Rejoice Ngwenya takes on both the Diaspora, suggesting that they return hom to help fight fascsim, as well as the xenophobia perpetrated by South Africans who should concede that they are a “brood of insecure, spineless cowards.” Read Rejoice’s latest article below:

Considering the new wave of xenophobic attacks against black Zimbabweans, some black South Africans now have to concede that they are a brood of insecure, spineless cowards.  I have literally grown up with these cowards, lived with them in exile, conferenced, drank and shopped with them in their fancy boulevards and arcades. Under that veneer of happy-go-lucky hypocrisy, their limited intellect seethes with nothing but venomous contempt for other Africans, especially us Zimbabweans, Mozambicans, Zambians and Malawians.  You encounter sales assistants in South African shops and all you see is contemptuous hatred in their eyes, spite for your money as they peer suspiciously at it as if it has been puked by a dragon. Even when I check into five-star hotels at Rosebank, I have to grope around for ideal seating while the receptionists scurry around for attention of Japanese guests in anticipation of a miserly tip. I guess we need to appreciate that their Ubuntu deserted them as a result of three hundred years of plunder and mental abuse by the Boers.  To them, anything white is God-sent. But I have good news for the enlightened few:  it is only an insecure, good-for-nothing pea brain that would kill someone solely on the basis of ethnicity. Just like Hitler, Amin, Stalin, Bokassa and Sadam Hussein, Paul Kagame, ZANU-PF hooligans in June 2008 et al – xenophobic South Africans are a pathetic excuse for humans.

The 1-7 August 2010 week, I hear, is national science week in that country, but sad to say, xenophobia is not rocket science, otherwise there would have been a genius from some village high school in Tlokoyandou, Limpopo Province,  with a perfect wonder cure. Unfortunately, it is neither a medical condition nor physical deformity, but plain stupidity.  I guess I am asking for too much to expect an average primary school dropout from Soweto to notice how the world has moved ahead riding the wave of human diversity. Sadly, there are millions of such second grade humans in that country, from the dry lands of Limpopo to the shores of The Cape. These idle minds are too busy worrying about where to get their next glass of home-brewed bear; pondering which Shabeen will be first to play the next big Kwaito [local house music]song, instead of creating own jobs. Their obsession is what Zimbabwean stud lays which South African woman, and what sort of punishment matches the ‘transgression’.   If they had a morsel of intellect, I would remind them that the world’s best civilisation – United States of America – is a potpourri of ethnic diversity.  If Americans had continued agonising on how to perfect Adolph Hitler’s poisonous doctrine of Aryan purity, they would still be living in tin shacks and using bucket toilets in Harlem like South Africans do in Khayelitsha!  Good gracious me, which planet has these clowns tumbled from?

Considering that in the 1990s, scores of Zimbabweans lost their lives and property harbouring parents of these social rejects, the blame lies purely on the African National Congress’s [ANC] political ideology of false promises. But unlike our own Marxist-Leninist dunderheads in Harare, true ANC cadres no longer beat up those who do not agree with them. The remnant legion of Zimbabwean-haters thrives on a mentality of cowardice and fear, and then convinces equally gullible neighbours that poverty is caused by African aliens. The net result?  Xenophobia.

Fear and cowardice are the twin evils of African politics. Here in Zimbabwe, after thirty years of violent repression, a typical Zimbabwean will not say much against political order or any system for that matter without glancing over their shoulder. The consequences are devastating. We have become so accustomed to service delivery abuse that mediocrity and compliance are now in the DNA our social behaviour. Zimbabweans wait for someone to say something, and they join with a ‘we knew it all along’ chorus. Fear and coward mentality!

This reminds me of a Mr Dzikamai Mavhaire, a close ally of Robert Mugabe who, at the height of ZANU-PF’s one party state euphoria in the 1990s, bravely defied all political odds and said something to the effect: “Mr Mugabe must go; he should give way to new party leadership.” There was hue and cry from his delusionary party, but he became an instant cult hero in the ‘democratic movement’.  As you read this rebellious treatise, twelve million Zimbabweans of progressive political ideology would want to show Mr Mugabe the flashing political exit, but we have had absolutely no clue on how to go about this noble democratic exercise since 1985. Villagers have been pummelled into prostrate submission while urbanites are routinely reduced to dysfunctional robots that worry too much about day to day survival at the expense of long-term political wisdom.

