In support of the New Constitution of Zimbabwe.

This should be a question in our minds every time we blink. Why have we not been able to choose a good government? For the past thirty two years we have made the mistake of electing and re-electing the same old   and we have been punished everytime we did it instead of being rewarded and shown appreciation. If we try to, are we able to choose a good government? It is indeed very possible to create a government from reflection and choice, in Zimbabwe, it is and so is it everywhere else.

Well, with the constitution ready to be reviewed by everyone, having been drafted in favor of the people, rather than political parties, I believe we are getting ready to rid our nation of a perverted class of men (ZANU PF) who have aggrandized themselves by creating so much problems and trouble and confusions in our nation piling the blame on England, USA, and the rest of the western world who are having problems of their own. They made everyone try to forget that they were the real culprits who needed apprehension and created a sort of phony patriotism. Where on earth has anyone have to show patriotism by supporting only one thing, in this case the land issue? As a Zimbabwean, I believe in having my say heard, I believe in the voice of the people having to be louder than that of the government because the government serves people, not the other way round which ZANU (PF) had created a culture that people served the government and owed it to them for their freedom, or no freedom at all. To all young Zimbabweans, I have to say that we have to drop the classifications which this brood created and work together as one of a nation that is the jewel of Africa. Everyone born in Zimbabwe, should be Zimbabwean and entitled to a fair share of the opportunities presented in the country. Everyone deserves a chance to exist freely and non-violently oppose anyone's ideas. The rule of the law should exist at all times and no political figures should be above any law whatsoever. Holding a public office has to come with high responsibility as well as accountability and the bearers of these offices should be questioned whenever anything looks suspicious and be relieved of their duties of they mismanaged the resources charged to their care.

I have noted that the zeal that Mugabe had over the land issue, although it was to be done, it was done wrongly altogether because the people that fell victim to the whole fiasco were and are Zimbabweans, their parents were born in the land and they know no other home except Zimbabwe. So what kind of a caring leader would allow such enormities to happen to his countrymen? One who is concerned the least about their welfare. The same leader would allow his nation's coffers be milked dry by wealth crazy ministers who have no clue what they are doing for the people. All they talk about is how they fought the liberation war and overcame Ian Smith. If we want to even look closely at the matter, most did not even fight the war, it is the same people who are suffering under their misrule who had to feed the guerrillas, clothe them and give them any kind of moral support they would need to keep going on. The motivation to rule the country for so many of them may have not to serve the people, but to enrich themselves and engorge themselves with power, abuse people willy-nilly, ignore their rights and run amok. It becomes evident to me that they harbored ideas in their heads and not feelings in their hearts when they came into power. I speak on behalf of the youths who are totally ignored in the affairs of the country and those who are forcibly taken into service, most of who fear for their lives. The Border Gezi affair was just a complete blackmail of the youngsters. After the collapse of the education system, there was going to be real chaos if thousands of school leavers had not been poured into these establishments to be indoctrinated with ZANU nonsense and have their heads shaved. They gave us torrid times, men and women some of whom were younger that me, that was when I was in my mid to late teens and daily I would have nightmares of them banging on our doors and storming in to terrorize us. It was even more painful to see parents being treated as little children by these people-turned animals and worse, see them get beaten. Again, these also got corrupted by their immunity to the law and grew into rascals, just like their masters. So the idea of the once loved president of Zimbabwe was to turn all of us into his Storm Troopers, I defied that and will keep defying anything of that sort. It is time and our responsibility to vote for this constitution and a government that bears promises democracy, equal representation, respect of human rights and progress to our nation.

The abuse of national media by ZANU and their denial of the MDC to get an equal opportunity to campaign equally using the same media has actually given the MDC more popularity and the old tactic of Mugabe, that of turning every gathering that is broadcast on national radio and television into a political rant and rave has completely tired everyone who happens to hear him. His is the same old routine, to attack the west and blame them for sanctions and pile more blame on them for the failure of his government to think of strategies to get the nation out of the rut that he and his entire government brought the nation into has now become a stale, very stale lure for support and he has put the public in great peril. After all, a true noble heart is too pure to be mingled with loathe and distrust, to quote a famous thinker.

As we headed to the next elections, we should bear in mind that a good government formation lies in the hands of us as a people, a united people. We should be wary, having been educated from the past, that sometimes the zeal for the rights of the people (like the same the ZANU cronies had back in colonial times), chance to rule a nation can sometimes mask a dangerous ambition. A man who began his career brilliantly, Mugabe was a promise of a wonderful leader due to his respect of the people, "Commencing demagogues, ending tyrants". Thus, in terms of the future, it is imperative that we do pay attention to the affairs of our country. Let no man dictate our very lives. The decision we make affects our welfare, our country and our future. I am positive that if we give the constitution draft attentive consideration, glean into it and remove or add the few things that make it a complete document that will work for our country, it will be gainful to adopt it. As it is, it actually represents our every rights and will help us chart a path to where we missed it as a nation in our pursuit of liberty, success and happiness. It is time for a fresh new start that has been long overdue.

Zimbabwe-Societal Malaise- By Clem

There has been a downward trend in terms of the upholding of respect of adults in the Zimbabwean society since well, the inception of western values back in the ancient past and much recent since the rampant misrule of ZANU (PF). A friend wrote an article that highlighted something that caught my attention. In the past, in Zimbabwe, almost all movements were started by students. Almost all of the leaders of the nationalist movements in the 50s right through to independence and after were educated blacks who saw through enlightenment that white rule was unjust, unfair and black freedom was something that was long overdue. The likes of Joshua Nkomo, Clement Muneri Muchachi, Ndabaningi Sithole, Stanlake Samkange, Jason Moyo and even some less unknown names like Aaron Jacha, Edward Ndhlovu, B. Mandlela, and a whole lot of them emerged from a generation of schooled Africans who realized the same fact and hence nationalist movements that led to the independence of the country.

