysia.

Back home, members of his ruling party would form a unity government with the opposition Movement for Democratic Change, allowing several years for a return to stability before elections could be held.

Since the plan was made public, however, Mugabe as well as Zvinavashe and Mnangagwa have vigorously denied that any such scheme exists.

"This was a very tentative approach," says Paul Nyati, official spokesman for the MDC. "What is needed is a bold move by members of the ruling party,"

Zimbabweans are running out of patience with Mugabe. A recent survey by the Mass Public Opinion Institute, a Harare think tank, found that 65 percent of respondents wanted Mugabe to immediately announce his retirement plans.

International pressure is also increasing. The United States, Britain, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, and the European Union have proposed "smart sanctions," which target individuals rather than countries by freezing personal and business assets held by Zimbabwe's leadership. And Washington and the European Union have slapped an arms embargo on the country.

Britain's cricket team has even considered boycotting the World Cup matches to be held in Zimbabwe, a snub equal to an American team refusing to attend the Super Bowl.

Meanwhile, the country is descending into chaos.

LONG LINES FOR FOOD

The police had to move in to quell food riots in recent weeks in Harare and Bulawayo, the country's second-largest city. Inflation is increasing by 175 percent per month, the gross domestic product fell 12 percent last year, and life expectancy has plummeted to 44 from 60 a decade ago. The United Nations reported last year that three-quarters of the population is living in abject poverty.

Food reserves have evaporated. The World Food Program estimates that 6.7 million of the country's 12 million inhabitants desperately need food aid.

Hunger is stoking the public's anger at the regime. Until now, the government has been able to keep the fury in check by promising food aid in return for support. But its ability to buy off dissenters is diminishing along with its dwindling resources.

"They are running on empty. They can't dole out favors like they used to. They have nothing left to give," says the official. "I guess what we are all waiting for now is to see whether Mugabe is going to walk the plank by himself or if his own people will have to give him a push."

Until the leadership issue is resolved, ordinary Zimbabweans have to fend for themselves.

"If I see a queue, I join it right away," says Gift Timba, a 32-year-old taxi driver. "I often don't know what I am queuing for, but it is probably something I need. If not, I can always sell my place in line to someone else."

PEOPLE HOARD GAS IN HOMES

Since December, when Libya stopped oil shipments after Zimbabwe reneged on payments, fuel has also been in short supply. Until late last year, Zimbabwe had the world's least-expensive fuel. A liter of gas cost just 4 cents, compared with 13 cents for a bottle of mineral water. Now it is almost impossible to find.

"The apartments where I live smell of petrol because people are hoarding the stuff at home in drums," says 42-year-old schoolteacher Chris Mutiwi, eyeing the kilometer-long line of cars ahead of him outside a suburban gas station. "My wife doesn't sleep at night because she is terrified that a fire will break out in the building. If it does, the whole place will go up like a bomb."

Some of the longest lines are for food staples. Maize and cooking oil, vital nourishment to the poor, are scarce. Bread is still available, but customers have to wait for up to a day for a single precious loaf.

"You can get imported things like ketchup and cornflakes in the shops if you have the money, items I could live without," says 32-year-old housewife Dolly Fairburn. "Essentials like bread are just not available. Last year the country's only cotton-wool factory closed down, which means that you can't find sanitary towels anywhere. It seems petty when people are starving, but it is those small things that just wear you down."

Beyond the limits of Harare, the true consequences of the shortages present a bleak image. Gaunt men and women till dusty fields waiting for rain that rarely comes. They wave desperately at passing cars in the hope of a handout. "We must compete with baboons for fruit on the trees," says an old man at a roadside store at Masembura, a district in the heart of Mugabe's ancestral tribal lands. "If foreigners do not bring us food, we will die, because the rains and Mugabe are not going to save us."

The government has tried to limit growing public discontent by restricting the deluge of bad news. Five foreign journalists -- an American, two Germans, a Finn and a Kenyan -- were detained by police last month while on assignment, and foreign correspondents have effectively been banned from the country because they are blamed for Mugabe's poor international image. Last week, the state broadcaster was told to stop airing long-term weather forecasts that only promise more drought.