Newsday today reports that:

A ten-year-old Harare schoolgirl made good use of technology – video recording a rapist related to her as he attempted to rape her.

The girls uncle first raped her two years ago, then made another attempt three months later. But this time the girl recorded him as he uttered sexually explicit words.

The article goes on:

Regional magistrate Simon Rogers Kachambwa said the girl had struck the court as a credible witness who volunteered to spill the beans and told her mother what ordeal she went through.

“She did not tell her mother when you (Chikwanda) fondled her, even later on another day when you had sexual intercourse with her,” Kachambwa said.

“She felt it was too much when you asked her to do it again and she decided to record you on her phone as you spoke. “It was very fortunate that she did not like what you had earlier done to her and you did not know that you were dealing with an exceptionally intelligent niece.”

The last remarks by the magistrate are worrying. If she had liked it then what? Would he have walked free to do it again? Or would her family then have married her to her uncle?

My understanding is that sexual intercourse with a minor, whether they like it or not is a crime that is subject to imprisonment. The jail term of nine years the perpetrator received from the magistrate is disappointing.

Regardless, I say good for her.

The Kentucky Derby (pronounced “Darby”) arrived in Harare! We raided my daughter’s dressing up box for hats for everyone, and the kids managed to keep them on for most of the day! I had a huge purple striped hippy hat, which kept flopping into my face at the front, forcing me to peer at people out the side, with one eye. The only thing stopping the crowds of single men (already an exaggeration) must’ve been my progeny, clamouring for “uppy”, imprinting my legs and dress with sticky fingers and offering half mouthfuls from the buffet. I get to finish off everything tasted but not enjoyed, with a dash of slobber, sometimes a generous sprinkling of grass where it has been dropped and hastily recovered – if you’re not paying attention, you don’t even have time to clean these bits off as it gets shoved into your mouth mid-conversation. I blame it on the kids, but, well, it could’ve been the hat. And I’m not entirely sure there were many singles there – I was focused on my hat (naturally, being foremost in my vision) and the horses, and keeping the kids out of the flowerbed. But only when you are at a diplomat’s house! Did I mention the time they took wax crayons to a newly painted house? Austrian diplomats. Graham spent much of lunch that day with a scrubber and Handy Andy discreetly purloined from the staff in the kitchen while I distracted everyone with tales of poisonous spiders and prolific snakes – the dangers of living in the “bush”.

After several mint juleps (a Southern cocktail with spearmint, bourbon, sugar and water), I removed my high heels, flinging all decorum to the wind, or the flowerbed if we’re going to be accurate. The heels had bothered me much of the afternoon, sinking into the luscious lawn several times, culminating with me almost smacking myself in the face with my knee. My daughter wore them thereafter, although I still say the exchange was hardly fair – I couldn’t get my big toe into her sandals!

Anyway I left, far too late and many multiple juleps later, clutching my winnings, forgetting my hat on the table and my red high heels jutting out of the flowerbed (where my son had been using them in construction), but very jolly after an afternoon in the sun, at the races, pampered by Southern hospitality.

Why would one assume that others are gossiping about him/her just because they happen to be speaking amongst themselves in a language he/she doesn’t understand?  I often get that when a group of us are speaking SiNdebele around non-speakers.  Forget that we simply derive pleasure from conversing in our own tongue.  The reason SiNdebele is spoken is to gossip about other people because we really have nothing better to talk about.  It’s very irritating!

I suppose there is something in all of us that makes us regard with suspicion people who are different from ourselves.  And the differentiator needn’t be on major grounds, like being of another tribe, race or religion.  These days even a girl who doesn’t wear weaves in her hair is an oddity to be questioned, “What is wrong with her?”

The problem is when one isn’t open to accepting people’s differences distrust often results.  We then keep away from the object of suspicion and unwittingly become fertile ground for perpetuating prejudices.  So because I have limited interaction with Ndebeles, albinos and women with cropped hair, I then see these groups as being violent, practising witch craft and being lesbian.  Sadly, no matter how far-fetched or ridiculous the notion, lack of knowledge makes it all true.

It gets worse.  Stereotyping leads to intolerance which in turn breeds fear and hate.  And we wonder why society is plagued by discrimination, oppression and hate-crimes. Most people feel insulted and angered when they are exposed to politicians attempts to manipulate them. “What do they take us for?!” we hiss at rhetoric and blatant falsifications of the truth.

Well, let it be known that given the right circumstances – our own existing ignorance and suspicion of anyone different – politicians can and do successfully get the populace to think and act exactly how they want.  All it takes is for us to have the right conditions within ourselves; distrust, fear, hatred and prejudice.  For as long as we are unwilling to embrace peoples’ differences then the history of mankind will continue to be coloured red with genocides because we cannot accept that people look, dress, talk, worship and live differently.

In our fertile soils, each one of us can passively stand by or actively participate in forced evictions, Xenophobic attacks, ethnic cleansing, world wars etc, etc … the possibilities are endless.

No major changes in the MDC’s leadership after their Congress. Chingoka re-elected Chairman of Zimbabwe cricket. Mugabe says the media in Zimbabwe should be objective. Tsvangirai promises $100 economy.

Sadly its not April Fools Day.

