From the Mail & Guardian, here’s a bit of beautiful writing for you from the Malawian poet, Frank Chipasula:

I will pierce the silence around our land with sharp metaphors/And I will point the light of my poems into the dark/nooks where our people are pounded to pulp

Mona Eltahawy writing for The Africa Report discusses the power of new media in an article called Facebook Against Faceless Authority. Here it is:

Khaled Said was not the first Egyptian to be brutally beaten by the police. What was unprecedented was the number of Egyptians who have protested police brutality since the 28-year-old businessman died on June 6 – up to 8,000 at one silent protest in his hometown of Alexandria alone. On July 27, the two policemen initially connected to his death stood trial on charges of illegal arrest and excessive use of force. If convicted, they face three to fifteen years in prison.

Social media – Facebook, Twitter, YouTube and blogs – were central to organising those protests and to bringing together activists and many ordinary Egyptians who turned out to demand justice for Said. Around 3.4 million Egyptians use Facebook, meaning that Egypt has the largest subscriber base in the Arab world and 23rd-largest globally. One of the many Facebook groups launched in Said’s memory now has almost 250,000 fans.

Social media have connected Egyptians and amplified both the voices and the courage of those who want to protest against President Hosni Mubarak, who has been in power for 29 years.

Across the Arab world, these forums have given a voice to the voiceless, providing a platform for the most marginalised to challenge authority, be it political, social or religious.

Long ignored by the state-owned media, young people and women are using the Internet to reach those who had been most eager to ignore them.

In Saudi Arabia, which fuels most of the world’s cars but bars half of its population from driving, women’s rights activists have used Facebook and email to collect petitions against the driving ban. One of the activists, Wajeha al-Huwaider, posted a video on YouTube of herself driving as she narrated an open letter to the Saudi interior minister.

In Lebanon, Meem – a group of lesbian, bisexual and transgendered women – uses a website and Twitter to offer shelter and support.

The desire to take on both the current regime and the old guard of their own movement compels young Muslim Brotherhood members in Egypt to blog. One of them, Abdelmonem Hahmoud Ibrahim says that he started his blog Ana Ikhwan (I am a Muslim Brother) “so that I can show my true self”. The desire to express oneself and to circumvent censorship has created a thrilling equation in the Arab world: one person + the Internet = one very angry president.

Regimes throughout the region intimidate and arrest bloggers, which begs the question: what do all those rulers, in power for so long, have to fear?

Back in Egypt, young people who have known no other ruler than Mubarak and who realise that any one of them could have been Khaled Said, seize the chance to challenge the state and its once-absolute ownership of the narrative.

The majority of the Arab world is younger than 25 years old. The power of answering back – that is now the power of social media.

Recently Zimbabwe Lawyers for Human Rights published a report regarding access to HIV treatments and corrupt practices by healthcare professionals.

This is blatant exploitation of a minority group by people is positions of relative power. With the health system in such dire straights, we can hardly afford to let corrupt practices flourish in an environment where we are trying to rebuild, and encourage public faith in service delivery. With a bloated civil service, and thousands of nursing graduates seeking employment I am surprised that the government and in particular the Ministry of Health is not eager to appear to be efficient by firing the perpetrators and hiring new staff to replace them.

There’s an insightful article called “Toast Masters” by William Mervin Gumede published in Focus on Africa (October to December 2010).  It’s centred on how power, privilege and all things nice are entrenched amongst a minority elite.  This is something that I, and I believe many others, have always known, have experienced first-hand and have found quite depressing.

The last paragraph really got me thinking.  Apparently, in parts of deepest darkest Africa, there are pockets of democratic success that are enjoying the economic progress that comes with it.  “Bully for Africa” I thought.  How nice that we don’t have to look far across the ocean for examples of good governance.  (You know how the West likes to dictate to us).  I then thought that it would be even nicer if African leaders could be as jealous for their countries as they are for their positions, innumerable assets and vast network of family and friends.  Can you imagine?  One president reads how Botswana created room at the feeding trough for formally marginalised groups.  Irritated by the success of his neighbour, he decides to generously give the entire trough to the poor.  Or in another case, a certain prime minister might discover that his brother in Mauritius has given small businesses substantial access to finance.  Not to be outdone, the honourable one decides that entrepreneurs should not only get funding but they will receive free training, input subsidies and tax rebates. Wouldn’t that be marvellous! Gumede suggests that if the traditional elite adopted a more inclusive approach, it would result in widespread prosperity in society.  Maybe then the masses wouldn’t resent that their lives are controlled by a handful of people.

I went to Danhiko Project’s annual Paralympic Games for the first time. In attendance was the First Lady Grace Mugabe, the Project’s patron, several important looking Zimbabwean government officials, captains of industry etc. 81 clubs from all over the country attended, with athletes participating in a diverse number of sports including swimming, wheelchair basket ball, tennis, and a new sport to me, goal ball.