The same can be said even after independence where institutions of higher learning still provided an opportunity for individuals to look into the affairs of the nation and see whatever areas were not being run according to the rulebook and actually say something about it. This was the case in the 90s in free Zimbabwe where the likes of Arthur Mutambara the now president of an MDC faction MDC-M, the late Learnmore Jongwe, Phillip Pasirayi, Nkululeko Sibanda, Dr Ricky Musonza and many more, some who have contributed significantly to the politics scene in the country but have not been given any acclaim whatsoever due to reasons politics knows. Well, exaclty when the current trend I am talking about did begin? I am not sure about specific dates, but I sure know the results. I personally crossed paths with a gang of men who are in the ruling ZANU (PF) in my past and the experiences left me terrorized till this instant. I believe many young people in Zimbabwe have gone through the same gruelling experiences, an unfortunate experience for one to find themselves having to go through. In my diagnosis of this social malaise, I point the finger of blame at several individuals and institutions including myself. First, let me point at others. I was caught up in the 2008 elections and held against my will to participate in the election campaign of the ruling party and fell out because never on any single day would I agree with the amount of rottenness and badness that I saw being demonstrated by the men and women that we all think are what they somewhat portray to be. First, it was some well respected leaders (Whose names I have) of the party in Bulawayo, who went out abusing their constitutional powers to get whatever they did not work for. They forced cheated their wives with young desperate girls from local schools, colleges and University of Science and Technology who were struggling to make ends meet and pay school fees had with no money to do so, and thus they were easy prey. These men would drive up to these institutions, choose their picks, buy them food and clothing, promise to take care of them and eventually sleep with them, then discard them thereafter. A lot of older, well off men who got rich from ill- gotten means took control of affairs in many cities  in Zimbabwe and began to have multiple relations with young girls young enough to be their children and grandchildren. Having money, these girls ceased to respect their actual elders and parents because they were penniless and sometimes others would pay rent and buy food for their families while their parents could not and thus, in that regard they were incapacitated as parents. Young men also took to illegal means of making money. I remember those who willingly allowed the politicians to use them had so much power enough to fuel them to run amok. They started creating protection units, being hired by local businessmen to protect them, collecting their debts and getting paid for those services. Most importantly, they worked for the politicians doing things like campaigning for them, threatening people if they did not vote for them, selling the grain shares politicians got from the Grain Marketing Board to sell to people at subsidized prices. They never did.

These young men grew arrogant that they disrespected everyone except their masters who used them like puppets on a string. Many dropped out of school and pursued the new kind of lifestyle, both girls and boys. It seemed like a way out for may who had no hope whatsoever, with parents not employed, inflation of a runaway course, political  outlook very unfavorable, local government and local councils very helpless to alleviate the problems. From the year 2000 onwards, many companies were shut or operated at less than 50% capacity and that made a lot of people redundant and thus many resorted to seeking ways of sustaining themselves. The streets were suddenly filled by vendors selling everything from safety pins to chewing gum. Men and women who were educated,trained and qualified to do work were all out of work. That same period, many people migrated to foreign lands, to the United Kingdom, the US, South Africa, Botswana and many other nations in the world whose economies were intact. Many families were torn apart and some were led by children whose parents were abroad and children, growing up with no parental figure to stamp the rules and mould them in preparation for the future, they got out of hand as they navigated their ways way into adulthood. As a result many of these became drunkards, drug users and also many fell pregnant while still young. School became all of a sudden not a merit and a right as had been the intention at the birth of Zimbabwe's independence. Acceptance into university I remember in 2005 was not based upon merit, upon academic excellence. It was upon who you knew and how much you had just as in every other sect of the society. A friend of mine wanted to go to University of Science and Technology and study Accounting and had 12 points. He could not secure a place, however, a neighbor of mine who parents were wealthy business people had 0 points. He got into the Accounting programme at the same university the same day he applied for a place. Amid all these very depressing things going on in the country, there was also disease that was rampantly killing thousands by the day. The hospitals and clinics across the country's pharmacy shelves were all empty, mostly because the nurses, doctors and all the hospital staff were busy looting the drugs and selling them at highly inflated prices at private institutions somewhere else. What could they have done, they were not getting paid themselves but that is not justification for such acts of murder. HIV/AIDS was also wreaking havoc on the population. It was a typical case of a society accursed and laid siege from all angles, left, right and center.

The politicking lot of politicians made things uneasy as well for the people. In 2005 the government, knowing that it was the onset of winter launched one of the cruelest acts of destruction, mowing to ground people's dwellings that were out of the city's plans. Many people were left literally out in the cold and got no help from their protectors at all. The whole shenanigan was called Murambatsvina and many of us have vivid memories of how we used to huddle together in fear of what the government might announce that it was embarking on next. In a society engulfed in all this would you think that one may be able to stop to pause and try to act formal instead of running along with everyone going nowhere? The rest of young people tried to do legitimate business but the economic was rabid, the runaway inflation and the rhetorics of the governor of the central bank annoyed me and my friends a lot. In this period, business people saw a timely opportunity to charge as much as they could for their wares, sometimes ten times above the recommended prices and they were protected by youths and ZANU (PF) big wigs. Now that young people could do anything they could because of the political muscle they bore, because of the money they got from their older men friends, while their elders had none, all respect was thrown out of the window. As my friend mentioned in his article that at universities and colleges around the country, they have no more vigor to be involved in politics, he is right because back then, the government used to finance students' education, now they have to finance it themselves so much time is spent trying to find money for fees ad upkeep. It also may seem like a sign of fatigue from the Zimbabwean population, people are now tired to put up a fight against the political insurgents ruling and all they care about is their livelihood and nothing else. This has provided a leeway for the unruly gang to go on and plunder while they can.

Of Dog names and Dog love- By Clem

I once met a man who befriended me because his dog loved me, she rarely would wag her tail for a stranger, he told me. So we sat down under a shade and discussed more about dogs, which happen to me my favorite pets. I have loved dogs since I was a kid, growing up in Zimbabwe, I first had my own puppy when I was about eight. The day he came home, in a cardboard box with holes on the side so that he would be able to see and breath, I loved him. His coat was black, shiny, typically what I had wanted but he had no white dot on his forehead, which is what I had wanted on my dog, but we soon hit it off. H was shy at first when they let him out of the box, he staggered a little to the side, his legs had gotten a bit stiff from staying in the box then he stuck his nose impudently up in the air and sniffed in my direction and around, everyone else as if to familiarize himself with the surroundings. He then went to a little shrub and lifted one of his hind legs and peed. Everyone burst out laughing and he was perturbed, so he ran a few feet from us and looked back as if inquiring us whether to come back or not, I went over to him and assured him that all was fine, he had just peed on our admiration for him. The following days  I was in cloud nine. After school, I would take him for little walks in the fields, sometimes put him among the long grass where he would struggle to come out and sometimes I would run away from him and he would be hot on my heels but he was just a little animal, his speed wasn't that much. I loved it when he would follow me around on a hot day tongue sticking out as he tried to cool himself, tail hanging low and stand under me so that he wasn't in direct sunlight. Sometimes he would bark at a dry tree or chase a bird or try to fight a big black ant. He was hilarious and after he had had his meal, that I prepared with so much care, he would want to be snug, so he would seek me and lie on me. One day he peed on me and I laughed. I loved it when his teeth started to itch and he was biting and gnawing on everything, including my school socks, shoes and toes. He never cared so much, but that was all fun and then, he grew up. I was not allowed to bring him in anymore, he was not allowed whenever the family sat down to eat and he was a dog, so he was treated like one. Not like a person who is treated like a dog, but with dog dignity which in those parts of the world are different from those in America, which brings me to the main issue of the story, of dogs and their names.

