One of my favourite feminist quotes comes from Mary Wollstonecroft and it says “I do not wish them (women) to have power over men but over themselves” because I believe that is the essence of women empowerment.

I never resonate with the preoccupations of some activists with ‘demanding’ that men create spaces for women in politics, in education etc… the whole idea of creating quota systems sits rather uncomfortably with me.

For what a man gives to a woman, he has the power to withhold at some point and there is no empowerment derived from being ‘given’ – empowerment only comes with what one achieves, attains and realizes from their own efforts.

I don’t doubt women’s capabilities, potentials and talents – I don’t think they need men to ‘liberate’ them – I think they can pretty much liberate themselves – if they acquire education, work their way to the top, begin to actively participate in the highest echelons of decision-making, policy-formulation and governance.

In 2007, when I was at the University of Zimbabwe, we were witnesses to the first ever female candidate to run for the powerful (and often violently contested) post of Secretary General of the Students’ Executive Council, Maureen Kademaunga.

She won the elections in that year because she managed to galvanize the female students into one cohesive, critical mass of voters and became the most powerful student in the country at the time because student activism was very robust, radical and influential.

I have come to believe that what women need is to have power over themselves and that power manifests in overturning the status quo whenever it is employed to oppress, marginalize or discriminate against us.

Recently there was a landmark passport ruling by a Supreme Court Justice Rita Makarau ruled in favour of Margret Dongo who, two years after filing a constitutional challenge (seeking the, nullification of certain provisions of the Guardianship of Minors Act, which she claimed were discriminatory against married women who were not regarded as natural guardians of their children) finally triumphed.

I want to believe that having a female Justice presiding over the case had a lot to do with the verdict; I want to believe having a determined woman who knows her rights had a lot to do with Margeret Dongo daring to challenge the status quo.

I want to believe that the results of that ruling, which will impact favourably on married women were wrought through the actions of fellow women and that no man played a part in ridding us of that cumbersome piece of discriminatory legislation. I want to believe that these are just examples of women exercising power (not over men) but over themselves, over their lives and ultimately over the system of patriarchy that informs the conditions of their oppression, marginality and discrimination.

So, I too, wish that we as women, may choose to have power over ourselves, choose to exercise that power and choose to liberate and empower ourselves.

When I tell people that I am saving up to travel somewhere distant and exotic, they tend to look at me quizzically, as though I have lost my marbles.

“But why don’t you rather buy something sensible – say furniture or a car or a plot of land? Travel is surely not that important!”

More often than not, I am met with such responses when I start talking about my longed-for road trips through west Africa or some unexplored part of Asia.

It would seem to me that we as Zimbabweans, and Africans I dare say, don’t place much significance on becoming global citizens who know their world better.

Rather, when we travel, we’d prefer it to be on someone else’s tab – a workshop or conference where one spends the whole time in a hotel and then takes snaps around anything that bears the visited country’s name and proudly announces to all their Facebook friends, “Ndanga ndiriko! I was there!”

I will admit that once upon a time, I used to be like that. Back then, I figured that having a stamp in my passport that proved I had been to a place gave me authority to speak about it as though I had been born and bred there, even if I had only taken a few paces around some touristy places.

But then over time, I have come to realise that travel is more than just the physical act. There is such a wealth of learning – about people’s cultures and ways – waiting for you if you just take up the challenge.

I think that such experiences can be more valuable than buying things. Don’t get me wrong, it’s definitely important to invest in property . But there are things that travelling teaches you about yourself, about humanity and the sameness of us all amid our differences in geography, language, race and religion.

And also when I talk about travel, please don’t start pointing that accusatory finger at me and telling me that travel is for rich people.

Some of the best travel expeditions I have had have been on a shoestring budget and loads of adrenaline. Last year, a few friends and I bundled into a bus to Victoria Falls and stayed at a $5-a-night ‘lodge’ and had the most amazing time (eating baked beans and dry bread for breakfast and lunch, I might add!) interacting with the locals and just taking in the beauty of the majestic smoke that thunders.

And what about an even cheaper trail? How’s about a weekend exploring a part of your own city that you’ve never really paid attention to? Mbare, with all its history has a great atmosphere of life and living. Makokoba township, with its lively arts scene, is another place worth a visit.

I know there’s people living in their leafy suburban homes who would never dream of going on such tours fearing being seen ‘kughetto’. But those places we tend to look down upon harbour some of the most amazing experiences and people.

My favourite memory of visiting the Vic Falls last year was going to a bar in Chinotimba township where the music was far too loud for my ears and the half-drunk male revelers kept buying drinks for the designated ‘queen bee’ who stood in a corner gently tapping to the beat, making the jelly in her backside quiver to the men’s delight and unending attention. But each time one of them came up to her, she would shoo them away and say that she would only consider the guy’s advances on one condition – that he buy her some bottles of the beer she was plying herself with. Turns out she didn’t like any of the men anyway and used their interests to get herself sloshed! She left, very much alone, and very much unbalanced.

What a sight, and all on a working Wednesday night!

Here’s to travel and all the hilarious and mind-opening experiences that it brings.

And so next time I tell you my heart’s in Accra, please understand the itch in my blood to go to that legendary land. One day, just one day, my body will follow!

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.