Mtunzini is a remnant 40 km fringe of unique dune forest that once claimed hundreds of miles of the Natal coast in South Africa.

The rest has been taken by holiday apartments and hotels, sugar cane farms, eucalyptus and pine forestry, and dune mining and a huge port for sea transport at Richards Bay.

This small untouched forest is where we go to shed our skins and watch with awe

As I write,
and despite the extraordinary efforts of the local conservancy who invite people in to experience this magical dynamic ecosystem,
these remnants are being visibly destroyed by drying of river sources by inland forestry
and damaged by a hotel consortium with chalets in the forest that endeavors to match their resort to meet the expectations of their visitors:

‘snakes/monkeys will get into the cottage if the trees touch the roof’
‘the paths through the forest must be clear of leaf-litter so we do not stand on a snake/scorpion/unseen death threats’
‘and the branches must be cleared above our heads’
‘and the trees that drop leaves and bird droppings and fruit on our cars’

‘Why are you here?’ I want to ask
as holes appear in the interconnections of the forest canopy where new alien plants  encroach
and my heart aches

Monavale is the small suburb in Harare, Zimbabwe, where we have lived for 30 years
It is a magic place – a large wetland enfolded by a strange outcrop of rocky hills with about 60 houses and an old age home.
The growing community has always been held together by a shared borehole (historically we had no municipal water)
For the past 10 years a number of dedicated residents in this community have established Monavale as one of the very few an urban bio-diversity centers in Southern Africa with the blessings of City Council and support from various environmental organizations.

It has been an exciting project which has involved huge work
we have now established  a wetland bird sanctuary,
protection of the unique local tree community,
an indigenous tree nursery,
vermaculture in our households,
community litter collections,
and bi-annual cleanups of dumping that have been left on the vlei surrounding us.

. . . I came home to the sound of cement mixers and banging and trucks

A 45m cell phone base station is being built 40m from our bedroom window
on the highest point at the centre of Monavale hill

no one, least of all the surrounding properties, were notified in advance

the places that I hold sacred
are being moved into that unseeing world
where development and safety and control
lay to waste to the wonder of the nature surrounds us.

This month, my friend and poet, Bev Schofield wrote in her poem ‘BUT’

I ranted and I raved
about world evil, all  the wrong
wrung out in songs and tortured poetry.
“Dear God” I cried “have you forsaken us?
If evil must be wrought then surely justice must be brought…”
“Good,” said God. “Go do it.”
“But me?” baulked I,

and like her, my heart shudders
as once again, I find myself being called to stand
at a time when my soul calls me to the garden and the simple tasks of daily living

BUT

from the first day the construction workers arrived, they were presented with the signed petition from members of the Monavale community
our letters of protest were sent to the cell phone company, to the city council, to the mayor, to every relevant authority,
and we called them in repeatedly

BUT

no legal permit to build has ever been produced
and our last feedback from the Deputy Urban Planner was as follows:
‘you will have to sue both us and the cell phone company to prove that you were not notified’.

the building continues as I write

And I rave at the unstoppable-ness of it all
how do I remember to love in this space of un-loving?

God flies past on butterfly wing
peeps over the windowsill  in a new-born bright-eyed gecko
whispers beauty in falling orange leaf
touches my coldly shedding skin with the warm sun

what is my place in all this?
is it in the stopping?
or learning to love before we have lost everything?

There are media reports that the police have applied for a license to mine diamonds at Chiadzwa. The police are also said to be demanding $3 million to offer security to COPAC during the Constitution consultation excise.  I am not a policeman, neither do I know much about policing, but I think the force has gone offside. It is the duty of the policeman to offer security to its citizenry; we have always known that the police offer services free of charge. Ensuring security during the constitution making process is just but one such duty.

Maybe the police need to clarify if it has turned into yet another parastatal, or if we now operate with a private police force in the country. This move by the police has potential to bring commotion in the near future. For example, if the police have a license to mine the precious diamonds, the army will need the same privilege and the same applies to all civil servants.

I am personally convinced that once the mining system operates in a transparent and accountable way, the income flows into government coffers should benefit all Zimbabweans, including the police.

We as citizens demand that businesses be run as businesses and that greedy spirits should not ruin our country. Policemen at roadblocks and anywhere else have turned corrupt.

It seems the whole system is becoming rotten.

God intervene.

Last week, Kubatana sent out a text message asking Zimbabweans what they thought about the state parting with $1.8 million as payment for Brazil’s Samba boys to come in for a friendly with our national team, the Warriors. They also sought to influence our conscience by reminding us that this was being done in the face of our civil servants getting peanut salaries. I don’t know how far true this business of paying $1.8 million is since ZIFA has been denying ‘such allegations’, but I remember looking at Kaka that day and thinking that clearly, Kubatanas are not soccer fanatics.

I was among the 40 thousand plus crowd that thronged the national sports stadium for the friendly and I must say; it was an electrifying experience .The atmosphere was just eclectic with cars everywhere and momentarily, all paths leading to the stadium turned into one-way streets. The excitement was infectiousness and previously at the office, we had all been having a hard time concentrating on what we were doing, watching the clock like eagles for the half-day knock off.