At petrol service stations, councils, churches, schools, public buses – Zimbabwean citizens are abused, but the most they can do is to wait and see, hoping that the next day will bring better tidings. Grocery supermarkets compel us to buy merchandise we do not need because they stock no loose change, and we take this punishment without so much as twitching an eyebrow. Are we cabbages or what! No wonder South Africans and Tswanas trample on us – we have learnt – or rather more accurately, ZANU-PF has taught us to take a beating with a smile. In the crowded lounges of London, Washington and Sidney, Zimbabwean Diaspora cower behind superficial self-reassurance that it is impossible to return home and rid ourselves of the myopic scourge of ZANU-PF politics: “ Hee bakithi, sizophindela njani ekhaya uMgabe esabusa?.”  [“How on earth can we return to Zimbabwe during Mugabe’s reign? ].

My advice to the ANC government is that xenophobic attacks on my countrymen are not an illusion, but direct result of false promises of jobs and housing. But those assaulting Zimbabweans will have to wait another hundred years before a government can deliver jobs. Governments do not deliver, they devour. For my fellow citizens in Alexander, Kya Sands, Soweto and Westham  – I say swallow your pride, rid yourselves of fear and return home to fight against fascism. The battle is about to be won.

Whereas it is common among people who work for the same organizations to share lunch hours together, a group of men working around Newlands shopping center have crafted it differently. Men from different organisations, including some vendors, gather under a tree close to the Caltex Service Station, eating and chatting.

Stories that make people laugh range from political jokes, social issues and the general teasing of each other.

Surprisingly, very few people know each other by name but the regular gatherings have developed enough trust to share information and lend each other a dollar or two. Sometimes strangers appear and their presence influences the type, and depth of stories and jokes of the day.

It is difficult to know how such a group came to be. No one really controls it. Sometimes two men just stand around and some start joining in sharing stories to while away the lunch hour. Usually people stay as long as possible not wanting to be robbed of any fun. In the end we all have to rush to our duties.

It is in these informal groups that one hears the deeper analytical thoughts of those who are usually not heard – those who are usually looked down upon in society, for example airtime vendors, and others who informally sell foot balls and fruits. Last week’s burning issue was polygamy. There was a polygamous man in the group defending his position in the face of criticism.

To understand poverty it is necessary to be among the poor and share with them thoughts and different ways of life, because in turn they open the pages of their lives to you. I am pleased to have joined this group because my perception of how people live has widened.

Pam and Bren, day 3

For what seems like ages, my sister Pam and I have talked about cycling from Harare to my parents’ cottage near Juliasdale in the Eastern Highlands.  Early this year we picked a date, but it came and went and we were no closer to being ready to make the trip.  Since the distance from Harare to the cottage is roughly 250km, we realized that we would need to do a bit of training before setting out on the journey.

We cycle together regularly, meeting early in the morning on a Saturday or Sunday to do a hilly loop that takes about 2hrs.  But riding together once a week hardly seemed adequate for the endeavour – hence more procrastination.  The sad truth is that I’ve been the one holding up the show.

For the last couple of years Pammy has been struggling with a bad back.  The doctor says it’s not going to get better, and in fact it’s amazing how active she is given the shape it’s in.  She does uncountable prostrations as part of her daily Buddhist practice, swims, goes to yoga and Pilates, plays the piano and has recently taken up the violin – never mind looking after a house full of kids.

Anyway, Pam recently decided that with the increasing pain load associated with her back, she’d opt for surgery in early September.  Suddenly our options for cycling together to Juliasdale telescoped down to one or two weekends in July.  Yikes.  Travel and flu had combined to limit my exercise in July and I was suddenly faced with doing this ride less fit than I’d been in awhile.  There was nothing for it but to trust in Muscle Memory!  Hopefully my legs and chest would remember that I’d been quite fit this year.

