It is interesting that only a few weeks ago, the government was being extolled by some incorrigibly optimistic watchers of the Zimbabwean crisis for “opening” up media space by licensing new publications and also calling for applications from prospective broadcasters. Media reform is one of the sticking points of the GPA and the GNU that it birthed, and one has to imagine the reluctance of the former ruling party to give in to the demands of its sleeping partners based, of course, on its own historic knowledge of how these “tools” were used in the hands of the “white enemy” back then.

Yet there is something about some “analysts” here who are always quick to see reforms in the making each time the unflinching Zanu PF lifts its finger to scratch itself. They imagine the party is about to move the mountain of political, economic, media or whatever reform demanded by progressive forces and other people of goodwill. Yet here we are this week being told yet again that some scribes from the alternative media have once again been made very reluctant guests of the police. The latest arrest of these journalists coincided with Webster Shamu telling a gathering of SADC journos that there are scribes who continue to do the bidding of Western and other forces, a line favoured by oligarchs when referencing the private media.

That Shamu does not raise a finger – even to scratch his head – about these continued arrests tells some he could well be colluding with the police, after all, the cops have publicly avowed their allegiance to his party! How else would “ordinary” Zimbabweans read into it? Is not ours a land filled with political conspiracies? You hear it in kombis, pubs and yes, newsrooms! One just has to listen to ZBC bulletins and the unstinting dressing down of Biti and Tsvangirai to get the gist of how the Minister of Journalists favours his own. Thus it is that it is apparent that anyone dreaming of reforms of any sort in this country as long as Zanu PF lives is surely indulging in an exercise that will only give birth to ulcers and migraines.

A few days ago I was stopped at a police roadblock on my way home. While the officer was writing my ticket, he commented,

‘Ah sisi munogona kunosa.’ (not a nice way of saying you speak Shona with an accent)

Then he proceeded to try and get my phone number.

I have never been black enough. When I was very young my family conducted a roora ceremony for my aunt and we all moved kumusha for a week. Not having any other girls my age to play with, and having been shooed away from the cooking fire whenever the older women wanted to talk about men too many times to keep trying, I spent much of my time indoors reading. One day my older cousin recited Roses are red, violets are blue, you brother and me are black, but what are you?’

It was over twenty years ago, and I was half way through primary school at the time, but it was cruel.

I’ve never really liked that cousin since then.

When I first returned from the Diaspora, relatives would ask my mother if I still spoke Shona and observed our traditions. The implication being that I was no longer one of them.

‘Handiye apfugama achimuoberayi zakanaka?’ (Isn’t she the one who knelt and greeted you properly?) My mother would reply.

Later, I dated a man whose mother objected to our relationship because I was too privileged to be a ‘good African woman’. Her assumption was that because I had grown up kuma ‘dale-dale’, had attended private school, and lived outside Zimbabwe briefly, I was too ‘sala’ to qualify as such. Once in a heated conversation she asked him

‘Kamusalad kako kanombogona kubika sadza here?’ (Does your salad girlfriend even know how to cook sadza?)

I am not alone, there a few born-frees out there who grew up much the same way I did. Criticisms of the born-free generation are not all equal. For those who grew up in the middle class, and are perceived to have been granted access to privilege and lost their culture and language in the process, it holds a particular disdain. There are times when we are faced with the difficult choice of either embracing our otherness, or apologizing for the way we were raised.

I don’t believe in apologizing for the way my parents raised me. Especially to anyone who’s view of tradition, culture and history is narrowly defined in terms of where in Harare I grew up, how I speak Shona, and whether I cook or eat sadza. There is more to us than that, and it’s a shame that those who are loudest in defining our cultural identity believe that those things constitute the totality of who we are.  I think that is a very simple minded reduction of a complex culture, and a language that is steeped in a rich history. What I, and others like me, are judged for is not our acculturation, but rather that person’s lack of access to privilege.

Just wondering about Harare’s very weird business zoning laws. Remember back in the day when you had to be in a designated business area if you wanted to operate a business? No more. Imagine the poor suckers who own a house next to Paula’s Place, the re visioned Caiscais Restaurant. Paula’s is situated next to residential properties on Samora Machel Avenue in Eastlea. Don’t know about you but I wouldn’t relish living next door to a restaurant that’s going to have countless cars coming and going, the noise of happy go lucky patrons and the smell and sizzle of countless peri peri chickens on the grill. Isn’t it time that the City of Harare showed some sense when it comes to issuing (if they actually do) permits to businesses operating in residential areas? It’s an indictment on how many people don’t want to go into our city centre anymore. That’s where many of our restaurants used to be.

I was having a coffee this morning in the garden of a cafe in Avondale. I noticed a man walk through the gate with a presidential portrait tucked under each arm. Mugabe moving sideways through the garden; gave me a bit of shock. He went into the cafe and came out a little while later still carrying both portraits. I gathered he was going door to door on an enterprising income-generating mission. You’ve heard of encyclopaedia salesmen. Well here in Zimbabwe we’ve got presidential portrait salesmen. His luck must have picked up though because later I saw him running across Second Street to catch a kombi. This time he was one portrait down.

I was distressed to read about ZANU PF youth who laid siege to the Minister of Finance’s office, apparently with the aid of the Zimbabwean police. What is worse is that one of the youths was heard in conversation with Webster Shamu, who is reported as attempting to call off the youths after presumably sending them there in the first place. The implication that politicians are ordering these youths to attack to further their political interest is not surprising.

Recently, I interviewed Grace Chirenje, who is a passionate advocate for young people and in particular young women.  This is what she had to say about the youth being used as a political tool:

I can’t blame the politicians. Imagine if the youth said no, enough is enough we will not allow ourselves to be used to perpetrate violence, we will not allow ourselves to be engaged only during elections. No one has ever approached the youth and said, there’s a crisis in this country, what do you think? I think the youth should begin to say no, we will not allow ourselves to be used by politicians. After the violence they still remain as neighbours, brothers and colleagues.  I think we need to begin to define our role as young people.

What continues to vex me is that the youth allow themselves to be used. What makes me angry is that it paints a picture of my country, my countrymen and my generation that shows us to be ignorant political tools unable to think for ourselves.

We are better than this.

Rituals (A look at Zimbabwe’s rituals of violence)

Venue: British Council, 16 Cork Road (off Second Street), Harare
Date: 29 June 2011
Time: 6pm

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