In Zimbabwe,. dogs are men's best friends. Men boast about rearing the most healthy pack and about their dogs' loyalty. In the countryside, people can own up to about more than ten dogs. My uncle had twenty on his farm. The highest number I had was five. Most dogs found in the countryside are what they would call in the developed world 'mutts' but they are no mutts at all but just that their breed is not known to the English world. Dogs primarily serve to protect homes in the country. They are reared to be vicious and yet controllable. If the owners are around, they should not misbehave and would not do so except for real hot heads. However, in the night, they are free to attack whosoever trespasses into another man's homestead without prior notice. Before cellphones and emails and all that, a lot of people would write letters announcing their arrivals such that their hosts would be on the lookout for them. Usually when approaching a home one is supposed to call out announcing their advance so that the people there would hold their dogs. Dogs are also used for hunting. The type of dog popular in the countryside is a lean and strong boned and jawed dog that is very agile. The game found in Zimbabwe and hunted by hunting parties that comprise young and old me with spears knobkerries and dogs includes the duiker, hare, impala, eland, antelope, kudu and other small time game. They are used also to fend off animals like baboons that come into the people's fields to steal their maize crop, they come in hoards so if one gets a visitation from them, they would then have to prepare for a year of no produce. Such are the chores of man's best friend in the country. If one goes hunting with a dog, and the dog catches, it is usually rewarded right away, when the people move in for for the kill, usually they do this by cutting the animal's neck and let the blood drip a little bit. There is a certain tribe called Baremba, who Proffessor Tudor Parfitt says 52 percent of them carry a Y chromosome known as the Cohen Modal Haplotype (CMH) - unique to ancient priestly Jewish communities. They claim to be of Jewish ancestry and Parfit tracked the missing Ark of the Covenant to their land in Zimbabwe. Tudor Parfitt is a professor of Modern Jewish Studies at the University of London's prestigious School of Oriental and African Studies. Well, this tribe does not eat meat that another person who is not from their tribe cuts, they are a unique people like that.

After the animal is killed, it is disemboweled and the innards fed to the dogs, that is their reward before it is taken home, cut up and the dogs receive more meat after which all belongs to humans, what will be the dogs will be the bones. People name their dogs  and names vary according to the person's preferences. Some people name their dogs to make statements to their neighbors so that when they call them and their neighbors happen to be in ear-sight, they hear what their neighbors are complaining about to them indirectly. There are popular English  dog names like Spider, Lion, Cheetah, Spanky, Sport, Tiger, Sheba, Bocky etc. When a female adult gets on heat, males in the vicinity go and mate with it and usually the strongest males dominate and have more times with the bitch and the has more pups that have a resemblance to it. Moving on to the Metropolitan areas where the populations are more diversified, there are now more diverse kinds of dogs too. The are Rottweilers, Boerboels, Pugs, Chihuahuas, German Shepherds, Collies, Great Danes, Rhodhesian Ridgeback and a whole lot of them. Many of these are foreign breeds bred in the country over some time they are now used to the clime. Most people use the bigger breed dogs for protection on their properties and the Police use the Rotties and the German Shepherds for sniffing drugs and other duties. The rest of the dogs are fashion dogs. 

The man I met whose dog loved me went on to tell me that he rescued the dog from a home and tended her, she is Ukrainian and she is not an Ovcharka, I have forgotten her breed though is is beautiful and very alert. She has managed to score him three dates because the ladies love a pretty dog. To pat someone's dog is common in these parts of the world and it is unheard of in some parts of the world unless if you are the vet or the owner because if you are not, your hand is meat. I am not exaggerating things here but that is the case. Here people, dog owners take an evening walk with their pets on a leash for fresh air, in Zimbabwe, dogs take a walk on their own, either in the yard of a home, because many homes have durawalls around them, or those in the country roam free- range, they do not need that. Dog-owners meet when going hunting and here they meet to discuss their dog's latest developments, allergies, appointments with doctors and the likes. In Zimbabwe, they keep their dogs in the kennels and or outside where they find a space for them to sleep which they rarely do at night but during the day. Whether its raining or not, dogs still belong to the outside and unlike my friend, they do not get one women, they scare one's women away. However, we love dogs and they are our best friends, let this be like this for as long as we live to love life and what it has for us.

The African bridal shower.

It is a practice rumored to have began as early as the 16th century in Europe, according to my findings. At some point, its purpose was to help raise dowry for the bride to pay and marry the man of her choice. Friends and relatives would bring gifts to the shower and that helped augment the dowry savings. Today, it is widespread the world over and its activities vary depending on the geography of the people. In Southern African states, mainly Zambia, Zimbabwe, South Africa and Malawi, it is called the Kitchen Party. The bridal shower is more of a ritual than it is a party, especially an Afro-bridal shower. Recently, I had the priviledge to get the action of one because it was in my family, a cousin, is about to be betrothed to the one she chose to spend the rest of her life with. However I did not get the complete action because an African bridal experience is only reserved for women, just as the name says. Men are not allowed whatsoever at this occasional where I believe secrets of womenhood are passed down from one generation to another. My cousin left this party, along with a multitude of the other girls who graced it, enriched with sacred knowledge that is only revealed in action to their chosen ones.

At such meetings, there is usually a mixture of emotions, as I observed. Some women were inundated, so in case to be able to tell the things they would not ordinarily blurt out, they would be normally qualified profanities, but hold on, they are not. If they can make movies of naked people and others involved in immoral acts, then this would be nothing but concerned and happy elders advising their womenfolk on how to keep a happy home. They touched on every aspect of the home, from the kitchen to the bathroom, through the hallways to the living rooms, to the main rooms, those of bed where one lady said all issues are resolved, she even likened it to the UN headquarters. After every heavy point was dropped, other women would ululate, rise and do short little dances, skipping from side to side in graceful swoons. Like I said, no man was present and I was not, only overheard and it is taboo to even write this down, but my pen compelled me, so blame the pen. This is to fellow men, to know that you have to insist on a bridal shower when your wife is about to be married to you because it is at this event where the richness of our history is poured from the old casks into younger and fresher casks for your thirst's quenching. Stay on brothers, I still have to let you in on a little secret of women, if I am going to be brave enough to stand the repercussions.

Well, everything in there is practical by the way, there is use of a lot of illustrations, enactments of common household scenes so that the bride will not find an excuse if they are rated low by their husbands and am not saying that you gentle men have to rate your gentle-women, but to treat them with respect and only raise your expectations because if you see a groom coming out of the shower, she is well cooked, ready and palatable like that beef torso that was on the rotisserie stick stuffed with spices and delicacies that has shimmered over the coals for a good amount of time now. Truth be told, I know I was not allowed an no male will ever be let into one of these fratenity conversationals, I greatly admire the guts and the selflessness of the culture of my people, how it has been blended into the mainstream pop culture to come up with a replica of our past crystalized and stored in the core of our very beings, kudos to all the aunts who prepared my cousin for a beautiful journey that lies ahead of her, to her I say, go for it, you know you are ready hahahahahahaha!

