Self interview by Mgcini Nyoni, Poet, Playwright and freelance writer based in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe. With poetry published in FIRE IN THE SOUL 100 poems for human rights (New Internationalist / Amnesty International UK 2009), Intwasa Poetry (Amabooks, Bulawayo 2008), Poetry for Charity Vol 2 (Nigeria 2008). Creative director of Poetry Bulawayo www.poetrybulawayo.webnode.com.

Q: Why poetry?
A: Poetry liberates you. There is no right or wrong way of writing poetry, really. I remember Loyd Robson saying you can paint a picture and call it poetry.

Q: Sounds confusing.
A: Only if you don’t understand poetry. I don’t appreciate hip-hop so I was a bit confused when a hip-hop person was trying to explain that there is good shit and bad shit.

Q: But hip-hop is poetry.
A: What aspect of life is not poetry?

Q: What inspires your poetry?
A: Life. Like if I am thing that I would love bacon with my bread and I can’t afford bacon; It sort of formulates into a poem, like:

they are eating
bacon and eggs
in the state house
The man in rags
eating burnt bread . . .

Q: That’s political.
A: Life is political. Everything can be traced back to a politician either doing well or messing up. Most times they are screwing up.

Q: Is there real hope for poetry?
A: The numbers of artists who write poetry is increasing. And because everyone is literate, there is a lot of self-expression using poetry. Poetry Bulawayo is trying to give all these people a platform.

Q: There is a sort of rebelliousness associated with poetry.
A: Not really. There are people who always take things too far in anything: eating, sex, poetry…

Q: Last word.
A: Brace yourselves; the poetry movement is about to take over the world.

A week ago a woman gave birth at a tollgate. According to the story the woman was on her way to Gweru Hospital where she had been referred to by the Shangani District Hospital presumably because the district hospital was not capacitated to do the delivery.

But that’s just my deduction.

What was reported is that the woman was already in labor when she caught a ride from a haulage truck driver who was heading in the same direction and when the truck was stopped at the tollgate; she was on the verge of delivering; the truck driver saw it fit to leave her somewhere near the tollgate so that he could rush along and go on his way.

Can’t blame the poor fellow though – he was probably terrified that he would end up being saddled with a new born baby and all the mess that accompanies childbirth moreover, he certainly wouldn’t want his employer to find out that he had turned the company vehicle into a  delivery room.

In any event the woman was unceremoniously dumped on the roadside, where she ‘rolled’ around on the ground, writhing in agony before her anguished cries attracted the attention of the police and Revenue authorities who were manning the toll gate.

With the assistance of these officials, she delivered a healthy baby and remained attached to the infant as none of them wanted to hazard cutting the umbilical cord; they couldn’t decide how many centimeters to cut off from.

In any event, an ambulance from Gweru conveniently arrived with paramedics who proceeded to cut the cord and ferry the woman to hospital where we are told the woman is recovering very well.

The story was written in the light-hearted manner of one telling an entertaining story; the tone conveying a hint of humor because – well it’s one of those stories one can tell knowing they will have an engaged and enthralled audience.

What makes it all the more appealing is that it’s all true and with a nice little ‘happy’ ending to wrap it all up – the baby is safe, the mother is recovering, the officials who were there now have a story they can one day share with their grandchildren and of course, it was suggested that the infant be named “tollgate”.

So all’s well that ends well, right?

Wrong!

It seems to me that this report totally missed the point.

The point is, why on God’s green earth was the woman referred to Gweru in the first place? Why are district hospitals incapacitated and why; with less than five years to meet the Millennium Development Goals (MDGs) are we still having women’s maternal healthcare being so grossly ignored?

The point is why, in a three decade old independent Zimbabwe, are women giving birth in the open like animals?

And oh, the indignity of it!

Anyone who is well-versed on the subject of the arduous rigors involved in birthing will know that the exercise is excruciating and it is, for every woman a time of extreme vulnerability. There is indeed, nothing trivial about it because of the high risk involved, too many women die giving birth and others die due to pregnancy related complications yet coverage given to these tragic occurrences borders mostly on nonchalance without any appreciation of the gravity of these incidents.

To my way of thinking, the story raises several issues that warrant interrogation and are basically screaming for scrutiny.

One of them is the glaring lack of sensitivity with which the subject is treated – so matter-of-factly and it somehow succeeds in making the woman’s plight almost inconsequential.

Needless to say, gender sensitivity is a notion whose import has largely gone unheeded or has not been prioritized in many sectors of our society – this is just one manifestation of this culture of indifference.

What is even more upsetting is that these attitudes permeate to all other coverage of matters that directly affect women and impact on their health and interests.

There is something wrong with a health delivery system that fails women at a time as crucial as child birth – but there is something inhumane about a society that would condone this by finding the slightest element of humor in what is clearly outrageous.

And of all the things that could be said about a woman delivering in such unusual and inappropriate circumstances; the very least one can do is remember to point out the fact that we expect more of our Government – what with the combined weight of three political parties?

That was the simple status update that one of my friends posted on his Facebook profile.

And that’s when the frenzied Google search for more information began. Could Sam, the exuberant, all-conquering son of the great Oliver Mtukudzi, really be dead just a few short weeks from his 22nd birthday?

I often saw Sam at the Book Café in Harare. Sometimes he played his guitar and sang a few songs – and other times, he just hung around to listen to whatever entertainment was going on.

Admittedly, I never spoke to him, but the great potential coursing through his being was always palpable, always on the verge of eruption.

One Friday night, he held a concert in the very same Book Café. Every tile of the floor was teaming with feet dancing and throbbing to his beat. Every few moments, he bobbed his head back and forth – much like his father does when he becomes immersed in his performance. A look of enjoyment and concentration coloured his face.

