I’ve been watching the unfolding events in Iran with quite some envy. The protests following what is regarded as a stolen election are impressive, more so because they’re taking place in Iran which is consistently described as repressive. Footage being shown on major news channels show what riot police are like the world over – vicious and uncompromising. Yet, 6 days on, protesters are still going out onto the streets making their displeasure known and felt, and forcing the Iranian authorities to display their repression in all its ugliness. Really, we Zimbabweans have no excuse for our apathy and our victim mentality. The lament that we’d be shot or beaten if we protested over our (many) stolen elections has become a pitying whine. People have been and are protesting repression all over the world yet we cower in our littler corner of the world. If we’d behaved differently; if we had taken the courage that sustains us in our homes whilst we “make a plan” quietly suffering the dictatorship of Robert Mugabe, and used that courage to spill out onto the streets in the vast numbers that despise the small dictator then we’d be experiencing something quite different from this odious, half baked political arrangement that we currently have. As John Githongo, the Kenyan corruption buster recently said . . .

Africans are the most subservient people on earth when faced with force, intimidation, power. Africa, all said and done, is a place where we grovel before leaders.

On Monday, the front page story on the state controlled Zimbabwe Herald newspaper announced: National healing begins. The article quoted from Vice President Joyce Mujuru’s address at a (belated!) International Women’s Day event in Bindura. Apparently, Mujuru said that a national healing taskforce, set up by the government, “is going to ensure that all our grievances are addressed to the satisfaction of the involved parties. The national healing programme is coming down to the grassroots and will leave no stone unturned in handling every grievance.”

Something about this statement left me uneasy. Maybe it is the top down approach that government seems to be taking regarding “national healing.” I do think some kind of national reconciliation process might be an important part of resolving some of Zimbabwe’s national scars. But for this process to be truly meaningful and effective, I think ordinary Zimbabweans need first to be involved in agreeing on what this process should look like. What are the objectives? Will there be prosecution or just discussion? Is there some kind of process for restorative measure, or is it just a space to air testimonials? How will those who testify be protected from future retaliation?

Also worrying about Mujuru’s remarks at Bindura was the dismissive way in which she spoke about violence on the ground. “Do not waste time fighting each other,” she told the crowd. “We, your leaders, would be drinking coffee together. President Mugabe mooted the idea of the inclusive Government after realising the enemy was infiltrating us and taking advantage of our political differences. Come and see us at Parliament, we will be drinking and eating together across the political divide.”

This wilful rewriting of history – and the deliberate distancing of top political leaders from violence carried out on their behalf by those much farther down the political tree – is deeply worrying. How genuine can a proposed government healing process be if political leaders are not willing to take responsibility for their role in encouraging violence?

A recent Institute for Security Studies article by Max du Plessis and Joloyn Ford outlines and articulate several reasons both for and against a truth and reconciliation process for Zimbabwe. One reason against a Zimbabwean TRC is that “social forgetting” is a valid strategy for processing grievances. In Sierra Leone, for example, the ordinary citizenry, “who were tired, afraid and too well acquainted with ‘the truth’ of the violence,” preferred to “forgive and forget.” Other reasons not to engage in an organised national healing process include a desire to leave the past behind, potential of the process to be a source of conflict, that it would be a waste of scarce and precious resources, and that there is a cynicism associated with reconciliation that is seen as to strictly political.

However, the authors write, “most experience in other societies points the other way, especially when there are concerns about who gets to decide what is ‘forgotten.’ The passive response to Rhodesian-era abuses has left many legacies sill affecting Zimbabwe today, including a culture of impunity. Other reasons for a TRC include the symbolic closure of a violent chapter of Zimbabwe’s history, creating a forum for forgiveness, and a desire to channel tensions into more constructive outlets.

Importantly the paper asks: “Where will Zimbabewans place themselves in relation to politics and principles of justice in the current interim phase – and who gets to decide for Zimbabweans on these issues?”

Worryingly, in light of documented reports of ongoing political violence in Domboshawa, Chilimanzi, Cahsel, Marondera, Masvingo, Mberengwa, Mudzi, Mutoko, Muzarabani, Odzi and Shamva, it may be too soon to think about a TRC for Zimbabwe’s poltical violence since 2000. In the past two months, 27 farms have been invaded, displacing 3310 farm workers and their families. While violence continues, an arbitrary “end” date, like the swearing in of the interim government, might leave many important current cases unresolved. Surely it is too soon to begin a TRC whilst violence is still occurring? What about fears of retaliatory attacks against those who testify, if peace has not yet been achieved on the ground?

