To celebrate his 50th birthday this year, Rejoice Ngwenya has launched the 2010% campaign. Read and listen to some of Rejoice’s ideas here. Below, he explains more about the campaign:

In my native siNdebele language, when a woman delivers a baby it is said: ‘Sekhululekile!’ literary translated into English – she is free!  I have proof that chiKaranga version is ‘kubatsigwa’, meaning ‘to be helped’.  In retrospect, I do appreciate and thank my mother, who exactly fifty years ago this September  will have heaved a sigh of relief after being ‘freed’ with a set of twin boys, one of which is me. This gift had an even deeper meaning coming many years after this wise rural woman married to a sophisticated primary school teacher had had a human avalanche of five baby girls before then. The man was so elated – because those days it was considered  ‘taboo’ not to have baby boys – he showed his ‘rejoicing’ by sticking that label on my birth certificate! What cheek, now everyone who sees my name thinks I am one of those … girls. You are forgiven, Old John. May the God of Abraham remember to keep a place for you in the New Jerusalem!

And so it is for this reason that one Robert Mugabe says that he single-handedly ‘freed’, or ‘helped’ us Zimbabweans from the miserable pregnancy  of nauseating colonialism. We now supposedly collectively owe him a favour, having had tolerated his thirty-year grip on abusive  political power without so much as raising an eyebrow of resistance. “Zimbabwe is 100% free,” he bellows, “and this you ungrateful citizens owe it to me and, and, and my party ZANU-PF.” I’m like No! Old man, all you did was to change the colour of the skin of the tenant at Zimbabwe House from white to black, and that don’t make me free. If you, in 1980, gave me this defective form of ‘100% freedom’, I want the real thing. 2010% will do just fine, and so good bye. Take a break, a long break and nobody will even remember you were once part of my rugged political landscape. The more you hang around, the more I will remember Gukurahundi, DRC, land invasions, Murambatsvina, one billion percent inflation, empty supermarket shelves, poverty, hunger, oppression, petrol queues, AIPPA, POSA… and that’s not very healthy.

If you claim to have ‘delivered’ me from Ian Smith, how come three million of my friends are still hiding in exile? You claim you are free, but travel in a mile long convoy surrounded by Uzis, AK-47ns and ugly m*****f*****s?  Quiet some freedom, Old Man. I want to make it official now, there is no democracy around here, and I might sound so dam crazy! Elections every five years are not the best litmus for democracy. Sadam Hussein had elections too! They have them in Saudi Arabia, Egypt and the DRC, but that don’t make their democracy cool.

For now, democracy seems to be at the bottom rung of my ladder of priorities. Freedom first. No, your retirement first, then perhaps my freedom. Even great football players did retire – Edison Pele, George Best, Maradona, Roger Mila, Doctor Khumalo, Kalusha Bwalya, Zinadine Zidane and Peter Nyama. So what’s up with you Mdala?   You say Zimbabweans, or more accurately, ZANU-PuFfed Zimbabweans will decide when you should retire. Nice try. Fortunately, they are such a small proportion of the voting population, because at the last count in March 2008, you comprehensively lost. Here’s the deal: next time you look out of your tinted Mercedes Limousine escort car, you will see the ‘real’ Zimbabweans in T-shirts, caps and car stickers giving you five cool reasons why you should retire. Peer through the tint and marvel at the number of citizens waving the 2010% free flags. Ask your receptionist, she might even have 2010% free as her screen saver, then you know it’s time to hang your …. Manifesto.  Ses’ khululekile!

Savemore is a vendor in Harare. He says that selling roasted mealie cobs helps him pay for school fees for his siblings as well as the rent and food. His dream is to buy a car so that when the maize season is over he can buy fresh vegetables and sell them around the city. Because he has to put in long hours to make money to support his family, Savemore doesn’t think that he’ll get to see many soccer matches during the World Cup. Being proudly African, he hopes South Africa will win.

Music by Prudence, the film about Prudence Mabhena (21), and the KG Band has just won the Oscar for Best Short Subject Documentary. With determination and their love of music, the band has overcome the stigma and prejudice that many experience associated with disability. Amhlope, Makorokoto, Congratulations!

A friend and I were walking at Borrowdale Race Course recently
(it was for a good cause!) and had a small laugh at this sign.

