I feel patriotic these days. And before the feeling wanes and recedes into the indifference that often informs the limited involvement of young people in anything important in this country- I think I should speak up.

For in keeping silent I perpetuate a grave injustice to those of my kind – the youth of Zimbabwe.

Combined with these patriotic sentiments are the sentiments of Deborah Meier that I happened across the other day. She wrote, “There’s a radical – and wonderful – new idea here… that all children could and should be inventors of their own theories, critics of other people’s ideas, analyzers of evidence, and makers of their own personal marks on the world.  It’s an idea with revolutionary implications.  If we take it seriously.”

I can trace my blossoming patriotic sentiment to the three weeks I spent cooped up at the University of Ghana with two and a half dozen young women from 21 African countries and to the fact that in nearly deliberation Zimbabwe was used as a reference point for one bad thing or another.

It is one thing to daily hear Zimbabweans speak negatively of their own country, to listen to them and join them in denigrating their own country but quite another to listen to outsiders take similar liberties.

Indeed it is the one thing that will make you defend your country without stopping to examine your reaction but simply because it is your country, your home and ultimately it is who you are – Zimbabwean. It is also what will force you to scrutinize the condition of your country and how other people have come to perceive you as a people.

By omission or by commission every Zimbabwean is responsible for the leadership we have and for the mess we’re in.

Whether through indifference, greed or fear – we’re all guilty of allowing this great land to sink to its knees.

I have joined on occasion, when I could muster the breathe, in the mud-slinging, bad-mouthing, finger-pointing and hurling of insults directed at those in power and those aspiring to be in power. I say on occasion because for the greater part, I simply have been too nonchalant to even care.

Perhaps, that is the real problem for me and the youth, we have believed that we are too weak, too young to be of any consequence and in believing this fallacy we have sought refuge in nonchalance.

It doesn’t help too that there is so much romanticising about the past that we always feel that our unavailability to be drafted into the liberation struggle automatically makes us less qualified to have a say in the running of our country.

I mean if there is one thing ZANU PF has perfected it is the art of using its formidable credentials as a revolutionary party to bring the Zimbabwean electorate and youth to heel with a cocktail of nostalgia, sentimentality and the incessant reminder of the insurmountable debt of gratitude owed to them by every citizen who lives in a free Zimbabwe.

The MDC, on the other hand; wisely discerning that they cannot do much to beat the revolutionary party card that ZANU PF loves to draw – have made it a point to totally ignore the liberation struggle and by doing so attempt to rule Zimbabwe and its people outside the contexts of our history rendering them rather superficial.

I will not strain self trying to untangle the relevance (or lack thereof) of the splinter factions that are now a ZAPU pulled out of ZANU and an MDC pulled out of an MDC-T; too much ink has been spilled de-bunking these political specimens.

However, if the youth hope their participation in the nation’s politics to be meaningful; this is the political menu of parties that is availed to them.

One that is stuck in the past and bogged down by its distrust of young people and new ideas then another with a vibrant youth visibility but suffering from the acute deficiency of denial and a tragic refusal to own Zimbabwe’s liberation history (without which they would not enjoy the very autonomy that allows them to aspire for political power).

I have opinions about Zimbabwe, I have thoughts about the conditions of Zimbabwe, I have theories and hypotheses about what is wrong with this country and about why we are where we are today.

I have no idea how long I have held these views but they must have been simmering in me, stewing for a long time because when I was in Ghana I said, for the very first time, in a lecture room full of strangers what I thought.

And I was surprised by the vehemence with which I leapt to defend my beloved country, astonished by the passion with which I narrated the course of events that had brought us to this present miserable condition and even more shocked by the utter convictions with which I spoke.

I was amazed that I cared that much about Zimbabwe; surprised that I cared at all for over the years the pretence of at indifference has become second nature to me such that I began to believe that it was normal.

How dare we sit, fold our hands and watch the demise of our country as if we had another spare Zimbabwe stashed somewhere to live in as soon as this one folds up and inexorably crumbles?