Zimbabweans deserve the respect of substance, not patronising political posturing. We need a real end to the violence, actual peace, and genuine healing.

On Friday the Tree of Life team sat with parents from Epworth and Whitecliffe communities and heard about their fears  for their children.

This time last year
when the youth militia rampaged through their neighbourhoods in ‘preparation’ for the elections
the children went through the most terrifying ordeals one can imagine.
They were taken to the militia bases,
they watched their mothers being raped,
their fathers beaten and tortured
and they were beaten and raped themselves
they watched their houses being burned down
and their parents killed

the fabric of their lives destroyed

and a year later they still live in the ashes
with old memories haunting their dreams

Nothing has been done for the children

‘They visited hell’ said one mother who had her 8 year old son taken for 3 months
‘and they still live in fear – for it has not gone away
they are still training the militia for the next elections’

And then we began speaking of the healing
and of Chiyedza offering her skills in drama and counselling
to go out to the communities to help teach new ways of working
We heard people offer their small houses as venues
and their time to learn techniques of counselling
These people who have been stripped of their livelihoods
volunteering to help protect the orphans
and repair the damage
what little they had – they were prepared to share.

‘For these children are the parents of the new generations’ they said

Utterly shaken we came out of the meeting
to the news that the years funding we had asked for
had been reduced to a bridging loan for 3 months

Throughout civic society
those groups who, on meagre budgets, have helped with the healing
and with gathering the orphans
the groups that help hold the dignity of the nation
are struggling to survive

“there is no money for Zimbabwe (global economic crisis/ unstable government/uncertainty/hold up in funding/etc.) sorry for that”

so we have to wait
wait for the children
a year
a lifetime

It is mid-winter
the leaves are falling
the grass is dry
beige-gold world  lit by the first crimson lucky bean trees
and filled with butterflies

Back when I was a little girl, in Bulawayo, my sister and I would frequent the Indian grocery store down our road to buy ourselves the cheap fruity sweets that cost only a cent each.

“Warrr you want?” would ask the old Indian storekeeper’s wife, purring away in her broken English. At her question, we would let out a few unrepressed giggles, and then point to the clear jar on the counter, filled with the bright-coloured balls of sweets.

Meanwhile the storekeeper would be carrying on the most laughter-inducing conversations with one or other of his Zimbabwean employees. “You!” he would shout, “Hamba thatha sinkwa, faka lapha.”

In translation, this is an instruction, given in IsiNdebele, for the employee to go to the delivery van parked outside and bring in the loaves of bread ordered for the shop for that day.

But though understandable, the instructions would be given in what is often called ‘chilapalapa’ – language that is neither syntactically correct, nor complete, but which is coherent enough to be understood.

Because we were so young and laughed ruthlessly at the couple’s language gaffes, my sister and I were not the shop owners’ favourite customers at all.

In fact, the storekeeper’s wife eventually took to hiding that jar of one-cent sweets each time she saw us passing outside the shop window, just so we wouldn’t come in.

I often cringe when I think about how rude we were.

But as life would have it, today I find myself in the very same situation. Little children, probably the same age as I was, laugh at me now, each time I try to string together a sentence in German.  Suddenly, I am the foreigner whose thoughts are unintelligible!

What goes around, indeed, comes around!

Having been in Germany for three weeks now, and having taken a short German lesson course during that time, I feel it only right that I should try to blend in with the crowd with a few sentences in the local language.

But alas, my tongue almost always fails me when it comes to all those guttural sounds that one must produce when speaking German.

And this is why the little boys and girls tug at their mothers’ coats and laugh as I try to order a meal or find out how much something costs. Perhaps it’s better that I can’t understand what they will be saying to their mothers as they point at me, giggle then whisper in German!

How degrading it feels when the shoe is on the other foot!

But kids will be kids.

The grown-ups are always quite patient, though, and often willing to try their own shaky English when we can’t seem to click in German. And what ends up ensuing is an informative conversation in pure pidgin. “Where is die … err… die zug, please,” I might say, asking for directions to the train station. ( I always seem to get lost when I meander about on my own!) “Dast ist over ze,” the person might respond, pointing in the direction of the train station. “Ah, dankeschon,” I will respond, giving my thanks in unadulterated German, before scampering off to the station to bother yet another stranger with more of my Ger-nglish!