A cultured story

By Clem Chinyani.

Mose sat on his hunches outside his mother's hut. A wisp of white smoke twirled into the clear blue sky as a very gentle breeze blew across the lazy afternoon from the South-East. He had just come back from the Magumbe Dam where he watered the cattle and goats and now he felt pangs of hunger in his stomach. Other kitchen huts of the village had smoke too, one of them, Masvanhise's son Hama had felled a tree that was not dry for firewood. For a few years the area had been having firewood problems because all the people from the nearby villages had been pouring all to Mufakose forest to harvest wood. Everyday, ox-drawn carts would descend on the forest with less trees already. There was intense competition in the forest for trees such that people ended up marking trees they were wilting by stripping the bark off around the trunk and waiting for them to die from no water and nutrients transported to the leaves. The trees thinned out where these intruders emerged from, all three directions extending into the forest itself, once a densely populated forest now reduced to a colony of stumps and brown grass and a few miserable trees under which the animals slept to escape from the intense heat. Bells on the cows rang all over the place as the beasts either grazed or walked in search of dinner. The grass was dry thatching grass that had been left over from the harvesting by the people of the village repairing their rooves or selling it to the white farmer Mazhindu who came to buy the grass for his farm. Many people made money, toiling in the high itchy grass cutting it up, even the little children were given a sickle and a bunch of sisal ropes to make their share of the family income. Mazhindu paid cash for the grass tied in a thick bundle. Donkey drawn and ox-drawn carts were used to haul them in to the village center at the ancient Muhacha tree where every village announcement was made.

On sale days, the village headman Makumbe, an wiry old man with a permanent cigarette clenched between his stained teeth would sit on a little wooden stool near the base of the trunk flanked by his right hand man, Mazibisa and a short bald man called Spokes. This man had a loud baritone voice and he is the one who delivered speeches every time the headman had something to say.  Most of the times he drank opaque beer brewed by his third wife Mai Ndaka who ran a very successful beer place at her homestead. She sold her beer in metal cups for seven cents a cup and this price had ran for years now and everybody did not buy beer from anyone who tried to shatter the market conditions. The first day Mazhindu approached the village offering to buy their grass, just like a few years before a merchant had come and harvested the timber from the forest after building the headman a four roomed corrugated iron roof house and gave him three beasts. People had complained as the company brought in caterpillars, trucks, bulldozers, chainsaws and workmen who hacked almost a third of the forest down and they were gone before anybody knew it, into the horizon following their timber laden trucks there. A shadow fell across Mose's face, it was Hama's father, Mufakose. He was still a distance from the houses and the sun had began its descent, brightening as it did so. Masvanhise, a dark old man with an erect figure walked with the aid of a stick because he had a bad leg, the leg he hurt when he had the field accident. That morning, he had woken very early after the first crow crowed and woke up his son and nephew to ready the cattle and the plough. After a few skirmishes with the cattle, they finally had them yoked. It had just been half an hour of coercing and whipping the cattle to move on in the field, the smell of freshly turned earth filling the clear morning air when at the end of one furrow, one of the cows, Manzuma panicked after a bird fluttered in its face. The cow began running the opposite way and Masvanhise who had been handling the plough lunged forward and the plough followed him, narrowly missing his entire upper torso. It went for his leg, cutting a deep gash on his right foot. The pain was unbearable, he wriggled about in pain while the runaway cattle went on further up-field. His son and nephew were too busy trying to stop them and they did not see the gaping wound on his leg, besides, its was still a bit dark that morning.

Mose's puppy that was lying under the granary saw the limping man approaching and began to bark, charging and retreating as it did. Masvanhise reduced his pace, tucked his knobkerrie under his shoulder and began clapping his hands together to announce his arrival. The young man looked up at him and acknowledged his presence, he rose from where he was and met him. His mother emerged from the kitchen hut, shielding her eyes from the light, she called out to Masvanhise welcoming him. Mose went past her into the hut and fetched an empty tin can, turned it up-side down and gave it to the man to sit under a little lemon tree in the yard. Masvanhise stopped clapping his hands after they had exchanged greetings with Mose's mother who was kneeling by his side, clapping in return the entire time. They spoke about the weather, the likely commencement of the rain season, their preparations for the impending planting period and also about their families' health. Masvanhise had actually come to borrow the axe from this household. Mose's mother called out for him to go and fetch it in the hut where tools were. This hut, located besides the kitchen hut, to the west contained all the tools needed at this homestead. Its door was only three planks of wood held together by nails and it also served as a chicken coop to the chickens that were bullied in the main pen. Sometimes a hen would lay eggs in it and hatch them there and live there with its chicks till they were big enough to be forced to get used to the main run. Chickens laid eggs everywhere, some laid their eggs out in the fields where there were all the dangers. Dogs, cats and other critters posed a major threat to the chickens and their eggs. If found, the eggs of a chicken were brought in and the chicken showed where they were. Mose learnt to do this at a very tender age when his grandmother showed him one day after his chicken had laid eggs out in the field. She told him to wash his hands with ash before touching the eggs otherwise the hen would refuse to incubate the eggs, and he did exactly that and it worked, from that day, he knew how to handle chicken eggs. In the hut, which had part of its roof missing, a little thatch near the apex of the roof that brought in light, the tools were stained with chicken droppings. Sometimes the chickens roosted on top of the old plough kept in there for parts, or a set of hoes, or the axe or the field harrow. It was cool and dry, smelling heavily of chickens. There was one chicken inside, lying on the cool mud floor.