We were easily convinced that cycling the leg from Harare to Rusape, along the Mutare Road, was for the birds. Instead, to make up a similar distance to our original route, our ride would go as follows:  Day 1: Rusape to the cottage (+- 72km), Day 2: Cottage to Troutbeck and back (+- 80km), Day 3: Cottage to the bottom of Christmas Pass – about 11km out from Mutare (+- 80km).

Garigayi, the bike mechanic

We set out by car from Harare on Thursday July 29th with bicycles and mini support team at the ready – Mum, Dad and Pammy’s husband, Dave.  With the clock ticking down, we made the obligatory stop in Marondera to check in with my aunt Lorraine. Mum and Dad were recently back from a trip to the UK, so there was lots of catching up to be done – in Marondera and during the car trip.

When we finally pulled in at Rusape, it was well after 11am, making it a fairly late start when the two of us got underway at 11.30am.

With bottles of Game juice and pockets full of jelly babies and energy bars, we headed side by side up the long road towards Nyanga.  Day one was blessed with a wintery blue sky and a cool, gentle breeze.  Happily there was very little traffic on the road and we made good progress for a couple of hours.  Our support team met us roughly half way with tea, sandwiches and fruit and Dave joined us to cycle the last couple of hours to the cottage.  We put him to use sooner rather than later when we discovered somewhere along the way that my back tyre was flat.

By the time we reached the turn off to the Pine Tree Inn, the temperature had dropped considerably and we were very happy to be Almost There.  Then a small disaster struck.  Going up a steep bit of dirt road about 1km from the cottage, my chain broke.  We hadn’t planned for that eventuality at all.  I was miserable as we trudged up the long hill to the cottage.  It seemed that nobody had the tools or the know how to fix my chain.  There were still a couple of options, so all was not lost.  Pam is taller than me, and Dave is taller

than Pam, so although we could swap bikes it wasn’t going to be all that comfortable the next day.  The road to Juliasdale had been a fairly hilly 70km+ Up.  The road to Troutbeck would be lots more Up.  Actually, it seems that all the roads in the eastern highlands are a mixture of ups and downs, so relief is usually at the top of the next rise.

According to my partner Bev, cyclists in Le Tour de France are advised to have an ice bath after a long day in the saddle.  My parents have a small pool at their cottage and it was Icy.  Soon after we arrived, Pam and I jumped in and very quickly straight out.

A hot bath and a square meal quickly set us right, and after an early night, we were set to go the next morning.

It's a long way to...

On Friday morning, the blue skies were gone, and in its stead a cloudy grey day with a brisk wind. Not what the doctor ordered for a long hilly ride to Troutbeck and back. The grey weather was completely countered by the wonderful news that a casual labourer working on a project at the cottage knew how to join a broken chain.  With a long nail, a pair of pliers and a hammer, he soon had me and my chain back on my own bike.  Dave had also been busy in the background and had replaced my bald back tyre with a new knobbly one!  You’ve got to love the amazingly practical folk that live around you.

We set off at 9.45am and arrived, thighs burning, at Troutbeck Hotel at 12.45am. We pulled on thermal tops and tracksuit trousers and ducked into the hotel for a cup of tea and a bit of food.  Service was a little slow and whilst we waited, Pammy and I pondered the option of being ferried back to the cottage by car by Dave. Nope! We wanted to do the mileage, And we wanted to cycle Down the long Up we’d cycled earlier.  The ride home was no picnic and by the time we arrived back at the cottage, just after 4.30pm, we were very tired. We had our obligatory freezing plunge and followed the same routine as the night before.

The next morning I was beginning to feel a bit worse for wear.  My little sister’s superior fitness was definitely starting to show.  Never mind her crocked back.  The weather had deteriorated and the mist hung rather low around us.  We hadn’t thought to bring raincoats.  Silly really, because although winters in Zimbabwe are mainly dry, the eastern highlands can be a lot more wet all the year round.  Once again, as luck would have it, someone else saved the day.  My parents had brought their raincoats.  Rather surprising for our forgetful family.  For example, my mum had brought her paints and brushes but left her art paper at home!