I’ve just finished Petina Gappah’s collection of short stories, An Elegy for Easterly.  In a recent interview with Emmanuel Sigauke, Gappah said “I think of my writing as a compulsive form of theft.”

You can see this clearly in Elegy for Easterly. The stories explore key issues in modern Zimbabwe – inflation, the Diaspora, family, relationships economic hardships. Each story has a different narrator – which enables these issues to be explored from a range of different angles, by a variety of voices. But, because the stories are all rooted in Zimbabwe – and therefore share a common background, some of the details overlap from one story to the next. A reference made in one part comes back from a different perspective in another.

I found Gappah’s book also gave a useful reminder of what we have lived through in the past few years. Just six months into dollarisation – and the concomitant stabilisation of prices and disappearance of inflation – and the confidence with which I counted trillions and quadrillions, and the ease with which I converted billion dollar prices into US dollar costs at an ever changing exchange rate is slipping. I can feel myself going soft. So it was interesting to read stories that so clearly drew on that period, and be reminded of those times.

But even as Gappah acknowledges the ways in which her own experiences, and others’ feed into her fiction, her stories are still that: stories, works of fiction.

So I was taken aback to read Richmore Tera’s scathing review of Gappah’s work in The Herald on 8 June. Gappah: Today’s Judas Iscariot, the article headlines. It goes on to dismiss Gappah as a running dog of the West, who “sold her soul, words and country to her Western paymasters, all for the proverbial 30 pieces of silver.”

“It is clear,” Tera writes, “that her only mission in the book was to blacken the image of the President.”

Well now. It’s unfortunate if some of what Gappah writes makes Tera uncomfortable on behalf of Zimbabwe’s President. But An Elegy for Easterly is clearly rooted in Zimbabwe. It shines a light not only on the country’s challenges but on its potential, its beauty, its language, its history, the promises of the liberation struggle and its culture and unique identity. How does this make Gappah a running dog of the West?

In her own blog entry commenting on this article, Gappah sheds a bit more light on the author, Richmore Tera, but even she seems confused as to where the vitriol is coming from.

Prime Minister Morgan Tsvangirai has been in the US this week, fundraising for Zimbabwe’s recovery. So far, he hasn’t scraped together nearly as much as he is looking for. But all the money in the world won’t help Zimbabwe if this is the kind of journalism that continues to fill the pages of our state newspaper.

I’ve been dipping in and out of the news around South Africa’s election, particularly around the curious ways gender and sexuality seem to have played out there.

Both the number of First Ladies to now be catered for, and the number of men in Helen Zille’s cabinet seem to be at issue. And somewhere at the core seems to be the ANC Youth League, shaking their fists and making their statements.

On the one hand, Jonny Steinberg reckons that Zuma is seen as “more of a man” by many young black South Africans, because he has more wives.

On the other hand, Marianne Thamm reckons that the real problem is that men’s and women’s experiences of sex, and particularly their understanding of what constitutes “good sex,” are so fundamentally different, it’s no wonder it’s hard for the one side to understand the other.

Meanwhile, we have Helen Zille explaining that she just didn’t have many women to choose from when it came to selecting her cabinet – and the DA is opposed to quotas.

In all of these various arguments and explanations, however, one thing is clear – it’s the arguments that make sense – the ones in which the author tries to Explain things – are the ones that are the most helpful.

Take, for example, a recent discussion with Radio 702 talk show host Redi Direko interviewing ANC Youth League Spokesperson Floyd Shivambu.

Direko asks Shivambu to explain what, exactly, the ANC Youth League meant by saying that Helen Zille appointed boyfriends and concubines to her cabinet. When asked to clarify, Shivambu says “There’s no other explanation you can give except to say that the reality and the truth; that these are her boyfriends that she continues to sleep around with and we stand by that particular statement.”

But what do you mean, “sleeping around,” Direko asks. “Is she having sex with them?”

Shivambu responds:

Sleeping around means sleeping around. There’s no other explanation that we can give except that she is sleeping around. Unfortunately, you can ask me a million times. We’re not going to change that explanation. We mean what we say and we say what we mean. Exactly that.

And it gets better . . . Read a transcript of the interview here. And the saga continues – you can also read Shivambu’s response to the interview on his own blog here.