I remember lots of swaying, sweat and sing-alongs to each word he amplified through the microphone. I remember that night because I felt release and exhilaration.

Oliver Mtukudzi once sang a song entitled ‘Tiri Mubindu’ (We are in a garden)  that describes us all as being flowers in a garden. Translated from Shona, his words state the following:

A beautiful flower does not survive. We harvest it just as it blooms

The irony of these words is tinged with great sadness, especially when I think of how beautiful Sam’s bloom would have become had it been allowed to grow a little longer.

But he is gone.

The fragrance of his flower, however, will stay with us.

Rest in peace.

The last time I went to a discussion I heard a very shocking statement: women in the rural areas are likely to get more information on issues pertaining to women than urban women. So I urge all you sisters, mothers, aunts, cousins and friends that if you hear that there is a forum going on discussing women issues please be there. It is shocking to find out that an empowered sister who has access to Internet 24/7 does not have information on her fingertips as far as what is happening in their back yards is concerned. The NGO world makes it a point to do information distribution to rural communities on issues to do with reproductive health, the constitution making process, what women are entitled to and what they should look out for when it comes to their day to day living, and the political implications on their lives. I was indeed shocked that Mai so and so in Umzumba-Maramba-Pfungwe might know all those things more than me. Women in the city are slowly losing the community setting that the rural women have. Apart from kitchen parties, city women don’t deliberately sit and ask one another, so what do you think about the marriage law or find out another woman’s view about the political situation in the country. I have often times heard people making jokes about vakazdi veruwadzano (community women). I say not anymore. When those women are together they are discussing family planning methods, how to take care of children and the household. They are talking about home-based care, how to make sure they don’t get infected in the process. While in the city Miss Know It All with a laptop and desktop does not have a clue on her entitlement as a woman, let alone as a Zimbabwean citizen.

Spot the difference . . . this is exactly what we’ve been through, and are still experiencing in Zimbabwe. If only it were as simple as civil society and trade unions standing up.

Below is a letter printed in Business Day:

TS Eliot perfectly sums up our gloomy state of affairs: “we are the hollow men, we are the stuffed men … shape without form, shade without colour, paralysed force, gesture without motion … this is the dead land, this is cactus land”.

If Nelson Mandela was our nirvana, the new leadership is our nadir. Despondency and gloom have replaced hope. Greed and plunder have taken over from selflessness and servant leadership. Without any skill, education or hard work, one can accumulate millions in a week, more than Raymond Ackerman did in the first decade of running Pick n Pay.

Your green and gold political membership card is more precious than a university degree or values. If you are connected, a phone call to a well-placed minister will open doors for you. Talent and competence are irrelevant. State institutions are paralysed by inept leadership and infighting.

It is twisted irony that the new rulers praise apartheid monsters such as PW Botha for their leadership. Spare a thought for his victims. Like his predecessor, Adriaan Vlok, our current police minister is smiling, as the blue light brigade harasses poor citizens.

Sixteen years ago, Africa looked up to us for inspiration — today we are Africa’s cartoons.

Be warned: these are the first signs of post-colonialism blues that destroyed most of Africa’s young democracies. This is our Damascus moment. If we do nothing — we go the Zimbabwe direction. Zimbabwe is a state of mind and not a place.

Please do not blame Julius Malema for milking the system. It is not his fault. All he did was rent out his name to interested parties. Our flawed democracy was designed to benefit the elite and not the masses.

Yesterday it was Thabo Mbeki ’s group to enjoy the fruits of liberation. Now it is Jacob Zuma ’s turn. Moaning will not help. Every comrade wants a taste of the state honey.

Like cancer, political decay has spread to all parts of our body. It is sad for the African National Congress — the party of Sisulu — to be seen defending the looting of state resources.

Lord have mercy on us if our leaders cannot separate what is legally right but morally wrong. Do not look to President Zuma for answers. He is part of the problem and a pawn in the game. Our democracy and our future need defending from our leaders.

The media, civil society and trade unions must stand up. Our loyalty should be to the constitution, instead of to leaders. Building democracy is hard work. We cannot afford to be complacent.

Dr Lucas Ntyintyane
Cape Town

Mind blast; what artists want in the new constitution was the title of a recent Book Café forum that was calling artists to come and air their views and contribute to the industry that has so much potential in our country. But there were no artists to be found much to my disappointment. The artists that were there did not even fill my hand, they were just a spot of them in the venue that so fills with artists when there are events like the Sisters Open Mic and Bocapa just to name a few.

I really must repeat that I was disappointed. The place should have been buzzing with artists; we should have failed to fit in that space but eeish. One other thing I noticed is how late the discussion started, almost an hour late. In my mind I was thinking that if the Arts Industry is to be taken seriously then we must start being professional. The reason why people do not understand us artists is that we have stepped up to the plate that labels us as shady and doing it because we enjoy it and not because it’s a profession.

One speaker said that artists take it for granted that the society knows that art is a true expression of our culture. How are we going to change people’s minds when we don’t want to change our own? I tell you if artists had come to that discussion many could have left with a different mentality and start to place real value on what they do and whom they are.

One speaker described artists as practical people and I agree with him one hundred percent but that’s not how it looked at the meeting. A lot of artists were not practical enough to come to a forum that sought to find out from them what they want so that it is worth their while to be in the arts sector.

Enough of the disappointments though. I left early so I guess I too acted like a typical artist leaving before I would at least hear what other artists want from the constitution. One thing that one of the speakers talked about was that artists want all the rights, liberties on expressing their religion, views, tradition, identity and aspirations. I think many artists should have been there to applaud and nod their heads and say indeed that’s it, that’s what we want.