Another man approached the homestead, it was Mose's father. He had an axe slung over his shoulder and he was wearing car tyre sandals and a torn T-shirt walking tiredly. The puppy which had been now lying down beneath the same tree as everyone lifted its head when it saw him approaching. It sniffed the air twice, its nose twitching this way and that before it leapt and sped joyfully towards him. It approached him tail flickering its tail, licking his whitened feet and tugging at his folded pants joyfully. The man smiled and greeted it stepping carefully, making sure not to crush it with his immense foot. He announced his arrival and Mose brought out another tin can and the men exchanged greetings after which Mose's mother clapped her hands in greeting to her husband who inquired about her day. She responded asking him the same and all was well, it was figured out. She then went on ahead and excused herself to finish preparing the food. The men fell into a deeper conversation and mostly about the recent visitation by a non-governmental group that wanted to start a forest rehabilitation programme. They wanted to engage the headman in implementing a plan they had to minimize the destruction of the forest. The headman was not interested at this point because there was no financial incentive for him, in fact, all the money was going to be availed to pay for the resources needed for the rejuvenation of the forest and it was to be done through a committee that he was not in. The men liked the idea, a lot because things were beginning to get out of hand with less trees available. They were however, mainly worried about the firewood, fruit trees and hunting grounds that were fast disappearing in their sights. The sun moved lower a bit more and Mose rose to go and gather his father's livestock. Other headmen could be head cracking their whips and yelling out to each other and to their beasts whose ringing bells made them identifiable. The little puppy sprung up when Mose began to leave but the young man turned and chased it back. Reluctantly it watched him run away whistling to his friends, his bark rope whip trailing in his wake. In the forest, he stopped to listen to his cattle's bell. There were countless other bells everywhere. He picked up his bell and began walking in the direction it came from. Back at the homestead, the chickens had started to gather around the coop, the early birds were already perched on their resting places. Occasionally one chicken would run another from a spot and take it. The cock had began already its routine crowing after flapping its wings and a cockerel was frantically trying to crow too. It would flap its wings and utter a discordant crow before staggering to keep its balance. The older cock chased it around there times before the younger fowl decided to take to the tools hut where it had sought refuge many a night. The goats too had began trooping back to their pen which was next to the tools hut. It was such a bad location to place the pen because when it rained, the stench of goat droppings and urine was unbearable. It was a simple structure made of poles attached together by bark rope. Behind the goats pen was a pile of beer suds which the donkeys loved so much. Their donkeys didn't go far when this delicacy was there. They would stay there the whole day munching at them busily. The breeze changed direction and the smell of the beer came wafting across the yard, mingling with that of the smoke, goats' and chicken droppings.  Around the entire homestead were fields where the family planted groundnuts, groundnuts and some maize. The easily accessible crops were put there.

A little bit later, as half of the sun was already gone over the horizon, Mose's mother brought a plate of hot brown roasted maize seeds to the two men and a gallon containing beer brought in from the headman's third wife. The liquid was fermenting in the container from the heat and it had a sweet smell that filled the air when it was opened. The two men thanked the kneeling woman before she retreated into her kitchen and Mose's father poured the frothy white liquid into the big mug set before them. He lifted it to his mouth and set it before gulping thirstily. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he drank while his friend looked longily and when it was his turn, he took a long swig, after which they both scooped from the maize seed plate and started munching. The air had cooled by now and the sun was gone too leaving the earth to unwind and prepare for the following day. A star or two had already appeared in the clear sky.

Being a white man in Africa.

Ever seen a white African? Well, there are lots of Euro-Africans just like there is Afro-Americans, in that gist solve the equation. In my part of Africa, people generally are not xenophobic at all because you tend to fare very well if you are an out of towner, worse if you are white. White in Africa is associated with all sorts of cool, advancement and a higher level of smartness and incomparable beauty. White in Africa is pure, honest and untainted and above all else, not black. Stanlake Samkange in his book 'The Origins of Rhodhesia' talks about a man who led the Ndebele people in the past, Mzilikazi whom he says was in awe of white people. The European settlers took advantage of this and used that to implement their territorial acquisition plans and it worked like magic! Mzilikazi was friends with a Briton who was the Commandant or somebody close to that at Cape Town, the Boere-Afrikaners were posing a threat to his chiefdom and he sought help from the British who gave him terms in order to assist him. They told him not to allow any prospecting for gold in his chiefdom and not to allow any form of trophy hunting and no concession signing at all. He was to allow no guns to be carried through his chiefdom and if he breached these rules, he wouldn't be assisted in case of an attack from the Boere-Afrikaners. However when the Dutchmen attacked, the Britons did not live up to their end of the agreement Mzilikazi was let down by white men that he so adored.

My friend from the city of Bulawayo's aunt was married to an Irish man and he was loved by the family. At no point was he treated with hostility. He was regarded as the wisest, the cleanest and the most honest member of the family. People respected what he said and at first, he did not want them to treat him like that, he wanted them to treat him as normal as another human being but sooner that they continued, he saw an opportunity to pounce on this family and manipulate them in any way he liked. His wife, having crossed over to the other side changed her demeanor, she was a real Jekyll. If her family visited, she mistreated them the moment they walked into her house and they all would leave shaking their heads. She refused to speak her native language anymore and established a rule that only English was to be spoken in her house. Only English food was eaten and I believe she was just being a good wife, one who submits to her husband in all respects.

It is easier for a white man in Africa to make it than a black man. Say there are two companies, one is run by a white man and the other by a black man, people would want to do business with the white one. It is because during the colonial era, white people accumulated resources and have since built strong businesses, passed their wealth down to their children and their children and thus a black man trying to make it in the world of business he has to work extra hard to be even at the lowest rungs of business compared to his white counterparts. I have no idea why black Africans do not trust each other, to logic, this is pure propaganda of the White African who came up with a policy of dividing the black African so as to rule him. I mean it makes sense the least not to trust one person whom you know their ins and outs than he whose intentions at once were sinister and yes, you may say that was the past era but the DNA still remains. So being white in Africa has those benefits and more. People generally have this unfounded respect for white people no matter who they are. Tourists passing through the region have the times of their lives with black people opting to help them in some cases just to be seen with a white person, it makes them fashionable. I think native Africans have for over the past centuries assumed  the position of little brother to Caucasians, as Ndabaningi Sithole said in his book African Nationalism. I think this respect and fear is based on what the people went through during colonial times. People settle for being workers, not creators of work, however, lately there has been an interesting trend of Africans (black) rising to be the ones who regard (white) Africans   equally and of course there has been a few radical ones like General Amin and Cde Mugabe. In a way, one sees where these men's policies are coming from and their facade has a good look, its how they are implemented that is fundamentally wrong. Because of this stereo, it is regarded as taboo to see a begging white man in the region, and to serve a white man with ordinary food is not good at all to onlookers.He deserves a special diet to support his fragile self and his opinion goes and those that realize the gullibility of the black folks take it to their advantage.

Same thing in America, where the white man has some sort of superiority over the black man. I was in a queue at Walmart this day and two gentlemen were at a register opposite where I was. One was black and his counterpart was white. So as the register attendant called for the next person, the white American who had gotten there after the black American sped past him and the other man was not too happy about it. He launched a complaint. The other gentleman got incensed that he responded to him saying he had no time for **, meaning his 'race' of people. However the black man did not cower or pretend he confronted the man head-on and it was a heated argument with both men that went on and on as emotions were bared and socially explosive issues were poured out for the rest of the shoppers to hear.

White Africans have an unfair advantage over their black counterparts and who is to blame? The aggrieved I think because what happened occurred because they saw strangers come to their lands and they took them in and the same turned around and took their property. The point is Africans are generous people, sometimes too generous and their generosity to give the world all the resources has made them the same's laughing stock. Men also take it as an immense achievement to marry a white woman. It is for them an out of this world achievement to bring home a woman of a different culture and she again, would be very welcome among his people because, they are warm to strangers.

