The postal service attached a short note to a parcel that we got in the post recently. They apologised for the “dirty state” of the envelope being delivered to us. Inside was the much awaited book, SMS Uprising: Mobile Activism in Africa published by Pambazuka Press. Never mind the fact that our copy is a bit buckled and battered it makes for an incredibly interesting read and not just because Kubatana and our very own Amanda Atwood is featured in it! Sokari Ekine has done a fabulous job editing a series of essays on mobile activism and we urge you to get a copy.

Anne Perkins writing on guardian.co.uk described SMS Uprising as a “book that will help explain how mobile phones can be used in the field to anyone daunted by technology.” She went on to say that “theory is one thing: but where these essays really come alive is in the descriptions of projects that have already worked.” And she cites Kubatana as an example of one of these projects.

Read more here

On Kubatana’s home page we feature an article entitled Conversations with Christopher Mlalazi. Christopher is a talented Zimbabwean writer and theatre producer. We’ve just had word from him that one of his plays will be featured in this year’s Harare International Festival of the Arts (HIFA). Here is some news from Christopher and a teaser from the play called Election Day.

I have just returned from the Harare International Festival Of The Arts workshops on writing and directing for theatre, where I developed one of my plays titled ELECTION DAY, which will be premiered at HIFA 2010 (April), under the HIFA-DIRECT project.  The play is going to be directed by Eunice Tava, a seasoned actress and director.  The cast is still yet to be selected, but that is Eunice’s baby.  The play ELECTION DAY is an adaption of one of my short stories which was first published in the 2004 Edinburgh Review, and then was later published in my short story collection DANCING WITH LFE; TALES FROM THE TOWNSHIP, which won the 2009 NAMA AWARD for BEST FIRST PUBLISHED CREATIVE WORK, and was also given the Honourable Mention in the 2009 NOMA AWARD FOR BOOK PUBLISHING IN AFRICA.  Please find below a teaser from the play, and if you can, please come to HIFA 2010 to watch it. We are also looking for opportunity to show the play around the world after HIFA, and if you think you can link us, please be welcome.

ELECTION DAY

Scene 1

Enter the Director Of Vote Counting, Juda.  He is dressed in a suit and is entering a toilet.  He is also holding a clipboard with papers on it. He goes to the urinary, and pees with his back to the audience.  As he is peeing, enter Twenty walking stealthily and casting looks over his shoulder.  He is also dressed in suit and tie.  He comes to a stop beside Juda. Twenty is not peeing but is standing facing the audience.

Twenty:           How goes it now?

Juda:               It is even worse now Twenty.

Juda stops peeing, closes his zip and turns around to face Twenty.  He quickly writes on a piece of paper and hands the paper to Twenty.  Twenty quickly looks at the paper.

Twenty:           O God no!

Juda:               And don’t say you got that from me, this is highly confidential information.

Twenty:           I won’t Juda, and thanks.

Twenty takes some money from his pocket and hands it to Juda.  Juda quickly takes the money and puts it into his pocket.

Juda:               The paper too, if it falls into the wrong hands I might get into serious trouble.

Twenty:           Of course Juda.  Of course.

Twenty hands the paper back, Juda salutes Twenty, then both men exit in different directions.  Twenty’s walk is dejected.

Scene 2

A stage with two sofas and a side table with a telephone on it.  Enter His Excellency, Poka Oka Ndiseng.  An elderly man in his sixties, he is dressed in a jogger short, old fashioned vest, and carries a golf club.  He heads for the telephone, takes it and quickly dials.

Ndiseng :        ( Into the telephone) Twenty?  Can I please see you, thank you.

Enter Twenty, still in suit and tie. He is Ndiseng’s personal advisor.   He bows before  Ndiseng.

Twenty:           Your Excellency.

Ndiseng:         (Pointing at one of the sofa’s)  You may sit.

Twenty sits down on the sofa, but on the edge.  His right foot is beating a rapid tattoo on the floor. Ndiseng looks at this foot.

Ndiseng:         Relax, Twenty.

Twenty’s foot stops tapping, and he wipes his forehead with a hanky.

Twenty:           Mmh!

Ndiseng:         Just relax, Twenty. And why do you look as if somebody has just walked over your grave? Just look at you!