Pammy en route to Troutbeck

Pam and I were happy to have Dave join us for the start of Day 3 and we rode off in the cold drizzle together at 9am on Saturday morning.  There were a lot more downs that ups, but be sure that every down had an up at the other end of it!  As you can tell, I wasn’t feeling as perky on Day 3.

Thankfully the drizzle stopped after a couple of hours and the cold day warmed as we dropped height along the road to Mutare.  Acres of pine trees gave way to glorious views of bush and granite kopjes and small scale farms.  Cattle and goats on the side of the roads looked in good condition and commuters plied the road between busy rural business centres.

Dave hopped off his bike and into the support car after about two and a half hours, leaving Pammy and I to finish the journey off together.  About 12km away from our designated end, we started to discuss the possibility of doing the extra Big Up and Down into Mutare.  Christmas Pass is 11km Up and Down into Mutare.  Just then the support car pulled up to check on our progress.  We mentioned our recent thoughts.  Their response was … “It’s enough already!”  They had put their collective feet down after hours of hanging about for us over 3 days of cycling.  And, coincidentally, saved Pammy and me from our Burrell-ness  – enough is never enough if there’s another hill to be climbed.  I suspect they also saved me from a bust gut.  I was done for, even if Pammy still had miles left in her legs.

Your sister’s funeral – always a good time to rant and rave, and mention the word “hell” several times:

Zimbabwe’s Mugabe attacks West at sister’s burial

HARARE, Zimbabwe — Zimbabwe President Robert Mugabe said Sunday the death of his sister robbed him of one of his closest friends and allies in his lifelong fight against colonial era rule and Western dominance in Africa.

In an emotional and angry address at the state funeral of Sabina Mugabe, 80, President Mugabe attacked the West and said after his sister’s death Thursday he will not abandon their cause.

“To hell” with Europeans and Americans opposed to his rule, he said. “We say to hell, hell, hell with them. They will not decide who is going to lead the people of Zimbabwe.”

U.S. Ambassador Charles Ray left the funeral during Mugabe’s address, but later refused to comment on his action.

Sabina Mugabe retired from Parliament in 2008 after a lifetime in politics alongside Mugabe. She was buried at Heroes Acre, a national shrine for loyalist politicians and fallen guerrillas from the liberation war that ended white rule in Zimbabwe in 1980.

Mugabe on Sunday accused the West of imposing sanctions on his nation to force his ouster.

Since a power sharing deal formed a coalition government last year with Prime Minister Morgan Tsvangirai, the former opposition leader, Zimbabwe has campaigned for the lifting of travel, banking and business bans and other sanctions targeting Mugabe and some 200 of his party leaders and associates.

Mugabe blames Western sanctions for the nation’s economic meltdown. Critics say the often violent seizures of thousands of white-owned commercial farms Mugabe ordered since 2000 disrupted the agriculture-based economy in the former regional breadbasket that now needs food aid.

Mugabe said a “European-American clique” imposed sanctions for their own reasons.

“Europe and America want to keep these odious sanctions. They are now saying Mugabe must go first, and they choose someone to lead the country,” he said.

Sabina Mugabe was among those barred from Western countries. Western governments argue Mugabe has not done enough to honor the power sharing agreement to restore law and order and bring about sweeping democratic reforms.

Mugabe’s sister retired from active politics in 2005 after she suffered a stroke but she remained a constant force at Mugabe’s side and remained in Parliament.

The death Thursday of Robert Mugabe’s most trusted family confidante and associate is a severe blow to the ascetic 86-year-old president, who is often seen as having few close friends or trusted advisors.

- By CHENGETAI ZVAUYA (AP)

This has to be the Movement for Democratic Change at its most pathetic:
MDC Takes Zanu (PF) Jingles Case To Zuma

Theresa Makwara, pictured above, is the programme manager of Zimbabwe Parents of Handicapped Children Association (ZPHCA). She recently came into the Kubatana office to receive a donation of second hand clothes sent to us by a well-wisher in Japan.