However, there are strangers to the African culture who genuinely become immersed in it with no need to bask in the glory that comes with it. For example a person that gives up the Western lifestyle for the easy-going village culture of Africa comes and establishes himself in the village and marries in the village, eats what the villagers eat, does the same chores as the villagers and sleeps where they sleep and most importantly, practices their rites and customs, that is a person who embraces Africa genuinely. He may look funny doing all those things, imagine how funny a white man looks when loins-clothes, how tanned he will look and out of place, yet the genuineness of his heart is all that is required. To be African one needs not a social security, but a heart that loves and is open to living and loving. People would laugh at a strange man speaking with an accent but will not discriminate against him, Africa is a home of wholesome love, not faked and welcomes all, I guess that is why some suggest it is the cradle of mankind.

Living in the United States! 1.

As an alien in this land, I stick out like the sorest finger among the natives, those who ancestry could be traced to just prior to the Declaration of Independence by the thirteen British colonies that lied along the Atlantic seaboard, that was back in the year 1776, July the fourth. I mean I distinctly stand out by the structure of my cranium, more distinctly by my way of speech, my demeanor, choice of dress among other things. Anyone from my part of the world is just the same though with varying degrees and the rest of the gang struggles to conform and look just like the native inhabitants (not the Indians, the ones who came from Europe and later Africa, forcibly). However, you are not in America until you have totally felt free, and have been assigned a number to ID you. This is your very livelihood and you have to fall into the debt grove and begin to weaken emotionally and grow physically and get enlightened by way of news and written books and other forms of media.

Life in this land is all about making it, it is a healthy capitalist society that thrives on consumerism. Making it is as easy as summoning the guts you have or not have. People can easily be swayed this or that way because everybody is constantly searching, searching for answers to life. For example many people struggle with obesity which eats away all their self confidence and men and women who are lazy to earn money via conventional ways prey on these and they sell to them plain useless products promising great results for their patients and they fill the media with miraculous results of their products or services and yes, they may work for some, but for the majority of the people, there is always a cry of foul. I mean anything goes so who cares, who does not? Characteristically, the health industry thrives a lot because there are lots of medical concerns in this land. Mental and other branches of medical assistance are on high demand because there is a high rate of illness, fortunately the medical experts are good at their jobs otherwise the death rates would be alarmingly high. Yes, there is AIDS too, just like in third world countries, difference is there is food for people to eat while ill such that the virus takes longer to eat up their patients and at the same time, medicine helps suppress its development. There is Patriotism, a lot of it and I would love every country under the sun to take a leaf out of the American page of loving one's country of birth. I am Patriotic too, not because I am a American by birth, but by Identity, I choose to identify with its constitution, all the way, no bones to chew with its components but with individuals who want to avoid it or warp it.

I love it here, because it is a multicultural society, a walk in the street you meet with hundred different cultures, Indo-America, Asian, African, Caribbean you name them, no wonder they believe there are aliens among us. You know you live in the land when during work or school break the majority of stories talked about are about pro-football, basketball, ice-hockey and people keep making references to Star Wars movies and reigning pop idols. You will be glad also to know that you still are in Arkansas, Texas, Georgia or Washington if a black person who is of Afro-American descent believes the police are out to get him and his fellas any moment and talks about his close friend or relative being put in jail or just coming out of penitentiary for a felony. Even more, some random person does not know the geographical features of the nation you come from or does not want to understand your diction.  I always smile inwardly gleefully if that happens because I do pretend too that I do not understand his/her either.

Here, things like pets, trees and flowers have a better place in a home or in people's lives than other people. People never care about people at all. Some people actually get incensed if their pets vets do not handfeed them during their stay at the animal clinics. Others bequeath their entire life savings to their canine or feline friends., well that happens.

Only in America would people do things like pray to God to find their car keys, kids' ambitions are to be Batman when they grow up and people get to work late because their dog ate their alarm clock. It is in this part of the world where emotions of adults have been so tampered with that men cry openly about anything good or bad. Their women, well it is better to leave this unsaid. And the children, well the children are untouchable, not in a that way, dummy! that even I would slap you blue, I mean they are licenced to misbehave and run over parents by the child protection rules that strip the biological mother and father of a child their responsibility to discipline them. And yet lawmakers ignore the escalating levels of violence which I think this has a lot to do with. There is also the alarming drop in intelligence, in Math. According to a Bloomberg 2010 report, US teens were ranked 25th according to a Programme for International Student Assessment. In my part of the world, when I was a kid and in school, my peers got whoppings for bad grades as, now you just can not do that here, otherwise you will be planning a trip to sing-sing. Well, there is still time to turn things around and probably make the delinquents, both adults and the kids watch endless reruns of Alo Alo!

The games and plays of the Shona.

By Clemz Chinyani.

(Singing): Amina

(Clap Clap Clap)

Amina Kadeya
(Clap Clap Clap)

Simoreya

(Clap Clap Clap)

Amina one two three.......

Those are the lyrics of a Shona play song, one that has been around for a very long time. When singing this song, two little girls will be either seated on their hunches in the sand or under a shade hitting the insides if their palms together and clapping in a pattern to the words of the song.

Music at play is an integral part and play itself is core to the society's development. Every child, when well, goes out to play. I, when I was a kid used to go out to play with friends in the dusty streets, not caring about food or anything else. Games differ between boys and girls and sometimes, they play together. In the past, my grandmother told me she was a champion at a boys' sport of throwing knobkerries. This was a male sport played when the boys were out at the pasture lands tending cattle. They would gather up while their livestock grazed and play this game where one person would throw his knobkerrie into the air and the others would try to knock it with theirs. The one who hit it first became the winner. No females would participate in this game because they would be all at home doing womanly chores. However, my great-grandfather had female children only and thus grandmother had to take his cattle out to the pastures. She played this sport and outdid many boys. She also fought them. Another favorite sport among the boys out in the forests was fighting with bare fists. Bigger boys would urge on younger boys to go head to head to see who was a better fighter and no one was supposed to say these things back at home, no matter how beaten they were. Nowadays, it is not a common practise of growing young men to go out herding cattle as people have moved to urban areas. People have a  way of calling petty business, 'magames ekumombe', meaning games played while herding cattle. 