Twenty:           Your Excellency. Things are very bad outside,

Ndiseng:         (Points a warning finger at Twenty) Eh! Eh! Eh! What am I always telling you Twenty?

Twenty:           But this is the truth your Excellency!

Ndiseng:         Please don’t exaggerate.

Twenty:           I am not exaggerating!

Ndiseng:         Do you know your problem my dear comrade? You panic very easily Twenty, just like a cowardly dog. (Ndiseng mimes action of a dog barking) WOOF! WOOF! WOOF behind a fence, and if you pretend to pick up a stone it flees away with its tail tucked between its legs.  I don’t need women around me Twenty. I need men with balls of steel.

Twenty:           I am not panicking your Excellency, Comrade Ndiseng.

Twenty wipes his forehead with his hanky again.

Ndiseng:         Then why are you are sweating like that? Or maybe you have forgotten yourself and you think state house is a bush in the rural areas and you are squatting behind it defecating?

Twenty:           The ballot counting is almost finished your Excellency, there are only five ballot boxes left uncounted, and the opposition is leading us by a very wide margin.

Ndiseng:         Is that so?  Of course I didn’t know that. And thanks for the information. If you are telling the truth, then we must clap hands for them.

(He leans the golf club against the sofa and claps his hands, a wide grin on his face)

They really are trying aren’t they?  Bravo!

(He claps his hands again.)

And by how many voters are they leading us now, Twenty?

Twenty:           Three million votes so far your Excellency, and the remaining five ballot boxes only contain one million.  We have lost.  Everything is crashing down on us!

Ndiseng:         (Bursts out laughing) Ha! Ha!  Ha!

(Still laughing, he points a finger at Twenty)

And you are now shitting in your underwear!

(Makes noise of farting)

Bhu!

(He laughs again, then smiles)

Stop being paranoid my dear personal advisor.

(His voice hardens)

And to use your own words – it is you who will crash out of my elite team if you do not show strength.  Anyway, why should you be frightened of the election results if I may ask?  After all, it is not you who is losing, but me, Cyclone Ndiseng, to use my favourite guerrilla name.

(pause)

Or is it because you see your meal ticket vanishing should that happen?

Twenty:           It is not like that your Excellency -!

Ndiseng:         Let me tell you something for nothing Twenty.  This is not a children’s game we are playing here.  This is not dance around together in a sally weather tissue tissue we all fall down.

(He swings his hands in mime of a children’s dance as he says this)

It is a game of heroes.  Men who are larger than life.  Now, tell me my terrified friend, did you read comic books when you were growing `up?

Twenty:           (Perking up)Yes I read them your Excellency. Kid Colt, Spiderman, Superman, Tin Tin)

Ndiseng waves his hand at Twenty in dismissal

Ndiseng:         No, not that crap.  There is another one that you have left out.  My favourite.

Twenty:           You mean Wonder Woman?

Ndiseng:         No, not that lesbian.

(He suddenly flexes his muscles, his face twists in effort)

The Incredible Hulk!  You!

Twenty:           (Smiling)  The Incredible Hulk!  I love that one!  He is my hero!

Ndiseng:         I am the new Incredible Hulk of this continent Twenty.

(He whispers to Twenty, his face screwed up in excitement, and his fists bunched)

And do you know why?

Twenty:           (Shaking his head and whispering also) Why, your Excellency?

Ndiseng:         Because I am going to be the first president of the United States Of Africa of course!  And that day is around the corner.  Just mark my words.

He suddenly flexes his muscles, and roars like Hulk.

Ndiseng:         The Incredible Hulk!

He roars like Hulk again, grabs Twenty and trips him to the ground.  Twenty rises up, exhibiting signs of fear.  Ndiseng roars, grabs Twenty and trips him to the ground again.  Twenty lies on the ground, and Ndiseng struts around the stage roaring like The Incredible Hulk, and flexing his arm muscles.  He goes back to Twenty, who still lies on the ground.  Twenty cringes back in fear.

Ndiseng.         (Offering Twenty his hand and laughing) Get up Comrade Minister!  Get up! Woooo! You look so undignified lying on the floor like that.

Twenty:           I am scared of  Hulk, your Excellency.  He is so powerful!

Twenty takes the offered hand and rises to his feet.  He brushes himself down, then sits down on the sofa again..

