People in Zimbabwe’s high density suburbs (townships) around town are now geared for the rainy season and land preparation. These preparations are being done to small pieces of open land that they have allocated to themselves.

But because of scarcity, unavailability and high prices pegged in US dollars few people have any fertilizer. However, there was the introduction of organic/urea fertilizer sometime last year from China to Zimbabwe. Though this was not taken seriously by most farmers in the country, maybe because of the source it was coming from, or because it was their first time and they were afraid of destroying their crops from the specifications which were complicated.

But Zimbabweans are so creative to quickly adjust to the situation. There is raw sewage coming out of the burst drainage pipes and people are making some canals to divert waste to these small pieces of land (A3s). I have seen people with sacks full of dried sewer matter wheeling it in push carts to their fields to act as manure or organic fertilizer.

The City Council used to clear the roadside drains in preparation for the rainy season but due to shortages of trucks and fuel they can no longer do that. People have taken over the duty of not only clearing but collecting manure for the benefit of their small pieces of land. But think of the stench smell when it rains and they want to weed the fields dressed with this unprocessed organic fertilizer.

The government should have taken this food security seriously and made agricultural inputs like fertilizers and seeds much cheaper so that they can be affordable by everyone and boost the food production in the country.

A couple days ago was my birthday. I went through the usual range of emotions around being happy and noting I’m creeping further into being less young. Amidst this I didn’t skimp on celebrating (thanks to very kind friends) and I reveled in a much loved hobby of mine, finding new favorite songs. Venturing into new music dates me, and worse I caught myself saying: Kids today. I don’t understand their music. Why do the boys where trousers ten sizes too big? And those skimpy tops and high heels girls wear can’t possibly be comfortable. Did I sound like my mother or what!

Still I went onward in search of a cool new song. One with a message. One that would make me think about the world in which we live. Sometimes a tall order given music today seems dominated by teenagers. Even with poignant lyrics I wonder how a 16 year old really understands the intricacies of what they belt out. I stumbled across a song by Rihanna, who I’m told is all the rage. I had doubts since her last hit was about an umbrella. But this new song ­ Disturbia ­ got me thinking about ranges of emotions. I’ve put some of the lyrics at the end and below are reworked lyrics along with a bit about wonder and what is disturbia.

Harare is one city of wonder Rihanna might be referencing. Wonder because it still functions. Disturbia for what it does to you. The politicians don’t play nice and some of the citizens might just go under. Just to get by each day is a disease of the mind. It can control you. The city of wonder, it’s a thief in the night. To come and grab you. It can creep up inside you. And consume you. Yet many people manage to go on. Nothing heard, nothing said. Can’t even speak about it. Better think twice. Your train of thought will be altered. So if you must falter be wise. Your mind is in disturbia.

It’s not just Zimbabwean cities which expose disturbia. As much as Obama’s campaign and victory are profound, they also make me think about how US cities are those of wonder. Time will tell if Team Obama delivers their enlightened visions. The wonder is to think about the beauty of those possibilities. And the wonder is to recognize the mixed messages and disturbia so deeply embedded in the minds of far too many Americans. Obama’s new title President-Elect doesn’t change the (unintended?) message when McCain corrected a supporter by saying: Obama is a decent man, he’s not an Arab. Nor does it change that someone at a Palin rally shouted out “kill him” (presumably referring to Obama. The US often hides behind labels such as democracy, land of opportunity, or some such. When simultaneously a whole lot of Americans are, like there’s no tomorrow, unwilling to embrace difference and diversity. Thankfully over 50% of Americans felt Obama was the better candidate. Staying up all night to witness this victory afforded me a rare moment of not minding being an American. But I’m also not hesitant to point out that even though Zimbabwe is perhaps the more obvious and immediate wondrous space caught in disturbia, Obama too is up against a lot of disturbia.

What’s wrong with me?
Why do I feel like this?
I’m going crazy now

No more gas in the rig
Can’t even get it started
Nothing heard, nothing said
Can’t even speak about it
All my life on my head
Don’t want to think about it
Feels like I’m going insane
Yeah

It’s a thief in the night
To come and grab you
It can creep up inside you
And consume you
A disease of the mind
It can control you
It’s too close for comfort

Put on your green lights
We’re in the city of wonder
Ain’t gonna play nice
Watch out, you might just go under
Better think twice
Your train of thought will be altered
So if you must falter be wise
Your mind is in disturbia
It’s like the darkness is the light
Disturbia
Am I scaring you tonight
Disturbia
Ain’t used to what you like
Disturbia
Disturbia

I recently read Time Magazine’s special issue on Heroes of the Environment. More than I expected to be the case, I found the heroes inspiring. It’s fascinating to see 30 examples of what people all over the globe do to protect the little patch of earth they live on as well as the earth we all share. I can’t pick a favorite hero because the first one was my favorite, then I read the next one and that was my favorite and so on.

I did wonder if it was by accident that the only two black heroes happened to appear one after the other. The first was Liberian Silas Kpanan’Ayoung Siakor who states the mission of his NGO is to look at environmental issues “from a human perspective. It’s not about greenery. It’s about people whose lives have been affected by the unsustainable and destructive exploitation of resources.” Siakor was able to draw attention to President Charles Taylor’s use of logging profits to fund his war, which, in turn, was integral in the 2003 UN ban on the export of Liberian timber and in developing the war-crimes charges against Taylor.

