During my recent visit to Tafara suburb distributing the vendor wrapper with Zanele, we came across a private primary school. Some people may ask what’s so special about this school since in most suburbs there has been an upsurge in the number of private schools operating. What really attracted me to this school is the fact that nowadays it’s impossible to find someone who can volunteer to offer a service for no charge.

Chiedza/Khanyiso is a private school situated in Tafara suburb with another branch in Sunningdale. Founded in the year 2005 under the name Chiedza/Khanyiso which means light, the school is a symbol for hope to so many little children attending lessons.  The school enrols children from grade one up to six and the fascinating part is the way lessons are conducted at this school. There are two building structures, one is a church building without a roof and the other structure that looked like it was about to fall down, has benches made from wooden poles and it has no floor. Grade ones and twos share the makeshift building and lessons are conducted concurrently with grades three up six doing their lessons in one room in the roofless church building.

During my interview with Mr Chikwanha who is the overseer of the school, he said, “the main motivation behind running a school like Chiedza/Khanyiso is to assist children without birth certificates and those who can’t pay fees at government schools.” Mr Chikwanha a former teacher with over 40 years experience runs the school with assistance from two female volunteer teachers who showed pride in their work when we interviewed them. When we got the invitation to see the grade one and two classroom we saw faces filled with joy and hope. On the issue of birth certificates Mr Chikwanha said he approached the Registrar General’s Office and he managed to get assistance and some the children at school now have birth certificates. The school also gets assistance from the Salvation Army Church, which owns the church building being used as a classroom, and recently they received a donation of school uniforms from Childline. Since we are now in summer there is a possibility that these children will skip lessons during rainy days.

Children pay a fee of $5 per term and this only covers admin expenses for the school with little to spare to buy textbooks and proper furniture said Mr Chikwanha. Under Millennium Development Goal Number 2, which aims to ensure that all children of school going age have access to primary education by the year 2015, one wonders if Zimbabwe can meet the deadline as most parents are still finding it difficult to pay school fees for their children. With the introduction of BEAM (Basic Education Assistance Module) in all government schools not all children have managed to access this fund and this has forced many parents to send their children to private schools like Chiedza/Khanyiso where they can afford to pay the low fees.

By now, I expect that many of us are well acquainted with the expansive list of assets that Zimbabwe’s Minister of Local Government and his wife are fighting over in their divorce trial.  For the most part, people have been outraged by the flagrant excess and insatiable gluttony of it all and the suspicion is that it’s just the tip of the iceberg.

On my part, I have been surprisingly inspired by the whole episode. It is evident that over the decades there have been tireless efforts towards this vast accumulation of assets.  So encouraged am I that I have decided to share the pearls (or diamonds, if you prefer) of wisdom I’ve extracted.

- Have ambition and don’t settle for less. Why should you own only one stand in Borrowdale when you can have twenty, or be the proprietor of one company when ten companies are even better?

- Don’t get disappointed if you never get promoted and you’ve been stuck in the same post since 2000. With the right attitude you can still do well and get rich through the opportunities that your current job presents.

- Every part of Zimbabwe is important and deserves to enjoy development through decentralised investment initiatives. Next time you have some spare cash, consider purchasing a stand or two in Chirundu, Katanga Township or maybe even Binga.

- Just because you are a civil servant, doesn’t mean that you must remain as poor as a church mouse. You will find that there are substantial perks that come with your job.

- Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. She will make public your private affairs, expose to all-and-sundry what hard earned assets you have, demand half of these and still expect you to pay her maintenance ’til death do you part’.

·    Next time you see a car with the popular bumper stick “My other car is a Mercedes Benz and I also have Land Cruisers, Nissan Wolfs and Hard-bodies”, don’t laugh; believe.

- If for three years your husband does not live in the matrimonial home because he is sorting out some personal issues, know that he is not coming back.

- Don’t be limited by your schooling. You may have doctorates in adult and higher education, but that doesn’t stop you from pursuing interests in mining, hospitality, farming, retail, real estate etc.

- With a large percentage of Zimbabweans with no access to clean drinking water, it is clear that work performance has no correlation in achieving success. You definitely don’t have to work hard at your job to amass great wealth.

The rainy season is upon us.  Zimbabwe is a country whose prosperity is dependent on this time, so everyone is focused on the rains.

For instance, our esteemed Minister of Agriculture advised farmers recently that in their preparation for planting, they must pay attention to, and use weather information from the Met-Department.  While on the face of it the Minister’s advice could be considered as stating the obvious, looking at the questionable productivity of our new-farmers, perhaps counsel is warranted.

In churches too, services and prayers for a good rainy season are being held.  Being quite religious myself, I’ve also decided to seek divine intervention for a good season of rain.

Once again, like we have done for many years,
We come before you kneeling, eyes filled with tears,
That in your merciful kindness you please help us out,
Without your intervention we’ll surely suffer more drought.

We implore you to send us seasonable rain,
Rainfall that will mark the passing of this dry period of pain,
A cloudburst which will sweep across our beloved land,
Washing away our withered past into the sand.