For in the years to come, many who hold the reins of power will succumb to the inevitability of death and we shall inherit nothing but the shell of what once was.

I believe that Zimbabwean youths have been sidelined for too long and that perhaps we must come to a definitive age-range of what it means to be a youth in this country.

It bothers me no end that a person on the wrong side of 30 should strut around as a youth leader or presume to speak on behalf of young people in this country.

Moreover it bugs me terribly that young people have been willing to be used as arse wipes by those who aspire for political office only to be discarded after the elections and flushed into oblivion.

But I want to believe that the tide is turning. That the youth will be reckoned with, that we will be ignored no more, sidelined no longer and never again patronized.

As we enter the UN International Year of Youth running under the theme “Promoting Dialogue and Mutual Understanding” – I fervently hope that the would-be election candidates of 2011 and beyond will get off their high horses and engage young people as equals because we are not going anywhere.

The International Year of Youth is our chance to declare categorically that as Zimbabwean youths, we are here and we are not going anywhere. This is our country of birth and we have as much right to live and prosper in it as anyone else.

According to IRIN (humanitarian news and analysis) one third of Zimbabwe’s children are chronically malnourished, and Zimbabwe is in a perpetual state of humanitarian need. While Mugabe tells the US and Britain to go to hell, these countries feed the people that Zanu PF have failed.

Journalist Jan Raath tells us that “Chiadzwa, is regarded as the richest diamond find of the century. Over the past nine months, rudimentary mining only in one small area of the field has reportedly yielded 4 million carats, worth around 2 billion US dollars.” Read more

Where is this money going?

In a Kubatana newsletter in June we asked our subscribers to state what they believe to be the most serious political issue in Zimbabwe today, and suggest a solution. Please read the submissions below and let us know which one tops Your list.

1. Inability to consider the impact of one’s actions and how this affects others, the environment and future generations.
2. Consider the impact of my actions on a daily basis and to teach this by living it out in my life.

1. The social or political issue in Zimbabwe is that leaders stay in power too long. They know that they have cases to answer to and that the law will catch up with them.
2. To have new broom and have all new leaders and I am sure from this you will have a country with actual laws.

1. The only serious or critical issue in Zimbabwe is governance. Once this country is properly governed all the shortages of everything required for a person to live a common life will disappear.
2. What is required is not only the change of government but a democratically elected government with a democratically minded leadership. All I can say is that the shambles we are in at the moment is caused by mismanagement. Zimbabwe is rich but where our natural resources are channelled is a mystery. All the government arms are corrupt so unless we appoint dedicated and dynamic leaders in all government institutions we will become poorer and poorer when our country is rich with natural resources which require committed people to manage.

1. I am convinced that the most serious political issue in Zimbabwe is greed. All our political leaders tend to forget their past promises in pursuit of self aggrandisement. Had it not been for greed, our dear comrades from the MDC could nave quit this malfunctioning inclusive government. But because they still have porous backgrounds to fill the Mudzuris are being quite bitter about being called under performers.
2. I think the most practical solution is to have a leadership code that determines what those in power should own and how much money they earn.

1. I consider the Constitution Making Process to be the most serious social or political issue in Zimbabwe. We can only come up with a meaningful constitution if it really represents the needs of the people of Zimbabwe. However, one is bound to question its credibility if the outreach phase is marred by violence.
2. The three principals should facilitate campaign awareness programmes to stop violence during the outreach programmes. In addition, the legislators should not stifle the process by demanding exorbitant allowances. Finally, the sample should be representative for validity and to avoid bias.

1. Zanu-PF
2. Trials

1. The most serious political issue is the Dictatorship of Zanu-PF.
2. This can be solved through the unity of the people standing up and speaking with one voice.

1. I think the most serious political issue in Zimbabwe is the probability of having free and fair elections.
2. The only major step to solve the problem is coming up with a constitution that that gives a platform for free and fair elections.