Ndiseng:         That is the lesson Twenty. Never worry, nobody can defeat the Incredible Poka Oka Ndiseng, blood descendant of the great King Oka Ndiseng 1, slayer of lions, conqueror of mountains, who smiled and the moon melted and beautiful maidens swooned.  Who can defeat such a man Twenty?  They can’t, not even with all the assistance of their fucking Nagasaki bomb, but, this is not what I called you in here for.

Twenty:           Yes your Excellency.

Ndiseng:         I want you to go and write a speech for me.

Do yourself a favour and visit Poetry International to read some great poetry from around the world. The current  featured Zimbabwean poet is Freedom T.V. Nyamubaya. Editor Irene Staunton introduces her as “a rural development activist, farmer, dancer and writer who was born in Uzumba. Cutting short her secondary school education in 1975, she left to join the Zimbabwe National Liberation Army in Mozambique where she achieved the rank of Female Field Operation Commander, later being elected Secretary for Education in the first ZANU Women’s League conference in 1979.”

Here is one of Freedom T.V. Nyamubaya’s poems from 2009.

Coming and Going

In Zimbabwe rain is an event
Like the sighting of a new moon
In the fasting month of Ramadan
The butterflies display a short-lived beauty
Before they become the sparrow’s festive dish
Beautiful angels in a distant dream
Of babies in the reeds and life after death.

There are more prophets of doom
Than angels from Heaven
Most rivers are silted
With fertilisers and asbestos powder

From the higher-ranking scientific politicians
Whose power to stop development
Can be measured in kilogrammes of pain
No gatecrashers at Heroes Acre please!
You have to have been mafia to qualify

So I have a problem with making fashion out of dead legends. I am sure you have all seen bags and T-shirts bearing the images of greats like Steve Biko and Martin Luther King Jnr. I often cringe to think that these men, who fought for the emancipation of their people, now find themselves pasted onto brightly coloured garb, forming a part of popular culture.

Okay, so I think it’s important for young people to be conscious of the past, to be able to identify with the efforts of predecessors who have paved the way for a better today. But I am not so sure if a T-shirt will achieve this. What about a visit to a museum or a look through a history book?

Oh, but you will tell me that young people don’t have time for that, that between Face Book and their i-pods, there is simply no time for that. So how exactly does regalia ensure that these people are conscious of who these heroes are?

I tend to feel that all these artefacts are commercial gimmicks that ensure that ordinary people feed into the capitalist machine. In a world where everything and everyone famous is patented, it’s not hard to see how all these products largely serve the interests of a few. So we think it’s cool and conscious to buy something that says Kenyatta on it, or to cruise around wearing something emblazoned with Saartjie Baartman’s derriere when all it usually is some company churning out mass-produced goods for the health of their pockets and not history.

I do agree that these products make young people more curious about the past, but it’s saying something if they are not made aware of history within the school setting, or at home.

I remember that when I was in high school – at a private school – we were never taught Zimbabwean liberation war history because our school believed it was time to bury the hatchet between blacks and whites, the two main race groups in our school. And so instead, we learnt about Chinese feudalism, the Egyptian pyramids, 18th Century England and everything else that took us away from the gory details of Rhodesian history. I believe that was the wrong way to go about things.

Imagine if German kids weren’t taught about Nazism. It’s an ugly horrible shameful past, but one that must be confronted and accepted. It is what happened, and this can never change.

And it still saddens me to think that many young people, like I once did, go to school in Zimbabwe and know zip about their own culture and history. Sadly, T-shirts, caps and bags aren’t the real solution to unlocking one’s history.

It is a far more intricate process of unraveling the hidden layers of self.

I would like to make a few comments that connect to two excellent recent Kubatana blogs­the first by Amanda Atwood concerning Uganda’s Anti-Homosexuality Bill and the second by Catherine Makoni concerning the troublesome PSI research/adverts.

Both blogs effectively highlight worrying ideological agendas and human rights violating desires for control over peaceful citizens.  Moreover, both blogs increase our awareness of the negative consequences when political leaders, research projects, and TV ad executives allow fear of difference to direct the way they think and how they develop policies, design research, and disseminate information.  It is with pain in my heart that in the last few days I have been inundated with people spewing ideas predicated on fear of difference.  Just the other day I read a fear of difference article by William Lungisani Chigidi entitled Shona Taboos: The Language of Manufacturing Fears for Sustainable Development.