Like at all football matches, people saw this as an opportunity to flaunt their different ‘jerseys’ depicting the international teams they supported. Among them were the bright yellow Brasil T-shirts that I think somehow just look better on women. Inside the stadium, vuvuzelas did most of the talking and the crowd did not seem to mind the noise or the fact that uncle Bob turned up – as is usual when the national team plays – to jinx the match. Only this time, credit clearly could not be pinned on the geriatric leader.  That Zim would lose to Brazil was predetermined. But we didn’t care. If anything, Zimbabweans in the stadium that day struggled with the true test of loyalty and patriotism tugging at their consciences and had a hard time trying not to support both teams. At the end of the day it didn’t matter which team one supported. It was enough just being there.

Seeing Kaka and Juan in flesh and bone was our Fifa moment, and the Zimbabweans in that place could not give a flying fart whether $1.8 million was paid for it or not.

Moreover, it’s not like that money would have been put to better use anyway, we all know that. And if it’s any consolation to know, by FIFA standards, $1.8 million is nothing compared to what some of these players are paid internationally. Recently, Real Madrid reportedly parted with an obscene € 8m to get one of the world’s most prestigious coaches, Jose Mourinho. Kaka is currently the highest paid soccer player in the world, with an annual salary pegged at $12.87 million. This tells me that for Brazil, it wasn’t about the money.

Nobody was ‘bussed-in’ to come and watch that match. Zimbabweans from all corners of the country willingly drove their cars or walked to the stadium and paid their hard earned money to watch the game. For those 90 minutes, 40 thousand Zimbabweans momentarily forgot they had problems. Men smuggled in vodka and made merry, for the match provided an excuse to drown their sorrows. Some were already vomiting, way before kick-off. Women clad in tight leggings and boots danced sele like crazies. It was sheer craziness.  At kick-off, the stadium steps shook and reverberated with feet stomping excitedly on the terraces. It was like being 10 again for most of us. Apart from the lousy sound system supporting the big screen and the visibly smitten mousy woman behind me who annoyingly kept screaming, ‘come on Kaka’ each time the player had the ball at his feet, this promised to be a good match. At the end of 90 minutes we had of course lost the game, but we did not go home unhappy people. If anything, the only thing that dampened our spirits was the cold and long hours spent in the slow-moving traffic negotiating our way out of stadium grounds.

So to answer the question, what do I think about paying $1.8 million (that easily would otherwise have been used for some obscure purpose like shopping in Malaysia by you know who) – if it meant seeing the five-time world cup champion team playing live on our soil; if it meant experiencing 90 minutes of hectic action and excitement and momentarily forgetting how some people are everyday screwing up this beautiful country for us and lastly, to see 40 thousand Zimbabweans laugh out loud for once with great abandon despite all their problems; the answer is I’d have that again, any day.

It is unfair that the HIV and AIDS pandemic has a face of a woman. I heard this statement at a discussion that I was in and it hurt me a lot. I know that women especially in Africa are the most infected by the virus but to hear that being said my heart tore apart. To think that every time HIV and AIDS is spoken about the image given to it is a woman’s face. In most cases it is the man who brings HIV and AIDS in the home. With men being socialized to think that there are the bulls and bhuru rino onekwa nemavanga aro encouraging men to have multi partners. The majority of women living positively are infected by their male partners, why then is the woman the most discriminated?

To all the Zimbabwean men out there, did you know that male circumcision reduces the potential of contracting HIV and AIDS by 60%when having unprotected sex? It is considered one of the key defenders against the HIV virus. Please note men that I did not say it is the only defender and it is only 60% effective, meaning there is still a good percentage of getting infected if you have unprotected sex with an HIV positive woman.

Back to circumcision. The foreskin of the penis has HIV target cells called langerhans cells. So if you get rid of the most vulnerable part of your penis even the risk of getting STIs is reduced. The foreskin is very rich in blood supply and we all know that where there is blood the virus does not take long to attack. Not only is the foreskin rich in blood supply it can easily tear during sex especially with this dry sex practice that has taken the southern part of Africa by numbers. I say this because dry sex has increased not only the HIV virus to go on the rise but the ladies who practice this have a high chance of suffering from cervical cancer.

Circumcision does not take way from sexual pleasure; in the words of the lady who was doing the presentation from Population Services International (PSI) pleasure is in the mind. She also reassured the males that were in that discussion that the procedure is not painful. In fact with the kind of drug they use to make your penis feel numb, your whole penis could be cut off and you wouldn’t feel the pain. The pain you feel after the procedure is the same pain you feel when you have a minor headache. I hope I am encouraging someone to go for circumcision especially the ones who are HIV negative. This procedure is not for any one living positively because they could be some complications but to all the healthy males you can be out and about in six weeks.

I know I sound like an expert and as if I have gone under the knife myself, it’s just that the lady who gave us this information on Tuesday had good examples. She even had a dummy penis to show us what it takes to be circumcised.

I would like to stress that getting circumcised does not mean you are free from contracting the virus if you have unsafe sex. Practice safe sex always, stick to one partner and above all abstain.

Just thinking about the blog I wrote about the City of Harare and their lack of alacrity in fixing water leaks . . . our office block was without water for the whole afternoon. When I went into the loo before I left for home it smelled as if someone behind one of the closed doors was doing an almighty crap. But instead some of the toilets were nearly seat high in toilet paper and poo. Meanwhile downstairs in Libbys there was a festive big crowd of men watching the Brazil/Zimbabwe game. The sound effects were really great, lots of gasps, and sighs and cheers. I’m wondering about the other effects . . . a bunch of guys who have been drinking for a few hours and the non-working toilets . . . where will they pee? Maybe up against their own cars like I watched a reveller do late one night last week.