1. The most serious social or political issue in Zimbabwe is leaders who cling to power regardless of their failures to rule the country.
2. The practical steps I would take to address the issue is to highlight to them the areas in which they have failed.

Many prisoners incarcerated in Zimbabwe’s prison cells are suffering from a lack of food, clothing and medical attention. A recent meeting with a community activist who visits a central Harare prison each week made it clear that prisoners need our help.

Here are two requests:

1.    Old ice cream or any other plastic containers are desperately needed as makeshift plates.
2.    Many prisoners do not have any shoes. If you have old shoes, especially size 7 and up, please consider giving them a new home.

If you can donate one, or both of these items your help will be very gratefully received. Please contact Kubatana via our web site to find out more and get details on a drop off point.

Read community activist Theresa Wilson’s account of assisting Zimbabwean prisoners here

If you haven’t any charity in your heart, you have the worst kind of heart trouble.
~ Bob Hope

I love reading Sarah Carter’s writings from the Bally Vaughan animal sanctuary.

Here is a small excerpt from her latest newsletter:

When Bart the Jackal arrived, having been found on the university campus, he was a tiny fluffy scrap, almost catatonic with fear. For several months he haunted the marshy thickets at the bottom of his enclosure, constantly on the move once the sun went down, nowhere to be seen during daylight hours. I sat with him each evening as he chased flying ants and grasshoppers and the quicksilver little fish in the stream and he kept a cautious eye on me, circling within a metre or so on his endless, effortless laps, but no closer. I noticed that he was intensely interested in the caracals, serval and dogs living in my garden adjacent to his enclosure and showed no fear of them. At this stage, Rover the Wriggly Red Dog was a puppy and each day he would be carried up to the jackal enclosure for a play date with Bart. Bart adored this but Rover, ever the curmudgeon, loathed it and would sit with his back pointedly to the prancing little jackal, hogging the toys and hoovering  up Bart’s food even though he had usually just eaten his own breakfast. Eventually I gave up trying to rehabilitate the playground bully and Bart went back to relying on rather unsatisfactory interaction through the fence with my animals for company. Exchanging nose kisses with Smeegal the serval cat was part of his routine, and to my surprise Smeegal seemed to seek out the little jackal, lying along the fence line and watching his antics intently.

Smeegal came to us as a refugee from an invaded farm. A pampered and adored pet, he spent three happy years on the Chirundu sugar estates with Jon and Chooks Langerman, sleeping on their bed under the air conditioner and enjoying gourmet meals prepared for him by Jon. Life in my home was somewhat different. Detested by the xenophobic caracals and chased from the house by them at every opportunity (as they do to all visitors including members of my family), he took up residence in a little thatched structure in the garden, sneaking in to the house to unroll the toilet paper and chase the shampoo bottles round the bathtub when the caracals weren’t looking. Each evening he cut a solitary figure as he made his lonely way down the garden, and I felt that he was rather sad.

One evening I returned to my house to find Bart lolling triumphantly on my front lawn. He had tunneled under the fence and made himself totally at home. Unfazed by my dogs, deliriously defiant of the caracals and enamored of the huge serval cat, he set about organizing a life to his satisfaction. He pointedly ignored his own dinner of chopped chicken and offal in favour of the dog food and soon was getting his own portion in a green plastic dish on the lawn each evening. He adopted a teddy that he carried about until Harry the caracal ripped its head off and pulled out the insides, and he learnt that peanut butter toast is an excellent and delicious source of protein for an omnivore. Each morning as I sit down on my veranda with toast and coffee, Bart appears, trotting busily on his tiny feet, fabulously bouffant tail bouncing behind him like an outrageous fashion accessory, and snatches up pieces of toast I throw to him. The caracals firmly believe only they should receive hand-outs and stalk him relentlessly, but he relishes this. A jackal’s psyche is all about scavenging from scary predators, and he is so swift and so cunning that my portly, couch-lolling caracals have no hope of catching him.  (Harry the caracal’s reputation as a Fearless Super-Predator was  irrevocably damaged recently when he was discovered actually sitting on an enraged puff adder. Harry was oblivious to the potentially lethal threat under his capacious bottom and fortunately the puff adder seemed equally dense, striking furiously at the fence post in front of it as it struggled  to free itself from this inglorious situation).

