I live in a country that legislates morality; a country where the oppression of certain quarters of the society is institutionalized and where the law is used to police the personal choices of its citizenry, used as justification to intrusively enforce morality in the private lives of people.

I live in a country that daily wakes up to read of the most horrendous acts of inhumanity, shaking their heads as they sip their morning coffee and quickly moving away from the unpalatable story of the man who has raped his 3 month old baby to the cartoon section – thinking ‘what has this world come to?’

I live in a country that condones corruption, daily turning a blind eye to the cash exchanging hands between the commuter omnibus and the strategically placed traffic cop who will shrug off the guilt (if any) by reminding him or herself that survival supersedes any other moral code – he has kids to feed.

I live in a country where men and women make personal choices that impact on the lives of defenseless children, pursuing the thrill of illicit affairs, peeling skins off one another with scalding water, shedding blood with knife stabs and as domestic violence escalates, society looks the other way or offers ineffectual sermons on the need to ‘seek counseling from elders, church, relatives or professionals’.

I live in a country where the bulk of the citizenry have the biblical log stubbornly lodged in their eyes and still claim a right to criticize the ‘speck’ in the eyes of the few who are seen as making ‘unnatural’ choices because (to their way of thinking) they have a right to dictate what grown up adult men choose to do behind closed doors.

Gay people in Zimbabwe (and yes they are there) have been victims of the worst social injustice in recent times – likened to animals, their human dignity has been torn to shreds by the vicious machinery of bigoted public opinion.

I am a sucker for social justice and to me, social justice rests firmly on the belief that every human being has a right to life, a right to hold autonomy over their body and a right to dignity (if you can’t respect their choices at least acknowledge that they have a right to their dignity).

So I ask myself, where is this social outrage, anger and vicious dissention when we need it most? Where are these chiefs (would-be enforcers of morality) when rapists prey on the frail grannies who are under their chieftaincy – where is this vehement and boisterous condemnation of such acts?

Why are these enraged defenders of morality silent where it matters most? Do they challenge the man caught in bed with a married woman, do they vilify the married man who’s having an affair with a school child?

Yet it is almost comical (if one can ignore the superciliousness) to hear how our intolerant society is up in arms against the gay community.

Those who still have breath (after denouncing homosexuality by screaming themselves hoarse) often pose the question, ‘what are we going to do about these gays?’

Well, I was thinking – how about we leave them alone?

I’m certain being homosexual is not a contagion so we can all rest assured that there won’t be an ‘outbreak’ of homosexually oriented people. Among the arguments I have heard made against recognizing the rights of gay people is that what they are doing is ‘immoral, unnatural and contrary to God’s plans’.

It is the latter that leaves me in stitches, because this tendency to brandish the bible like some tool of exorcism meant to subdue gay people into sexual conformity is what defeats the whole purpose of the exercise – the bible above all else teaches love, values tolerance and expressly appoints God alone as the judge.

How selective (not to mention hypocritical) of people to use an article of faith like the bible to impose their own beliefs on others and worse still to go on and enact it into legislation.

I think too many people in our society suffer from the fallacious thinking that gay people actually need our permission, consent or approval to exist, to be what they are and to have the sexual preferences that they have.

They don’t.

Gay people have nothing to apologize for; they don’t owe us heterosexuals any explanation and our refusal to recognize their right to privacy and dignity doesn’t change the fact that they have those rights by virtue of having been born human.

So while we can curtail the expression of the rights and liberties of the gay community by criminalizing their sexual orientation, using legislation to bludgeon them into submission and using other social institutions to victimize, terrorize and degrade them – gay people remain human, not animals.

They are gay, so what?

While the idea may repulse many; I think at the end of the day we have no right (moral or otherwise) to dictate the sexual lives of gay people in as much as they have no right to dictate to us heterosexuals.

I live in a country where there are too many loud prejudiced voices, standing piously on the moral high ground, their sanctimonious gospel of intolerance surpassed only by the blinding glare of their fake halos.

What I resent and challenge is the idea that one person or set of people has a right to impose definitions of reality on others.

To paraphrase, Arthur Schopenhauer’s views, they tell us that (homosexuality) is the greatest state of insanity… that (homosexuality) is wrong; when it is quite obvious that there is nothing in the world to which every man has a more unassailable title than to his own life and person.

I don’t believe in homosexuality. But I also don’t believe that anyone has a right to take what is an article of faith to their selves and legislate it (or impose it on) to other people.

This last year was one of magic and challenge. Watching the Tree of Life healing workshops begin to unfold at grass roots where people with scant resources began to take up the role of healing their communities. Seeing the integrity and self respect that allows people to carry the responsibility of this healing without reward or recognition. And it has been hard, and many have had to give up – but there has been this strange sense of knowing that ‘we can be better than this – wider than this’.

I have found it both inspiring and hard to watch.

But harder to watch, has been the edge where funder and grassroots activist meet. (The first world and the third world?/ old thinking and new thinking?). The world of checks and balances, of project proposals and programmes, and promises, and signed agreements and collecting receipts for the bus fare to town for the woman who was recently raped. The world of black and white, right and wrong, operating at the slow pace of the last person who has been on holiday, and has had a week to recover.

And seeing what happens to the people working in the  risky places living on a few hundred US$ a month or less – and who are made to wait two and a half months on a three month contract before any payment is made. Who have to leave their accommodation, and take their children out of school, but who carry on going.