Another game played by the Shona was 'Tsoro'. This game involved (and still does) two players seated across each other with the 'Tsoro'  board carved out on the ground. Semi-spherical holes would be dug out of the ground, usually eight of them in two by four rows. They would be filled with small round pebbles which the players move around. This was a unisex game. Then was 'Nhodo', for girls. This game was played in a shallow hole in the ground filled with round small pebbles and by two people. They would throw one stone into the air and scoop the rest of the pebbles out of the hole with the same hand that threw, before the one they threw into the air falls and they have to catch it and toss it back into the air. They would have to return all the pebbles minus one into the hole and continue to do so till the end. At the end of the game, the one with more pebbles was the winner. Then were also games children played not around the home vicinity, usually out in the forests on dwalas. A smooth dwala provided a sliding plane for them and here a pastime called 'Mutserendende' was engaged in. They would take turns to slide down the smooth surface of the rock and sometimes it would be over a water fall, in this case, it would be similar to water sliding in today's pastimes. Sometimes boys would hunt, it was their pastime and it brought meat home, so that was a productive pastime, and younger boys and girls would play house at times, getting primed for what was to come in their adult lives. There was also hide and seek, 'Chamuhwandehwande' games such as 'Mapere' whereby two camps were formed, one had to have a leader, a mother and the other had to be one of predators, usually 'hyenas' which is what 'Mapere' means in Shona. The 'people' would be on one side and their 'mother'  would call them. They would respond saying that they feared the hyenas and the mother would tell them not to worry, they would say they are afraid of the hyenas, but the mother would assure them it was OK and so, they would try to make a break for it past the hyenas. Whoever could not dodge the hyenas would be caught and placed in the hyenas den, that was the end of their participation till the next time. Let me share with you the actual words they would say during the game;

Mother

Vana Vangu!

Children

Woye!

Mother

Huyai

Children

Tinotya!

Mother

Munotyei?!

Children

Mapere!

Mother

Mapere akapera kare!

At this point, the children make a run for it and the hyenas try to capture them. The game continues until all the children are captured, otherwise it goes on and on till sunset and or sunrise (kidding).
Chisarai,
Bye Bye,                                                  Sayonara
                                                                 さようなら.

Nature and the people of Zimbabwe.

By Clemz C.

Growing up, I closely followed my grandmother around, whenever I visited her. She was a love-filled old woman with a question mark poise, bent with a walking stick that always went in front of her. We took walks to inspect her crops in the fields, or to visit her neighbors for an evening chat. I cared less for what they had to say and paid more attention to the little details of nature around me, their long dark shadows dancing on the ground, the grass and weeds growing on the roadside, the smell of different types of leaves, the black ants marching across the footpath in a single file, the birds chirping in the nearby trees, the position of the sun in the sky, the surrounding hills and far-away mountains that I had dreams of climbing when I grew older.

Summer, days would be hot, Mopane beetles shrilled in the short Mopane trees and grass wilted under the stress of the heat. Locusts flew everywhere across the paths I used to go wherever I wanted to, on the yard, in the field, making clicking noises as they brushed their wings together. Some of my memorable summers were spent in the country, where the heat would drive all livestock under the sweet shade of large trees, usually around watering holes. Luckily, Spring would have set in before the intense summer heat. The sky too would look tired and blue, sometimes a deep blue and sometimes whitewashed blue. In the city, there was no difference, only the fact that life seemed harder for those who lived in the areas where there was little vegetation cover, the high density areas where shade trees were only a few fruit trees grown by families to provide mangoes, guavas and other fruits in season. In the low density areas, where mostly white people lived, and the rich black folks too, there was plenty vegetation cover to worry about walking a mile in order to evade the heat. I would feel particularly pitiful if we happened to pass through Belmont, in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe, where tired and hungry job seekers would converge under a large tree while waves of heat wafted into their faces. Buttons half done, lips parched, they would sit in front of some large gate, usually with the sign, 'No Work, Hapana Basa, Akula Msebenzi'. Hope and despair would keep them there and probably crying children and sad wives back at the house too.

Enough of sad memories, I used to love how grandmother, ever busy, would relate every occurrence to nature, for example, after a day's work, when we would be sitting on the veranda tying vegetable seedlings to sell at the Farmer's Co-op the following day, she would glance, if it was out, at the moon and tell that the rains were not a week away. True, the rains would fall in about the time she would have predicted. This is how she saw that it was going to rain, if the moon had a halo around it, that, grandma said it was drenched in rain, a good omen it was. Usually we would get the rains, a thorough summer rain that pelted the ground heavily and thundered every time a livid flash of lightning streaked across the sky. The rain would fall in a slant, the sky dark and the earth covered in a sheet of white rain. For hours it would fall, the wind howling tearing the leaves off trees, snapping branches and sending them across everywhere. Streams of water would would start flowing alongside the roadsides, sweeping everything in their path from left clothing, shoes, twigs, dead grass, leaves, empty cans et cetera. Everyone would sit together inside, usually around an older person and some would fall asleep and after the rains, a cool breeze would blow across the earth amid the sounds of the joyous creatures and creepy crawling. Bull frogs would croak in a chorus, and little boys would make empty milk sachet boats and place them on the flowing rivulets and run along them cheering at their boats competing for the first place. The water would usually end up diving into a little bridge and under it, this is where every unretrieved boat would end up and ultimately at the sewers. After the rains, about a day or two, the earth would spring up lush green and alive. The grass would thrive, trees and shrubs do the same and everything would be jovial, including the birds of the air. The sky would be a deep blue and the sun a brilliant gold and the moon a clear white, without the rain pregnancy it had in the first place. The air would be crisp and fresh with no humidity, but just sufficient quantities for human comfort.

In the country, my maternal  grandmother had the same way of telling that the rain was around the corner, this and also another sign, the burning of Buchwa Mountain. In the ferrous region Mberengwa, in the Midlands part of the country, there is a huge mountain rich in Chrome with the aforementioned name. In summer months, just before the rains, the mountain bursts in flames, brightening areas even as far as a hundred miles away. My grandmother would sit under the Cassava shrub shelling her nuts in preparation for the planting season, she would look up with a look of satisfaction. When at one point I asked her why the mountain burned and who lighted it, she took the pleasure of answering with in detail. She said the mountain's fire was mysterious, no one set it on fire, and no one would extinguish it. Only the rains of God would extinguish it and she would tell when the rain was going to come and like she would have said, the clouds would race in and usher in the rainy season. Sometimes before it rained, strong gusts of wind would raise so much dust that people had to shield their eyes and open only  fractionally to see their way. Fowls would squawk as they rushed into huts, their coops or under the grain storage huts mounted on large stones. Other animals like cows and donkeys would gather and usually put their heads together and take the pelting of the rain. The mountain would not extinguish after the first rains, I usually saw it burning though with reduced intensity after the rains and with time, the fire would reduce to a flickering flame before it completely went out. I was fascinated by how my grandmothers knew it was time of the year for the rains to start falling by merely looking at the moon and the mountain. There are lots of things that my people consider for them to make decisions that lie in nature and I will be exploring these in the next article.

Hasta la proxima.

Gimme a beer, will you? I.