Incredibly, Smeegal and Bart have become inseparable. These two unlikely companions, who would be sworn enemies in the wild as they compete for the same food, can be seen in my garden playing wild games of chase, grooming each other tenderly and sleeping curled up in their shared bedroom. Each morning they slumber in the sunshine together, nestled in picturesque harmony in the wild flowers bordering the stream. They love to hunt insects together, pouncing and leaping in the late afternoon light through the grass in search of grasshoppers, and one memorable moonlit night I saw the two of them hunting a bushbaby. They were so absorbed in their task, stalking silently through the silvery shadows, gazing intently up into the trees where the bushbaby was feeding, that they walked straight into each other, like two slapstick comedians, and gave each other a terrible fright. After a bit of muffled yelping and hissing, they sat down with their backs to each other and groomed themselves ferociously to regain their composure, watched with disgust from the window by the two irritable caracals who had been roused from my bed by the commotion.

At last, two creatures whose lives had been irrevocably altered by circumstances totally beyond their control have found a new and happy life, together. With two caracals, a serval cat, a jackal and two dogs living in my home, life is a little chaotic. Breakfast time degenerates into a melee every morning.  The caracals like to sit on their own chairs at the table. Quite often they jump on the table, knock over the coffee or lick the topping off the toast. They leap off their chairs when Bart appears and chase him with their lolloping, rabbity gait around the garden before returning to their seats to glower and hiss at the dogs who are relegated to the floor. Sometimes Harry, a true feline eminence, will casually extend an immense, savagely-clawed, furry foot and rest it on my wrist so he can wash it, licking my hand at the same time and purring intermittently, just a few breathy rumbles to indicate that he is content, before resuming his reign of terror amongst the other family members.

To find out more visit www.ballyvaughan.co.zw or email sarah [at] ballyvaughan [dot] co [dot] zw

Rejoice Ngwenya takes on both the Diaspora, suggesting that they return hom to help fight fascsim, as well as the xenophobia perpetrated by South Africans who should concede that they are a “brood of insecure, spineless cowards.” Read Rejoice’s latest article below:

Considering the new wave of xenophobic attacks against black Zimbabweans, some black South Africans now have to concede that they are a brood of insecure, spineless cowards.  I have literally grown up with these cowards, lived with them in exile, conferenced, drank and shopped with them in their fancy boulevards and arcades. Under that veneer of happy-go-lucky hypocrisy, their limited intellect seethes with nothing but venomous contempt for other Africans, especially us Zimbabweans, Mozambicans, Zambians and Malawians.  You encounter sales assistants in South African shops and all you see is contemptuous hatred in their eyes, spite for your money as they peer suspiciously at it as if it has been puked by a dragon. Even when I check into five-star hotels at Rosebank, I have to grope around for ideal seating while the receptionists scurry around for attention of Japanese guests in anticipation of a miserly tip. I guess we need to appreciate that their Ubuntu deserted them as a result of three hundred years of plunder and mental abuse by the Boers.  To them, anything white is God-sent. But I have good news for the enlightened few:  it is only an insecure, good-for-nothing pea brain that would kill someone solely on the basis of ethnicity. Just like Hitler, Amin, Stalin, Bokassa and Sadam Hussein, Paul Kagame, ZANU-PF hooligans in June 2008 et al – xenophobic South Africans are a pathetic excuse for humans.

