How about Zimbabwe’s art galleries doing something similar?

Abused children turn their fears into artwork for groundbreaking exhibition: Child Hood at the Royal Academy is the result of art therapy Kids Company has done with severely traumatised young people. More here

I was really moved by the boldness of an girl pupils who protested against their school authorities right in front of their nearest Ministry of Education offices in Zimbabwe. The pupils who are all boarders at Mukaro High School in Gutu, walked for 20km, taking four hours to reach to the district’s Ministry of Education offices. They sneaked out from the dormitories as early as 2am and reached the offices at 6am. Their aim was to protest water shortages and poor food at the school. A big round of applause ladies! The girls at school are said to number 700 and one can only imagine the health implications of having water shortages with so many children.

With the Ministry of Education now aware and doing an investigation into the plight of these pupils and the school authorities knowing well that they are now under scrutiny from the different stakeholders involved, like the parents, the education ministry, health officials and other concerned parties, these pupils are guaranteed of some change and provision of a basic necessity – water. Not only will this benefit them until they complete their studies but it will also benefit future generations of pupils to come to that school. They have not only protested their rights at this particular school Mukaro High, but they have been a voice for other pupils around the country who due to varying circumstances are not able to take up such high levels of boldness. Also this a big warning to school authorities that misuse school funds meant for the welfare of school children. They should change their ways before such protests occur at their schools.

It is such small acts of resistance and protest that bring about change in the bigger picture. It is high time we emulate these pupils and make those accountable for discrepancies in the provision of our society’s daily life needs.

It must be pretty frustrating for the ordinary guy with very empty pockets who has looked up to other people to solve Zimbabwe’s headache, a migraine that has defied the Aspirin that has come in many shapes and forms rendering it nothing but a very useless placebo. Turns out SADC has been such an Aspirin, at least faced with an obdurate headache in the form of Zanu PF. Each time SADC meets to map the way forward concerning the holding of elections, whatever communiqué is issued after such lengthy deliberations appears to be futile in that it has become predictable for the ordinary guy with very empty pockets that President Mugabe will say no one will dictate to Zimbabwe, a sovereign nation, what to do.

Mugabe has said no one has a right to interfere in the affairs of “his” country, effectively saying whatever it is that SADC recommends, he will not accept it as long it does not coincide with his own position, never mind how anti-people that position has been fashioned. You only have to listen to or read statements from party blabbermouth Rugare Gumbo, and you wonder if Zanu PF has any reason belonging to SADC. The ordinary guy with very empty pockets believes Zanu PF belongs to the dustbin of history, I heard the guy say the other day! But then the pan-Africanist shindig bringing together Africa’s “leading liberation movements” here has been cited by Zanu PF loyalists (like that beefy guy Herald guy booted out of Botswana a few years back) as proof that Mugabe is being supported by fellow anti-imperialist spirits in his calls for polls this year. It was then US President Ronald Reagan who said the memorable line back in 1985 after “terrorist attacks by Shi’ite Muslims”:  “We are not going to tolerate these attacks from outlaw states, run by the strangest collection of misfits, looney tunes and squalid criminals since the advent of the Third Reich.” Well, the same can be said about these folks!

Finance Minister Tendai Biti and human rights watchers in and outside the country have already said holding elections this year and without any electoral reforms is one sure way to sacrifice people’s lives as a political violence powder keg is sure to explode, recalling of course the 2008 madness where Zanu PF enthusiasts are accused of punishing political opponents with death. It ain’t alarmists who are predicting blood and gore if polls are held without the necessary conditions being set as already outlined by the GPA and as insisted by the MDC, but it is indeed safe to say the world has been warned about the political violence that has already begun in many parts of the country. Imagine then if the polls are officially called? Considering this, no one therefore can be criticised for concluding that this could yet be another African story of dead consciences where people will say they saw it coming but did nothing to stop it before it happened. There are just too many such stories that do not need any repeating.

And the painful bit is that some faith-based non-governmental organisations and Churches are already involved in activities and programmes of national healing where victims of political violence during past elections are sitting together with the perpetrators in search of peace in their hearts. What then becomes of these people in the face of yet more election violence when past scars remain unhealed? And this in a country where 1980s violence continues to hog contemporary political discourse. You just have to listen to Moses Mzila Ndlovu to get the point. And the guy is a government minister!

I like to think I can shake my butt with the best of them, but these days the trouble is that my butt keeps shaking long after the music has stopped and less flabby people have gone home. I may exaggerate the duration, but the act is fact, unfortunate but true. I joined a Zumba class last week, primarily because it was cheap, and I can take the kids (the whole family can enjoy the hilarity of playback as enacted by my children, joy!), and it’s close to home, and the winter weight is telling, and I’ve been meaning to get some exercise …. so, lots of reasons to go.

Anyway, I arrive, water bottle and hand towel at the ready.  We are a mixed bunch of people, and at this point I’m feeling a little smug (read: I’m not the fattest). There are a couple of youngsters (twenty-somethings) with a full face of make-up on, making eyes at the instructor (who is all of 18) – but not for long. At least 1 bows out half way in a bid to retain what mascara remains and to retire to the bathroom to fix her hair (smug, again). There’s a girl and her mom, allegedly on holiday from Holland (I think it’s a plot myself). There are some overweight ladies, apparently ready to make a change (am not sure what they think the Energade will achieve – probably more calories in a bottle than you can burn in 45 minutes) – you can see I am setting myself up for some well-deserved slapping down can’t you?

I probably made a good 15 minutes of uncoordinated effort to keep up, little realizing that I had an unattractively red face by this stage and it was obvious to all that I wasn’t able to follow the instructor’s “breathe through your nose, exhale through your mouth” – my lungs were bellowing, no chance to close my mouth!  In the corner of my eye, the daughter and her mother happily persevering at a steady but unfaltering pace (it may seem trivial, but I will come back to this later). I did not give up, but I was the only participant (read: contestant) that had no water left by the end of the session. You catch the drift.

The next day I was happy to note that I had no muscle pain (smug), so I rolled into the next Zumba class with the mistaken belief that I couldn’t be as unfit as I thought.  This week more youngsters in hot pants and make-up, (word is out that the instructor is a hottie and will chat to you after class even if you have ducked half the workout and spent the time in the toilets like a teenager …. what am I saying, he IS a teenager!). Me? I drag my sweaty pits home as quickly as I can pack up the children, this is NO time to hang about, perspiring and red-faced and with barely sufficient breath to shout for the kids, never mind conversation!  Anyhow, I see the daughter again and ask solicitously after her mother (read: smug) and blow me down with an anchovy if she doesn’t say, “Oh, you mean my grandmother …” – who is apparently game viewing in Hwange and has therefore missed her weekly workout, the one she attends when she’s not cycling (as you do, Dutch and 80 in the shade) or judo or swimming. Enough said.

All I know is, if I can do that amount of jumping up and down at her age, without the assistance and protection of a nappy, I’ll be …SMUG (was going for grateful, but honesty won out).