It is of course important to discuss taboos or what are also called avoidance rules so as to better understand some of what shapes the complex cultural, economic, health, political, judicial, and social issues and circumstances in Zimbabwe, and world over.  What shocked me and made my stomach turn is that Chigidi overtly advocates that Zimbabwean society ought to instill more fear and formally adopt more avoidance rules to ensure that citizens “appropriately” conform to a morally upright socializing process.  Chigidi writes:

For example, the avoidance rules can be employed to tackle the HIV/AIDS pandemic.  For instance, why can’t it be said that ‘If you have sex while you are still young you will suffer from chicken pox’;  ‘If you become intimate with an animal your private parts will disappear one day’; ‘If you kiss a boy/girl you will lose all your hair’; ‘If you hug a boy/girl you will be raped by a vagabond’; ‘If you become intimate with a relative you will die in your sleep’; ‘If you become intimate with another man/woman (homosexuality/lesbianism) you will be struck by lightning.’  Avoidance rules such as these, and expressed in descent Shona language of course, will invoke in the minds of the young frightening images that will scare them from improper behavior.  That could save lives.

I’m not sure I want to write a blog per se.  More I think I want to rant.  This article is one of the most unsettling things I have ever read.  How in the world can someone so overtly advocate instilling fear, in children no less?  Why in the world does someone think it makes sense to tell children flat out lies?  What would be wrong with thoughtfully engaging children, adolescents, and adults in dialogue to better understand and appreciate human diversity, while also unpacking what drives inequities and injustices in the world?  At least Chigidi’s aim is to save lives.  But, it is not fear nor fear of difference that are going to save lives.  Discussion and productively celebrating difference is what saves lives.

And finally, one last quibble about the article.  Simply to say that writing homosexuality/lesbianism is unnecessarily repetitive.  Albeit a pejorative term, homosexuality describes a sexual relationship between individuals of the same sex.  A homosexual relationship could be between men or between women.  Why use both homosexuality and lesbianism to reference the same thing?  The answer, in part, lies in the analysis that Catherine’s blog presents concerning troublesome representations of women.  In the case of unnecessarily using lesbianism when already having used homosexuality, we are looking at the opposite end of troublesome representations of women and their sexuality’s.  If women are not problematically cast, as Catherine writes, as highly sexed, morally depraved individuals, the other common casting follows the patriarchal worldview depicting women as sexually passive and meant only to serve men’s needs.  With this ill-conceived line of thinking then, the term homosexuality is perceived as unable to incorporate a female same-sex sexual relationship given that, in a patriarchal worldview, women (straight, lesbian, or bisexual) don’t choose to have sex.

Poetic Journey is the story of Zimbabwe told through poetry and mbira music. A young man refuses to celebrate the GNU because he can’t afford electricity, water and a host of other necessities. He realises that whilst he lives in poverty; the leadership is living in the lap of luxury.

The play was scheduled to premiere on the 25th of November and run from 26-27 November @ Amakhosi Theatre Upstairs.

The premier went very well on the 25th, with the audience interacting with the writer/director  and the cast after the show.

Trouble began after the performance on the 26th. After the show we walked into town; two members of the cast and I. We went our separate ways when we got into town. I decided to go into one of the smaller supermarkets along Leopold Takawira Avenue. As I was standing by the fridges, a guy in his late thirties approached me and asked a seemingly innocent question about the price of yoghurt in US dollars.

After buying what I wanted I walked to 6th Avenue to look for transport. The guy I had met in the supermakert was there and I immediately bacame suspicious and got into the nearest combi. He got in as well and sat next to me.

Speaking in shona,  he said, “you getting too clever”, and he left.

The next morning I received a lot phone calls from people who were saying they had been “advised” not to attend my show.

On the 27th I met the cast for our final show at Amakhosi. Two guys showed up around 6.30 pm. They pulled me asside and said my show wasn’t in the spirit of the GNU and I needed to stop the nonsense or else. They refused to identify themselves, but I recognised one as a police officer based at Queenspark.

I wanted the show to go on since it had not been officially BANNED but the cast members except one, were too scared to perform.

We had to turn people away and close the show.