The 1-7 August 2010 week, I hear, is national science week in that country, but sad to say, xenophobia is not rocket science, otherwise there would have been a genius from some village high school in Tlokoyandou, Limpopo Province,  with a perfect wonder cure. Unfortunately, it is neither a medical condition nor physical deformity, but plain stupidity.  I guess I am asking for too much to expect an average primary school dropout from Soweto to notice how the world has moved ahead riding the wave of human diversity. Sadly, there are millions of such second grade humans in that country, from the dry lands of Limpopo to the shores of The Cape. These idle minds are too busy worrying about where to get their next glass of home-brewed bear; pondering which Shabeen will be first to play the next big Kwaito [local house music]song, instead of creating own jobs. Their obsession is what Zimbabwean stud lays which South African woman, and what sort of punishment matches the ‘transgression’.   If they had a morsel of intellect, I would remind them that the world’s best civilisation – United States of America – is a potpourri of ethnic diversity.  If Americans had continued agonising on how to perfect Adolph Hitler’s poisonous doctrine of Aryan purity, they would still be living in tin shacks and using bucket toilets in Harlem like South Africans do in Khayelitsha!  Good gracious me, which planet has these clowns tumbled from?

Considering that in the 1990s, scores of Zimbabweans lost their lives and property harbouring parents of these social rejects, the blame lies purely on the African National Congress’s [ANC] political ideology of false promises. But unlike our own Marxist-Leninist dunderheads in Harare, true ANC cadres no longer beat up those who do not agree with them. The remnant legion of Zimbabwean-haters thrives on a mentality of cowardice and fear, and then convinces equally gullible neighbours that poverty is caused by African aliens. The net result?  Xenophobia.

Fear and cowardice are the twin evils of African politics. Here in Zimbabwe, after thirty years of violent repression, a typical Zimbabwean will not say much against political order or any system for that matter without glancing over their shoulder. The consequences are devastating. We have become so accustomed to service delivery abuse that mediocrity and compliance are now in the DNA our social behaviour. Zimbabweans wait for someone to say something, and they join with a ‘we knew it all along’ chorus. Fear and coward mentality!

This reminds me of a Mr Dzikamai Mavhaire, a close ally of Robert Mugabe who, at the height of ZANU-PF’s one party state euphoria in the 1990s, bravely defied all political odds and said something to the effect: “Mr Mugabe must go; he should give way to new party leadership.” There was hue and cry from his delusionary party, but he became an instant cult hero in the ‘democratic movement’.  As you read this rebellious treatise, twelve million Zimbabweans of progressive political ideology would want to show Mr Mugabe the flashing political exit, but we have had absolutely no clue on how to go about this noble democratic exercise since 1985. Villagers have been pummelled into prostrate submission while urbanites are routinely reduced to dysfunctional robots that worry too much about day to day survival at the expense of long-term political wisdom.

At petrol service stations, councils, churches, schools, public buses – Zimbabwean citizens are abused, but the most they can do is to wait and see, hoping that the next day will bring better tidings. Grocery supermarkets compel us to buy merchandise we do not need because they stock no loose change, and we take this punishment without so much as twitching an eyebrow. Are we cabbages or what! No wonder South Africans and Tswanas trample on us – we have learnt – or rather more accurately, ZANU-PF has taught us to take a beating with a smile. In the crowded lounges of London, Washington and Sidney, Zimbabwean Diaspora cower behind superficial self-reassurance that it is impossible to return home and rid ourselves of the myopic scourge of ZANU-PF politics: “ Hee bakithi, sizophindela njani ekhaya uMgabe esabusa?.”  [“How on earth can we return to Zimbabwe during Mugabe’s reign? ].

My advice to the ANC government is that xenophobic attacks on my countrymen are not an illusion, but direct result of false promises of jobs and housing. But those assaulting Zimbabweans will have to wait another hundred years before a government can deliver jobs. Governments do not deliver, they devour. For my fellow citizens in Alexander, Kya Sands, Soweto and Westham  – I say swallow your pride, rid yourselves of fear and return home to fight against fascism. The battle is about to be won.