Sheltered beneath cool thatch
surrounded by green lawns and fig trees

a circle of Zimbabwean women sit passing a stone
sewing beads onto a red velvet cloth as each one spoke

women’s work

they cross three generations
mothers, wives, sisters, daughters, grandmothers
facilitators, lawyers, counselors, activists

What is it, we asked, that we celebrate about being women?
‘Our ability to love,
to take responsibility for our children, our families
to take responsibility for the food, and the schooling
our ability to hold serious jobs
to talk about our feelings
to share the load’

And what is difficult about being  women here, at this time?

‘Being disrespected
often abused,
by the men with whom we live
sexual harassment
political rape and violence’

It was a story of attrition and overwhelming responsibility

One of the elders spoke
of the infidelities of her husband
of the pain it had cause her young soul
as she watched over her small children

and of the growing strength of realization
that she was the one

she would not seek what was impossible
she would take the responsibility
and do the work
and love her children
because she had the courage and strength to do it

of the power and satisfaction her life had brought her
of the wonderful children she had grown into the world
of the circles of women she shared her life with

They spoke of strong, enduring, loving mothers
of the father who had supported one young woman’s journey
allowed her the freedom to make her own choices
of her gratitude for this trust in her abilities

They spoke of the ‘enemy within’
their own jealousies
of women’s part in infidelities
the insecurity they carried

And then they looked at what they could change
and of holding circles with men

It is the first conversation of many, many conversations

everything changes

Tell me; are any of your resolutions surviving January?

I decided to steer clear of the usual suspects this year – the diet, the exercise, the booze ban.  Instead I prayed for wisdom, maturity (mental, not physical obviously – you only want to be older when you are 12 and ¾’s), tolerance, restraint and grace – assuming that the diet, the exercise and the booze ban will follow as a matter of course (ha!).

These resolutions are a journey, rather than a destination (some have pointed out the potential ease of reneging and have questioned my motivation – or lack of – quite uncharitably I feel) but I do have one outstanding from last year that I hope to complete this year (and it is measurable).  It involves a reading list – the point being to read a number of books (over 100 on the list) which are selected (by a panel of academics) based on their impact on society at the time they were written (and none of them are new) or through history – whether due to literary style or content.  Some of them are painful, so painful that my Kindle remained untouched on my bedside table for weeks, and I have struggled all the way to the end of others, still not having discovered the reason they were chosen to be on The List in the first place.  Anyway, I shall persevere.

Daniel started “big school” this year.  My eyes brimmed as I took 101 photos of his first day, complete with too-long-shorts and large floppy hat.  He went off (tearful mother clutching large bog roll – you want to take a new one, not one that has dwindled to a few discreet nose-blows, and forget the dainty multi-coloured tissues – your nose will break right through and you’ll have finished the lot before you reach the car) cheerfully waving good-bye, after a hasty kiss and “I love you mom”.  I had so much to say. I was brimming with well-meaning advice on playground and bathroom etiquette. I was prepared for the “I don’t want to” battle complete with temper tantrum and tears.  And I was left, bereft and forlorn, looking after my departing child, my baby, his little satchel bouncing off his back as he ran into school.  I almost ran after him.

Tyla had her very first spelling test ever. And, after 2 afternoons of coaching and oral repetition in the car (Daniel being loudly shushed into silence), she got all her words right – I can feel my chest puffing out as I sit here.  She is enjoying Grade 2 less than she expected (things are so hard).  Still, I am always proud of her, although she may be daunted or nervous or scared, she always walks into a new situation with her chin up.

And so this year has been full of milestones already. We are well and truly launched into 2012, let’s try to remember our time here is finite – and make the best of it!

US education reformer Horace Mann: “Be ashamed to die until you have won some victory for humanity.” Jane McAdam Freud smiles. “It doesn’t have to be some big victory,” she says. “Just a little thing.”

I was biking up the road the other day and had to slow and detour. The City of Harare was painting white centre lines and lane markings, and traffic was discombobulated. While negotiating around this mess, I had time to think. Why is this new regime in the City painting road markings?

Well, the immediate answer is obvious, to guide traffic! But, the real question – why did the previous regimes not paint, and allow what was painted to deteriorate to invisiblity – and why can this new one now do it? The obvious answer (it is the answer to everything) …  Sanctions!

That knee jerk answer is a) a lie, b) a cover for total incompetence. On the second point I know, as we have succeeded in turning MacDonald Park Pool (Cambridge Road, Avondale) from a green pond where a Hammerkop fed on frogs, into the bestest public pool in Harare, that makes more on gate takings on a Saturday than it does to shut it and hold a wedding on the grounds! And how did we do it? No sanctions busting involved. The chlorine gas comes from the atmosphere (the air we breath) which does not respect borders. The labour came from the community, where we also borrowed a pump. The paint came from Astra (a local company). Etc. No sanctions busting involved!

On the second point, we know there have NEVER been sanctions against Zimbabwe. It is a lie, so often repeated that even the ruling party (that is, the new ruling one – with the majority of seats in Parliament, not the old ruling/losing party – that brought us democracy) talks about ‘removing sanctions’. It is easy to see which ‘ruling’ party has the better verbal gymnasts and brains.

So, back to the original topic – road paint and sanctions. Why is the new regime able to overcome sanctions and paint road markings, while the previous regime was only able to… well, did they do anything?

The new regime at least tries to give the people some of what they want – while the real agenda is to take power, now that they have legitimacy. The old regime has only one agenda, hold on to power, now that they have lost legitimacy.

I’m in full support of Minister Biti’s ban on second hand underwear. I just don’t support his logic for it. Biti is variously quoted as saying

“I am told we are now even importing women’s underwear in this country. How does that happen? If you are a husband and you see your wife buying underwear from the flea market, you would have failed”

I’m not certain how many men have an intimate knowledge of the details of their partner’s under garments, but I would wager very few. Be it La Senza or Mupedzanhamo, barring stains and large gaping holes, I quite doubt the ability of the average Zimbabwean man to be able to tell the difference. The only time men really seem to notice is when it is unattractive. And how many really care? More importantly, are we as women willing to let them? It seems to me that millions of women all over the world, including Zimbabwe, have struggled for sole custody of their bodies and the right to clothe them as they see fit. In other words, except for the obvious health and safety issues which are the government’s and particularly the Minister of Health’s concern, it is neither the government’s nor the Minister of Finance’s business where women buy their underwear.