This relationship is made all the more unbalanced because it is delivered as a gift from the knowing to the unknowing, from the benevolent to the victims. It is not support for the work of the warriors for peace.

There is no dignity in this!

Walking the grey clouds, wondering where  these two worlds meet.

And then towards the end of this year we began to be touched by magic – when amazing individuals acted with love and trust – and we were held in place by their contributions – and we made it through – to another place where we may get funding.  We are blessed.

Magic doesn’t fit in boxes
it streams in clouds

flowing with our dreams
not  our control

it is not held in place by our rules and regulations
but in  the trust of our common intentions

a place without boundaries
in a web of shared resources

living in a moment
- never re-gathered
soaring  the edges
on outspread wings

magic doesn’t fit in boxes
it comes from circles of love

From one of Kubatana’s subscribers living in Glen Norah, Harare:

My dreams for Zimbabwe are to see a transformed nation. A nation where rule of law exists. A nation united and growing to be Africa’s power house. My dream for Zimbabwe is to make Zimbabwe the breadbasket that it is supposed to be. It is to see a Zimbabwe with freedom of expression and democracy. I mean real freedom, not talked freedom. To see the politicians respecting the human race; not treating them as their stools to stand on, and only to throw them away. – James

The passing away of Sam seriously hurts me. That young man was the most down to earth person on earth. He was humble to the core. I appreciated his music and him so much and I guess I should have told him all that when he was still around. I attended his funeral and I was moved by the crowd that came just to bid him fare well. To all the people that came to support the Mtukudzi family I salute you. However I would like to point out that not nearly a half of the people at the funeral attended his shows. If all of you came and supported him while he was still alive, for me that could have been the Zimbabwe I wish to be an artist in and live in. Not to wait for an artists death or any person in general to die before you come in throngs to support him or her. In the hundreds and thousands of people that attended Sam’s burial how many of you had his debut album let alone knew the title of his album. How many of you went to his shows and supported him. And above all how many of you have a pirated copy of his music. I am just saying lets not be semi supportive of anything in life. If you are going to come to someone’s funeral at least be there during their joys and trials while at least they are still alive. Come on Zimbabwe lets not be neither here or there. I suppose just like the way I did not tell Sam I appreciated him it’s the same way people did not come to his shows or buy his CDs while he was still alive. For the sake of the coming generation lets socialize our children differently and teach them its OK to tell and show a person how much we appreciate them while they are still alive.

REST IN PEACE Sam and Owen.

Self interview by Mgcini Nyoni, Poet, Playwright and freelance writer based in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe. With poetry published in FIRE IN THE SOUL 100 poems for human rights (New Internationalist / Amnesty International UK 2009), Intwasa Poetry (Amabooks, Bulawayo 2008), Poetry for Charity Vol 2 (Nigeria 2008). Creative director of Poetry Bulawayo www.poetrybulawayo.webnode.com.

Q: Why poetry?
A: Poetry liberates you. There is no right or wrong way of writing poetry, really. I remember Loyd Robson saying you can paint a picture and call it poetry.

Q: Sounds confusing.
A: Only if you don’t understand poetry. I don’t appreciate hip-hop so I was a bit confused when a hip-hop person was trying to explain that there is good shit and bad shit.

Q: But hip-hop is poetry.
A: What aspect of life is not poetry?

Q: What inspires your poetry?
A: Life. Like if I am thing that I would love bacon with my bread and I can’t afford bacon; It sort of formulates into a poem, like:

they are eating
bacon and eggs
in the state house
The man in rags
eating burnt bread . . .

Q: That’s political.
A: Life is political. Everything can be traced back to a politician either doing well or messing up. Most times they are screwing up.

Q: Is there real hope for poetry?
A: The numbers of artists who write poetry is increasing. And because everyone is literate, there is a lot of self-expression using poetry. Poetry Bulawayo is trying to give all these people a platform.

Q: There is a sort of rebelliousness associated with poetry.
A: Not really. There are people who always take things too far in anything: eating, sex, poetry…

Q: Last word.
A: Brace yourselves; the poetry movement is about to take over the world.

That was the simple status update that one of my friends posted on his Facebook profile.

And that’s when the frenzied Google search for more information began. Could Sam, the exuberant, all-conquering son of the great Oliver Mtukudzi, really be dead just a few short weeks from his 22nd birthday?

I often saw Sam at the Book Café in Harare. Sometimes he played his guitar and sang a few songs – and other times, he just hung around to listen to whatever entertainment was going on.

Admittedly, I never spoke to him, but the great potential coursing through his being was always palpable, always on the verge of eruption.

One Friday night, he held a concert in the very same Book Café. Every tile of the floor was teaming with feet dancing and throbbing to his beat. Every few moments, he bobbed his head back and forth – much like his father does when he becomes immersed in his performance. A look of enjoyment and concentration coloured his face.

I remember lots of swaying, sweat and sing-alongs to each word he amplified through the microphone. I remember that night because I felt release and exhilaration.

Oliver Mtukudzi once sang a song entitled ‘Tiri Mubindu’ (We are in a garden)  that describes us all as being flowers in a garden. Translated from Shona, his words state the following:

A beautiful flower does not survive. We harvest it just as it blooms

The irony of these words is tinged with great sadness, especially when I think of how beautiful Sam’s bloom would have become had it been allowed to grow a little longer.

But he is gone.

The fragrance of his flower, however, will stay with us.

Rest in peace.