The second black hero is Van Jones, an African American, who is working to stop what he calls “eco-apartheid”. The Time reporter describes Jones as the “vanguard of a necessary change in the green movement. In the past, environmentalism in the US has been a mainly white and white-collar phenomenon, one that had little resonance among working class and minorities.” Jones’ organization is predicated on the idea that building a green economy could represent a job creation program for minorities and the working class.

Both of these heroes interestingly direct attention to the devastating ways political corruption, political violence, class differences, and poverty disproportionately affect the human condition. Issues we tend to think of more through the lens of economics as opposed to through the lens of environmentalism. In Zimbabwe, the human condition is suffering terribly. Journalists, analysts, bloggers, and passengers on combies are quick to speak about this through the lens of economics. For example, the introduction of US$ products is a hot topic and most speak about this in very technical economic language: it’s messing things up. I mean how can it be good to have an economy that’s partially US$ and partially ZWD. It’s not right, the volume of US$ a Spar clerk will handle in one day only to then receive their salary in ZWD.

As heroes of the environment, Silas Kpanan’Ayoung Siakor and Van Jones help us better understand the full impact of US$ products in Zimbabwe. The emergence of US$ products is the result of political corruption and they exacerbate class differences and poverty. Equally, US$ products are impacting the environment in Zimbabwe. Walk 100 metres on any street in Harare and I guarantee you will see 100 empty beer cans. That litter did not exist when this country was producing and selling locally brewed bottled beer. I mean who would toss a bottle with a deposit attached to it. In the end, the economy of Zimbabwe is unjustly sending people to the poor house and the economy of Zimbabwe litters likes nobody’s business.

oh for a valium. a scotch. a well dog. a not so fucked up country. and a beach.

That’s a text message I just sent a friend after a visit to the dentist when I was feeling bleak.

Walking up the stairs to Dr Paul’s rooms I have say that I got a bit anxious. The sound of generators filled the air. And I began to wonder if they would need to refuel at a crucial moment whilst I was In The Chair.

Usually Dr Paul’s sound system belts out sexy rumba but instead, in an effort to lift the nurses spirits, he’d succumbed to one of those jazzed up Christmas cds. So I found myself tapping my toes to ABBA singing that the New Year is going to be a really good one.

When it comes to drills and masks I’m prone to panic attacks so I took along a copy of The New York Review of Books that I’d just received in the mail. I thought I might calm myself down and cheer myself up by looking through the personal ads. I was momentarily side tracked by an advert that I’d respond to given half a chance:

Beautiful, quick-witted optimist seeks fifty-something left-winger with a strong sense of humor and enough money to buy her a martini from time to time

Being quick-witted and optimistic are pretty much mandatory for surviving Zimbabwe. Maybe we’d be a match made in a failed state.

I met a woman recently who described the situation in Zimbabwe as “a long silent scream”. Zimbabwe is dying, and it’s dying silently. We need to derive confidence and courage from the WOZA women and their direct action in confronting the Mugabe regime on the crisis in Zimbabwe. More NGOs, more pressure groups, more people, more politicians need to get out of the queues, the boardrooms, offices and hotels: we need to take our outrage to the streets. Enough is enough.

An excerpt from The New York Poem by Sam Hamill reminds us that we can’t give up:

. . . a mute sadness settles in,
like dust, for the long, long haul. But if
I do not get up and sing,
if I do not get up and dance again,
the savages will win . . .

Failed state service on South African Airways

The 720pm flight out of Johannesburg leaves after 8. The steward slaps down a tray of food. A limp piece of meat sags on a layer of “seen better days” pasta. The bread roll is stale. There isn’t a choice. Sorry if you’re vegetarian. Good service doesn’t apply on flights to a failed state. The lights are dim at Harare Airport. We identify our luggage with some difficulty. The sign on the toilet says, Sorry for the inconvenience but the toilet is broken. As is the rest of the country.

No money for parking

I head out to the airport at about 1015pm to pick up my partner. This time the 720pm SAA flight gets in at 1040. I drive slowly wanting to time my arrival so I can effect a stop and grab. As I approach the airport I see car after car pulled over on both sides of the road. At first I think the little dictator and his motorcade is about to round the bend. Of course what was I thinking, he’s round the bend already. But like me, countless other Zimbabweans don’t have enough cash for parking so we wait down the road instead and watch the planes come in. The full moon and my hunting dog keep me company. A face looms at my window. “Excuse me ma’am, has the SAA flight landed?”

Midnight emergencies

My dog Frank looks pregnant. His stomach swells before my very eyes. It’s midnight. What to do? Is Second Street Extension 24hr vet still functioning? Is there any power? Are there drugs? Is there anyone on duty experienced enough to deal with my best loved dog? Tick all of the above. Thanks to Soloman and his team Frank is home today, worse for wear but still alive, for now. A reminder to check my cynicism at the door.

Subscription sustenance

My issue of The Sun arrives. The articles make me think, give me insight and hope. Viktor Frankl was right when he said, What is to give light must endure burning.