Poetry by Freedom T.V. Nyamubaya, featured on Poetry International.

A Mysterious Marriage

Once upon a time
A boy and girl were
Forced to leave their home
By armed robbers.
The boy was Independence
The girl was Freedom.
While fighting back, they got married.

After the big war they went back home.
Everybody prepared for the wedding.
Drinks and food abounded,
Even the disabled felt able.
The whole village gathered waiting,
Freedom and Independence
Were more popular than Jesus.

Independence came
But Freedom was not there.
An old woman saw Freedom’s shadow passing
Through the crowd, leaving by the gate.
All the same, they celebrated Independence.

Independence is now a senior bachelor.
Some people still talk about him,
Others take no notice.
A lot still say it was a fake marriage.
You can’t be a husband without a wife.
Fruitless and barren, Independence staggers to old age.
Leaving her shadow behind,
Freedom has never returned.

Mysterious Marriages Continued

After the mysterious disappearance
Freedom still not found
We can’t say she is dead
No evidence of her whereabouts
Police tired of investigating
Probably they need a bribe
For something to start happening.

Now we hear of the newly weds
I’m not sure who married who
Whether Morgan married Robert
Or Robert married Morgan
Maybe they married each other

Somebody is optimistic
These days anything can be legalised
If only you fight for it

A couple of years ago there was a similar marriage
Zipra and Zanla got married
And became Mr and Mrs ZIPA
ZIMBABWE PEOPLE’S ARMY
The two were madly in love
But their parents hated each other
The next thing we heard was an out-of-court
settlement
The reason being simple: They spent most
Of the time trying to outwit each other

As the elephants continue fighting
The grass and twigs suffer heavy casualties

In Mt Darwin, Mashonaland Central, it was a question of choice
Do you want long sleeves or short
This is not about buying at Edgars
It’s a hand cut off voting for your choice
Freedom is not allowed in this country

In Mutoko, Mashonaland East, suspected youth sell-outs
Pay between two goats and a herd of cattle to base managers
Or risk disappearing
This is usually after their buttocks have turned to minced meat

In Chegutu, Mashonaland West, as we speak
One white couple three children two dogs one cat and a maid
Spent the whole day frog-jumping in their underwear
For not accepting the rule of looting
That normally happens just before harvest
In Matabeleland nobody wants to talk about it,
Gukurahundi,
Some people may have to change their names
When freedom comes

In Mutare
Helicopters hover over diamond panners in Chiadzwa
2000 dead. Nobody gives a damn
Diamonds are for members of the politburo only

Whether its Robert or Morgan
Each can be two sides of the same coin
Freedom may remain a myth
Until we claim it

Last week I got to meet Toni Crabb a Zimbabwean Barcelona based visual artist. Toni has been working in the arts industry for the past 23 years and has done quite a number of exhibitions. Drawing her inspiration from things, which worry her, and things which give her energy Toni, inspires conversation through her art work.

In a small village in Spain with 300 inhabitants, she went onto the football pitch and painted the goalpost pink decorating it with flowers, plants chairs making it into a space for doing interviews with people. “I wanted audience participation, I didn’t want to be the one making the images. I wanted to gather images from the audience relating to female sex pleasure. At first I didn’t know if it would work but I got a got a lot of interest and people participating,” Toni said. After showing the audience the sexual response curve – a line that shows pleasure and orgasm – she got people to discuss the results.

Asked on why Toni specifically chose this topic Toni had this to say, “The reason I did this is because there is little imagery that women make that we can actually feel and relate to about our own pleasure and sexual experience.” Other issues that the artist covers in her work are social issues like people’s relationship to the space around them and people’s relationship to the environment. You can follow Toni on her website here.

I am re-reading Zimbabwean short story anthologies and one of them is Brian Chikwava’s Seventh Street Alchemy.

An excerpt:

Sue has no birth certificate because her mother does not have one. Officially they were never born so will never die. For how do authorities issue a birth certificate when there is no birth certificate?

“If your mother and father  are dead and you do not have their birth certificate, then there is nothing I can do,” the man in office number 28 had said, his fist thumping the desk. He wore a blue and yellow tie that dug into his neck, accentuating the degradation of his torn collar.

“But what am I supposed to do?” Fiso asked, exasperated.

“Woman just do as I say. I need one of your parent’s birth or death certificates to process your application. You are wasting my time. You never listen. What’s wrong with you people?”

“Aaaah you are useless! Every morning you tell your wife that you are going to work when all you do is frustrate people!”

We have a new constitution that gave people false hope and it’s still more of the same!

Artist: Chaz Maviyane-Davies

Smeeta Mahanti; Reagan Arthur Books

From The Atlantic:

In an interview with The Guardian, fellow Zimbabwean novelist Petina Gappah, often referred to as “the voice of Zimbabwe,” rejected the role. “I get irritated by the term ‘African writer,’” she said, “because it doesn’t mean anything to me. Africa is so big.” In her essay “What Makes a ‘Real African?’” Ethiopian writer Maaza Mengiste expressed a similar sentiment: “The question is problematic,” she wrote. “It assumes a static and compressed definition of Africa. But Africa is a continent of 55 recognized states, with a population of over one billion and more than 2,000 languages. There are so many possible responses.”

Bulawayo, by contrast, embraces her role as an “African writer” and, as her novel reveals, doesn’t let expectations circumscribe her. “For me, I always insist that I am an African writer because it is true,” she said. “I am an African. If I deny that label, my work will scream otherwise.”

More

NoViolet Bulawayo will be signing copies of her novel, We Need New Names, shortlisted for the ManBooker Prize.

When: Thursday 19 September
Where: FOLIO bookshop in Borrowdale Village
Time: From 10.30 – 12.00 noon

We look forward to seeing you there! Please tell your friends.