As it is now, the fields lie fallow, robbed of their life.
And amongst the people is despair; poverty is rife.
But a chance to start anew will your welcome showers bring,
A change much needed, giving greenness and hope to everything.

So with the rainy season upon us, we repeat our request,
And pray that you cleanse Zimbabwe of elements that cause hardship and unrest.
Quench this dry place; bring this era to an end.
Your precipitation is needed; abundant rains please send.

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised
(abridged, with apologies to Gil Scott Heron)

The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by the Zimbabwe Broadcasting Corporation  news
without commercial interruptions.
The revolution will not show you pictures of Tsvangirai
blowing an antelope horn and leading a charge by Tendai Biti and Thokozani Khupe to move into the PMs official residence and eat
sadza nehuku confiscated from a ZANU PF rally.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be brought to you by
Econet Wireless, uninspired to change your world
and will not star Chipo Bizura and Denzel Burutsa or Joe Pike and Munya.
Studio 263, Generations, and ‘just in cinemas’ Lobola
will no longer be so damned relevant,
men will not care if women strip in the street
because our people
will be in the street looking for a brighter day.
The revolution will not be televised.

So many times people sit at a bar, or family gatherings or even stand in supermarket aisles and complain. It’s almost as though complaining is the first thing we were taught at school.

We complain that it doesn’t rain, and when it does, we complain that it’s raining. We complain about the economy, we complain that there aren’t enough jobs. We complain about the banks, we complain about having to bribe the police. We complain about poor service from ZESA, ZINWA and City of Harare, and when we feel there isn’t anything left to complain about we complain about the government.

So much time and energy is put into articulating these complaints to anyone who will listen. It’s always someone else’s fault, never our own that we let things go so far in Zimbabwe. And we take it further, expecting someone, anyone to fix our problems. We have become so passive as a nation it’s no wonder that corrupt politicians and businessmen feel that they can get away with anything, who is going to stop them?

What would happen if all those complaints, those endless hours spent complaining about how terrible everything is were translated into action? What if instead of passive complaining we collectively did something about our complaints?

Mahatma Gandhi said ‘You must be the change you want to see in the world … In a gentle way you can shake the world.’ No one has to start a revolution in order to be a revolutionary. People like Wangari Maathai, Mother Theresa and Rosa Parks created change just by being – doing the little that they could. They were committed to their beliefs, and defended them when necessary, even though they didn’t have the loudest voices.

It doesn’t take very much to do the right thing every day. Every step taken, every word spoken and written, counts.

Truth be told, when I define myself, nationality does not take precedence. From the time I was born, I was immersed in and shaped by my ethnicity. The language I speak, the traditions and values I keep, the history I’m rooted in and, to some extent, my way of thinking, are all affirmations of my primary identity as a Ndebele. I am part of the Nguni-speaking peoples of Africa – MaNdebele amahle, abakoMthwakazi, abondlela zimhlophe (The Beautiful Ndebele of Mthwakazi, for whom the paths are prosperous).

I wish that I could feel as deeply about my Zimbabwean-ess as I do for my being Ndebele. To some extent, being Zimbabwean is really a matter of fact for me – I was born here, I live here and I have the identity documents to prove it.  Between the great house of stone and me, there is little cement.

Social science suggests that national symbols are key to building national pride and the strong identification of a group of individuals with their country. And therein lies the problem. Zimbabwe’s national symbols have elicited in me, by accident or design, everything else but.

Take for instance our national anthem. I grew up singing “Nkosi Sikelela”. By age three, I knew the tune. In primary school, I knew the words and was beginning to develop an appreciation of it. Then along came “Kalibusiswe Ilizwe leZimbabwe”. Our new anthem just failed to occupy the same spot. I have never connected to it and simply learning the words has been a chore I’d rather skip. I console myself with the fact that at least I know the tune, but more often than not, the tune I like to hum to myself is “Nkosi Sikelela”.

Then there’s our national flag. Ask me about the colours, the order that they lie in, what each stands for and I will answer correctly, thanks to my patient grade-four teacher. I respect our national flag, whether it is hanging at full or half-mast or being raised and lowered. Maybe, that’s the trouble. My relationship and interaction with the Zimbabwe flag is rigid and formal, especially when I compare it with the vivid images of Americans and South Africans draping and painting and dressing themselves in their respective banners. Perhaps, if we gave it a pet name like the Star Spangled Banner that would help to build a familiar and loving relationship.

Citizens of other nations also take great pride in their currencies. Botswana has the Pula, both for money and as a national slogan. And who can forget the British, who have such pride in their Pound Sterling that they have honoured it with a name and a surname.  Unfortunately, when I remember the Zimbabwe Dollar and her cousin, the bearer cheque, it is the trauma of hyperinflation that stands out most. On the other, more positive hand, our suffering at the hands of a temperamental currency did serve to unite us in our misery.

I guess the reason why I’m troubled by my (lack of) patriotism is that I’m a person who always has a strong sense of loyalty and dedication to anything I belong to. I love my roots, my family, my religion and as trivial as it seems now, I even loved the canary-yellow of my schoolhouse. I really envy those who are devoted to and are prepared to serve their countries without question. I long for the day when I too will have a similar love for mine.