There was a time when Zimbabwean women had to be extremely careful about how they dressed in public. Cover up, or they (men) would take it off. Wearing wrap-over skirts, shorts and, of course, mini-skirts was just asking for trouble. Even tight fitting hipsters were a big no-no.

Recently it seemed that women were more able to dress liberally in the central business district (CBD). Women of all ages, shapes and sizes wear tight trousers, squeeze into skinny jeans, dress in short ‘dress-tops’ with leggings or jeggings, and even shorts now, without fearing for their safety. As the temperatures have risen, so have the hemlines, so I was very shocked with what I saw only this morning. It would seem that history is repeating itself, and we women have to once again BEWARE OF WHAT WE WEAR in town.

I was on my way to work this morning and as the combi drew closer to the rank, there was a sudden traffic-jam, indicating that something had just happened. In the distance a crowd could be heard, whistling, shouting, and laughing. Everyone seemed to be focussed on a particular moving object. The rumbling crowd drew closer and some of what they were shouting could now be heard: “Hure!” “Mubvisei!”, “Dzimwe hembe dzasara kupi?”, “Ndizvo zvawanga uchida!” “Ungaita chipfambi mangwanani ano?”(“Bitch!” “Take them off”, “Where are the rest of your clothes?”, “This is what you wanted!” “How can you prostitute yourself so early in the morning?”)

The crowd was getting more and more irate and some of the hecklers had even taken out their mobile phones to photograph this mysterious trouble-maker. She finally emerged, dressed in a blue long sleeved top, a denim mini-skirt and flat sandals. She was tightly clutching a man’s arm and he attempted to manoeuvre them both through the enraged crowd, all of whom were men. Cameras clicked, fists banged on combi bodies, the men bellowed threats, hurled insults and comments of disapproval and disgust. The girl and her ‘saviour’, were swallowed by the growing crowd, (other men, having heard the commotion, had come to join in the taunting), only to emerge moments later halfway across the now completely blocked street. The pair, disappearing again into the belly of the beastly crowd, and miraculously re-appeared inside a parked combi. The mob then encircled it and began rocking it from side to side. With the crowd thus occupied, the road cleared and we were free to move.

All the men in the combi had something to say. One said that he didn’t wish to see such things as they would further raise his already high blood pressure, but all the while, he craned his head to see how the scene we had left behind was unfolding. Another said that they should indeed take her clothes off, because that is what she wanted and deserved. All the men agreed that she was immoral, and that displaying her body like that was disgusting.

I wondered why they had not looked away when they saw her ‘disgusting’ thighs only half covered by the mini-skirt, and why some of them had smiled and even licked their lips at the sight of other men tugging at the small garment.

All the women were silent, probably fearing that the bad old days have come back to haunt us once again.

“I think there is too much concentration on fighting HIV, AIDS and other diseases like cholera, so we want to restore the balance,” said Dr Stamps. The former health minister/Health Advisor in the Office of the President and Cabinet, said this at the Non-Communicable Diseases Conference held from 15th – 16th of this month.

According to the World Health Organisation (WHO), respiratory diseases, diabetes, cancers and cardiovascular diseases (including high blood pressure) account for 80% of deaths from non-communicable diseases, and are perpetuated by things like tobacco use, physical inactivity, the harmful use of alcohol and poor diets.

Even though it seems that AIDS poses the biggest threat to our health, these “silent killers”, which are so often neglected, and are very much a ‘normal’ part of many Zimbabweans’ lives (especially diabetes and high blood pressure), are the greatest killer disease in the world. In Zimbabwe, 21% of deaths in 2010 can be attributed to such disease, according to WHO Non-communicable disease country profiles 2011. In the light of such scary statistics, does HIV and AIDS seem like such a big deal now? Let’s restore the balance in the focus of our healthcare systems, as Dr Stamps has so rightly suggested.

Another holiday treat was getting to see Invictus, the movie. I then got a copy of it, and a copy of Nelson Mandela’s ‘Long Walk’ biography.

In the movie, Mr Mandela tells the captain of the South African Rugby team, that during his many years in prison, the poem inspired him to, “stand when all he wanted to do was lie down.” However, the biography makes no mention of this poem so maybe it was just some ‘licence’. (I was about to say poetic licence, but that was just too corny.) Maybe Mandela did not feel that way.

However, what really interested me was the contrast – this poem and it’s line “I am the captain of my soul”, vs. that defining Zimbabwean phrase, “handidi”. (I am not the one). Yes, there is a contrast there (even I am not that stupid), but what does it mean? What are the ramifications? What does it mean for Zimbabwe?

There is the first comparison between Mandela – being in charge. Of himself, first. Of his destiny, his environment, his achievements, his family (45 million I think he said). On the other hand, typical Zimbabwean, with the hand out. Begging. Begging for food. Begging for money. Begging for someone to change his government. Begging for a ride. Begging for dignity.

How often have I been asked, “why doesn’t the UN do something?” To which, the response rings loud and clear in my head, “why don’t YOU do something?”

How many times have I been told I must buy something from the vendor. “I’ve got to get bus fare to get home.” Again, my response, “Then you need to sell something that is worth buying, something I want.”

How often have we been told, ‘it is the result of illegal sanctions.” So often that even the MDC now seem to believe they exist (and it is most definitely a lie, there are no sanctions against Zimbabwe).

I have always wanted to believe it was my fault. Why am I not married? Doing something wrong. Why am I unemployed? Did not qualify myself? Why does no one like me? Because I am an asshole. Partly, because I am egotistical. I want to believe (and I want others to believe) I am the most important thing in the world. Partly because (in a practical sense), because I am he only one I can control. So if it someone else’s fault, I am out of control. If it is my fault, I can fix it (or not, in the case of the opposite sex!). So Mandela’s (possible) inspirational poem, rings to me. I want to believe I am the captain of my soul.

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

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