Students in tertiary institutions have faced a lot of challenges in their academic lives due to the governance crisis in Zimbabwe. Hence the Student Christian Movement of Zimbabwe has given them a platform to say out their anger and bitterness through the ‘I’ Stories Booklet, aimed at helping the students to heal, accept and forgive.

I spoke to the National Coordinator of the Student Christian Movement of Zimbabwe, Mr Innocent Kasiyano, and asked him why they put together the ‘I’ Stories Booklet. I also ask him what challenges were highlighted in the booklet that students are currently facing in tertiary institutions and what the vision of the Students Christian Movement of Zimbabwe is. Listen here

Have you ever heard the type of poetry that gives you goosebumps and sends you unexpectedly into a trance; the type where you just have to laugh in disbelief that anyone could come up with such lilting lyrics and resounding imagery?

I just had that experience at the ‘House of Hunger’ poetry slam – the competition where young poets and spoken word artists take to the microphone to show off their skills.

One participant, who calls himself Mugmumopus, stands before the crowd and recites a satirical poem about politicians and their many hypocrisies:

“I am a vegetarian, but meat is what I like eating in the dark,” he says, ploughing into the many double standards that political leaders offer.

Another poet tells so vividly about listening to some jazz on a kombi ride into town, how the bass beat elevates him into another world where he’s dreaming awake. As he recites the words, his eyes are shut and he wears a smile of ecstasy. You can’t help but get swept up in his dream.

Lazarus, the eventual winner, tells us in the opening line of his piece that he doesn’t write poetry but that rather, he recites notations of God’s thoughts. Everyone buzzes in anxious wait for the rest of his poem.

This is the South African edition of the ‘House of Hunger’ poetry slam, held every last Saturday of the month in Johannesburg. According to the slam coordinator, Linda Gabriel, the competition began in September, taking its name and philosophy from the ‘House of Hunger’ poetry slam that has been running at the Book Café in Harare, Zimbabwe for many years.

But looking at the astounding quality that the South African edition has to offer, it is almost too depressing to mention the deplorable state that the Zimbabwean version of the contest is now in.

I had the opportunity to be in Harare at the beginning of February to witness this sad state for myself.

Imagine a poet coming before an audience to recite a Valentine’s Day poem from his hardcover exercise book and stating the following:

“Valentine’s Day is a day commemorated on 14 February every year; It is a day when lovers exchange gifts of flowers and chocolates…”

That is NOT poetry, but rather a boring oration on the facts of things.

Another poet came to the microphone to deliver a nauseating piece in which every line had to end in ‘-tion’, so that we had ‘nations’ using Ambi ‘lotion’; we had ‘interpretations’ of ‘colonisation’ and ‘privatisation’, and every other such line that you can think of. The poem would have been clever if it had made more sense. But sadly, it was all a jumble of hopeless words.

Dambudzo Marechera, the poet and writer, after whose acclaimed novel the slam is named, must be turning in his grave.

I say this because I know what quality the Zimbabwe ‘House of Hunger’ slam has offered in the past.

At the height of the nation’s political turmoil, the ‘House of Hunger’ became literally that – a house where hungry souls converged to feed each other with words of anger and encouragement; a symbol of protest where performers such as Godobori, Comrade Fatso and Outspoken held the crowds in awe with their incisive thoughts and clever rhymes.

I will never forget one poem by the spoken word artist known as Upmost in which he described getting off the kombi from the city centre to Borrowdale because the conductor had decided to charge whatever fare he wanted.

A solitary figure, he chose to get off and walk the long journey home because he wasn’t prepared to feed into the system of greed that had heightened the anarchy and strife in Zimbabwe.

Today, none of those poets still perform at the slam.

And no one expects that they should have to. A new crop of poets and spoken word artists should have sprung up to carry on the mantle.

But sadly, it seems the new crop didn’t receive the all-important nutrients to ensure a useful harvest.

Instead, they are completely clueless about what makes good delivery of poetry. Elocution, emotion and entertainment are all seriously lacking.

For the sake of the future of poetry in Zimbabwe, I hope that those with the experience and expertise begin to sow back to the youth of our nation. It is only that way that we can sustain art initiatives and be sure that young people comprehend the great reverence with which the arts must be approached.

I am raising my hand up. I hope you’ll join me so that together, we can do something for the sake of the future.