I have to admit to being impressed by what I saw. The cliché about disabled athletes being brave, spirited and determined is exactly that because it’s true. These are not people to be pitied, or looked down upon. Neither are they helpless. But in society that discriminates based on difference, that is what often happens.

There were a lot of journalists covering the story that day, as evidenced by the extensive coverage to be found in the Herald and on ZBC. It is unfortunate though, that the games, the participants and even the Danhiko Project were just a backdrop to a story framed as ‘what the First Lady did on Saturday’. For the majority of the time the cameras were on the First Lady and Government officials.

On the news in the evening what was shown was the First Lady giving a speech about how much she managed to raise for the games (any mention of corporate sponsorship was edited out, yet free advertising is what induces companies to sponsor events in the first place!), and footage of her and several government officials making merry on the dance floor.

What’s even worse is that for television the reporter who filed the story wasn’t even there. ZBC sent a cameraman and googled their way through a five-minute story.

To her credit, the First Lady did try to maintain the focus on the reason the event was held in the first place, for the disabled.

I have a friend, one of many, who is based overseas.  Like thousands of others, she left the country in 2008, at the time when Zimbabwe’s main export was people.  Whilst her adopted home has treated her quite well, recent phone calls have been distinctly nostalgic, with her expressing a longing to return home.  The last time we talked, it came up again.  She was dead serious about coming back.  Somewhat disturbed by the resoluteness in her tone, I asked, for the umpteenth time except more forcefully this time, “but why?”   I quickly pointed out that there was nothing attractive about leaving there to be here, of all places.  If she returned, it would be to a stagnant economy, with no job opportunities and a dodgy social situation.  Despite what many of us had hoped, there was nothing democratic about the change the movement had brought to the government, or life in general.  And unlike the gold rushes recorded in history, which turned out to be quite bountiful for various parts across the globe, sadly, our own diamond rush had not had the same effect.  (Indeed, all that glitters is not gold).  With all Zimbabwe’s issues, coming back would only be to poor prospects for an ordinary existence.

My argument was really sensible but my friend was determined to make me understand her feelings.  She began to make a list of several people who had returned.  This was true.  Certainly, in my own personal circles, I have also observed a slow but steady trickle of Zimbabweans who have come back, to live here, for good!  But why?  It didn’t make sense to me so I put it down to the fact that there are an inconceivable number of people who have a sick desire for the type of punishment that only Zimbabwe can mete out.  Perhaps those who had returned had been enticed back by the minor changes we had experienced; after all, people no longer endure shortages of basic commodities.  But it is no secret that we continue to suffer the effects of shortages in common sense.  Thus, I told my friend that there was (and still is) a lot that needs fixing in health care, schooling, infrastructure, politics and … and … and.

Despite my very logical arguments against her returning, I was rather taken aback by her response, quiet as it was. “But it’s home”.  It reminded me of 2008, when she was preparing to leave to take advantage of her wonderful opportunity abroad.  Despite how bad things were back then, she had second thoughts about going.  Two years ago, I understood her hesitation.  Now that she was mulling over the idea of returning home, that same understanding dawned on me again.  With this realisation, it was my turn to quietly acknowledge, “I guess we are all certifiable.”

There are many Zimbabweans who didn’t go when things got tough.  There are many of us who are still here, in spite of it still being difficult.  “But why?’ I don’t have a definite answer.  But I can appreciate why such a decision would be made, in the same way that I understand what makes Zimbabwe, Zimbabwe and know that that is what informs such a decision.  It can’t be pinpointed to a single thing or explained by anything tangible.  However, there’s certainly something we know, value, and dare I say, love, about this place.  It’s the thing that keeps us calling it home and that makes us feel at home.

In the end, the focus of our conversation turned to what my friend missed about home.  Turns out, they were some of the things that, being here, I took for granted.   Thinking positively, not only lifted the mood of our conversation but it also lifted my spirits long after I had said bye.  (There is truth in some of that pop-psychology mumbo-jumbo).

Of course, it didn’t take long for something to irritate me about life in Zimbabwe – irritation is a given.  But, I have become less focused on it and have found that what works better is to focus on the positive.  I have begun to compose a “But why?” list of my own – reasons for sticking around.  Maybe, having accepted and explored your own insanity, you could find stuff to add to this list too:

1.    A little bit of rustic, a dash of modernity; this is the absolute best place to start a family and raise children.
2.    With the influx of imported foods, I have a greater appreciation for our local produce.  There’s nothing as delicious and wholesome as homegrown Zimbabwean.
3.    The sunrise over the Matobo Hills will touch you in a special place.
4.    Its musical; the melodic chatter of a familiar vernacular language.  Just have a listen to the animated banter of a group of women.
5.    Some may find us docile but I’d say that we have a peaceful spirit that persists no matter how far we are pushed to the edge.