Zvinhu zvese zvafamba zvakanaka
Isn’t this lovely?
In less poetic language it translates as ‘all went well’
It was written on a feed-back form by one of our community facilitators after a capacity training workshop
I have been waiting to use it…

One Friday each month, the Tree of Life invites representatives from all their partners,
the communities and groups who have trained as facilitators and workshop organizers
and have begun their own circles where they live.
On Fridays we sit together and bring our stories, our successes and failures and plans for the future
we talk of exchanging facilitators between communities,
and
have tea and sandwiches
laugh

Friday Circle
29.4.11

In Motoko they rose before dawn
walked the cold dusty paths dressed in Sunday best
the sparkle of Venus dims in the rosy glow of sunrise
cold morning air
wood smoke
nearly winter

At the main road they catch the combi
joining the morning crush
in a helter-skelter, precarious, two and half hour drive
life in the hands of a speeding, hell-bent driver

… into Harare

bustling noisy smoky morning traffic
queue at the terminus in piles of litter,
street people
vendors
to catch another combi to Marlborough
walk the last 2 km
to the monthly Tree of Life Partners Circle

Today was special
it is the week of the Harare International Arts Festival
and today we were to be visited by a group of young poets/singers/musicians
who would perform for us

But first the circle
today was special

what is the question we need to ask with the talking stone
that would bring our energy together?

50 people on a green lawn surrounded by trees

‘What is it, that inspires you, in doing this work?’

‘this circle’
‘the ability we have to communicate with communities across the country’
‘that we can speak together of our troubles and our inspirations knowing that we will be witnessed’
‘the power of love that holds us together’
‘the opportunity we have to heal our country’
‘the power of this network’
‘the spirit of love’

one young woman from Mrewa said

‘in this circle, for the first time, I can speak as an equal’

I feel an emergent pattern
flowing alongside the chaos

And then the artists…
These are our children
they have grown alongside this chaos
the last 11 years of their young lives have been a witnessing of corruption and violence and abuse of power
- town and country,
their adolescence has been spent in fearful isolating times
the closure of schools,
the loss of possessions and homes
families and communities disrupted and broken
so many deaths

What is it these new children of our nation have to say?

with their dreadlocks and hip-hop?
-of the freedom train… that left the station in 1980 when they were born free
and of the economy class – who were crushed together to make way for the first class
of the old woman who got left behind without money for the ticket
and the young mother who lost her baby
- those abandoned by the freedom train

Of the joy of being free within their own spirits
of living in the present
of connecting with nature

with his guitar a young man sang old songs
to old spirits with the voice of the old grandmothers
for the abused children
for the spirits of the dumped babies.

When he was asked what moved him to sing this song he explained
‘Once I was privileged – I had a job
and with the job came a newspaper
and it was in there – on pages 3 and 4
hidden away in lost corners
I read these stories
And I felt they were stories that everyone should know
So I sing’

A beautiful 18 year old
spoke with the voice of the young deaf and mute girl she was working with
a poem filled with vivid understanding
of the frustrated angry vacuum of this young life

She goes to this orphanage voluntarily, to hug the children!

A young man spoke with the voice of 3 different women
whose lives had been changed forever
by the burning and breaking down of outhouses and shack dwellings and posessions
in operation Murambatsvina

another young woman spoke
spoke from inside the skin
from inside the wall of prison
from inside the humiliated beaten body
from inside the mind
of one of our women human rights activists who was arrested last year

and powerful woman who was visiting Zimbabwe
called for the time of the return of the Goddess
the challenge of sharing the throne
of the balance of masculine and feminine

When asked how well she was received by our more conservative Christian population
she replied

‘I am not here to be approved of
I am here to make you think
about the coming of the inevitable’

A young boy not more than 11 years or so played traditional drums
he said he had been drumming since he was born
a young man sang
and we danced

what is this emergent pattern
flowing alongside the chaos

Zvinhu zvese zvafamba zvakanaka

When I was going through some articles on the latest advancements in cellphone technology, I came across an article on textually.com about how farmers in Kenya are using SMS every morning to find the best prices on the market for their produce.

On a visit to Mbare Musika in Harare you will hear lots of complaints from farmers about low prices on the market for their produce. When you compare these prices at Mbare Musika with other market places you will find a big difference in pricing and one wonders how best these farmers can get such useful information before their produce to the market.

I imagine a farmer in Mutoko avoiding the hassle and pain of selling her tomatoes at a give-away price by just sending an SMS to different market places in Harare and getting instant feedback on where to sell at a better price. This will also help vendors to know where to buy at low prices.

Kenyan farmers use SMS to beat climate-driven price uncertainty

MERU, Kenya (AlertNet) – William Muriuki and his wife are inspecting their vegetable farm in the tiny village of Karimagachiije, some 15 km outside Meru town in central Kenya. Cabbages, onions and Irish potatoes are ready to go to market. But the question is where?

Identifying the best market never used to be a problem, explains the 73-year-old farmer. “It was easy to tell what vegetables were in season in a particular area, so we knew the most appropriate places to sell our farm produce.”

But changing climatic conditions have disrupted market patterns. “It is no longer as predictable as it was,” he says. “We have to physically identify places with high demand.”

Even fairly recently, local farmers could be sure the rains would come around March 25 each year. So by the end of April, most vegetables would be in season, meaning low demand at nearby markets. In much of Eastern Province though, the rains would be delayed or not arrive at all, so farmers from the central region knew they could get a good price for their produce there.

But that’s no longer the case. “In the past few years, I have seen rains come much earlier than expected, or very late,” says Muriuki. “At times, it rains in Eastern Province much earlier or at the same time as it does here, or it fails to rain in both areas.”

In these challenging conditions, Muriuki and his farming colleagues have turned to technology to help them find the right market. Read the full article on here