By Clemz Chinyani

'He drinks like a German tanker', a proud woman said amid the din of the laid back downtown bar I had frequented with my friends. While they were busy drowning themselves in the ale, which is not, but lager, I was looking across our table at a particularly interesting young lady with flowing black hair that shone in the dim light. She did not notice my attention, luckily, although it was not a sexual attention I was emitting friendly vibrations, I itched to speak to her and find out more about her, on nothing more than a friendly platform, nothing much. As a popular number was belted, the majority of the patrons rose staggeringly to their feet and swayed the night away holding beer bottles and glasses singing in stray voices almost drowning the purpose of their gyrations. I edged my way toward the girl who for some strange reason had not joined the rest of her party on the dance floor. I surfaced right next to her and greeted her after summoning all my reserve guts. Amazingly, she responded with a sweet though drunken smile to my greeting and soon we were chatting about her life, because she had steered the conversation that way, I just had shrugged it away and followed the tide. After a minute of reflective silence, (for me, I do not know if she was reflecting at all), she pointed an unsteady finger at a man dancing unco-ordinatedly on the floor with a stout woman who kept wiggling her thick finger for him to come back every time he looked around to find another dancing partner. She said that was her boyfriend and he was her ride home. I looked at him and felt sad suddenly, he stumbled as if he was confused which foot to put forward first, moved forward and then backwards before his dance partner could prop him up. He flopped like a sunburnt and thirsty leaf and retched. A spray of vomit escaped his mouth that was opened as far back as it would go, exposing browned teeth. He spit at the end of the volley and started panting like a fish gasping for air out of the water. The lady dragged him and sat him down in a corner before leaving him for the ladies. Her girlfriend sat there mummified by his stunt. She let out a strangled cry and laughed before saying, 'Oh Mike, he drinks like a German tanker'.

The words German tanker resonated in my mind till this instant I am putting them down. Popularized during my youth in Zimbabwe, the phrase is associated with imbibers who just keep downing the brewski even if the bells are ringing. It seems today's generation takes in more cold coffee than yesterday's. I can prove it, but I just will not do it in this article. Well, even yesterday's generation loved the inebrient except that there was more regulation around its intake, but truth is, those who took it, enjoyed it to the max. I believe that is the reason they put so much regulation around it. I am no drinker, I have tried and the beer is just bitter, now that is the ultimate taste to my fellow human beings and I have nothing, absolutely nothing against that, its perfectly normal and well for people to drink because they did since time immemorial. On average, every household has a drinker, even if it has to be an extended family member. Culturally, in Zimbabwe's Shona tradition, beer was a drink taken at important events such as meetings of important people in the society like the chief and his courtsmen. Beer was brewed usually by old women with vast experience for such tasks and it was highly intoxicating. It was drank from gourds, usually one gourd was passed around a group of men who drank in the seniority fashion. Those with goatees would brush them out of the way before dipping their lips into the frothy liquid and inebriating themselves. Those who would get drunk and become loudmouths would be chided usually by the oldest members of the council and they had a special name, 'Vana Marambadoro', loosely translated 'Those whom beer does not agree with..lol'. As a matter of fact, traditional brew played a very vital part in the Shona society during important ceremonies such as the rainmaking ceremonies. The Shona believed also that spilling beer or pouring it on the ground would quench the thirst of those in the spirit world, 'nyikadzimu', and that one had no need to grieve if they did that. Well that was just superstition, according to my own understanding just like in the west we are supposed to throw salt over our left shoulder or not walk under a propped ladder and stuff like that. At ceremonies such as the one to bring the spirit of a dear departed soul back into the home, whose significance was believed to be for the protection and guidance of the living family of the person, they would also name an animal after the person, most commonly, this was done when male members of families passed, and the animal, usually a bull with a black coat would be named after him and beer would be poured along the beast's back and from there on, the bull would be regarded with honor, even though he was just a senseless animal. Herd boys, who had so much fun driving their bulls to fight would always find the possessed bulls to be far better fighters than ordinary ones, for some reason it always was the case, you can prove this by asking any ordianary Zimbabwean guy who at one point herded cattle. 

Well, at the end of the rituals, which included consumption of meat without salt, and summoning the spirit back home, it would be time for pomp and fanfare. Beer which would have been prepared usually seven days before the ceremony, stored in clay pots, called in Shona, 'Hari', would be brought out usually in the evening and the drums would be brought out. This would be a period of celebrating the return of the dead into their home and signaling new life for them. It was believed that the dead wielded more power and had foresight and could protect the living from evil. Dancing was usually done by well-known dancers, and it usually was the popular Shona traditional dance of 'Mhande', which entailed dancers dressing in traditional garbs of loincloths, feather headgear and dried round gourds 'Magagada', roped together and tied around the dancers ankles. They would have their seeds inside and they would rattle with every move the dancer made. The rattle sound then, depended on the dancer's agility and style, usually, it was just one style, with very slight variations. The dances occurred outside by a bonfire or inside a hut. Most of the times, moved by music and drumbeat, there would be people who harbored spirits among the crowds and their spirits would surface and thus, they would be possessed. They would speak in for example a dead person's voice and would always request a drink giving reason that where they came from was hot and very dry. The possessed would be handed a gourdful of beer and would down it and continue to say why they had appeared. People close by would surround them and clap their hands respectfully and ask the spirit not to harm them but to say in peace why they appeared. After delivering their messages, they would leave the body of the medium who would have no idea what went on. The rest of the people would drink and continue to have fun under the moonlight.

People also drank beer at 'harvesting parties' nhimbe', at beer selling homesteads usually on the day no field work was done. It is interesting to note that the Shona observed one day out of the week to do nothing at all. It kind of resonates with the idea of God saying that one day a week, no work is supposed to be done, but to keep it Holy. It might have just been a variation, or a corrupted version of that law. On such days, no man was to ever be found doing work. Otherwise his fields would be attacked by mysterious baboons that would destroy all his crops. The reason was, the gods of the land would not like it and everyone was supposed to respect them. The days differed according to tribe and according to geographic location of the people, and the day is known in Shona as, 'Chisi'.

Contemporary Shona life is also based on beer drinking. The father, in many children's stories, or a typical father is one who comes from work in the city, changes and goes to the beer hall to drink the night away and comes back drunk, or he does not even come home, he goes straight to the beer hall and comes home early in the morning every other night that his children do not even see him often. A joke is told about a kid who knew he had a dad, but hardly met him. He would only meet him briefly every night or he would hear him as he was asleep or otherwise. One day, the kid and his mother were walking past a beerhall and the kid suddenly looked up and said to his mother excitedly, 

Mother, mother, I can smell dad, is he around here?

Well, most little boys want to grow up to be this man who wastes his time at the beer hall and hardly ever shows up at his house. I also at some point was deluded to be this kind of man and the macho ones, per say come home and bash their women over very petty issues, many thanks to the women awareness campaigns that are seeing less and less occurrences of such brutal spousal treatment. I am not saying here, Shona men bash their women, but the ignorant one did, or do, but women have learnt to stand up for their rights, and the laws of the country are more and more tailor made to make men rightfully consider their spouses. Well, in the past, beer drinking was not for women and young people, but over the time, there has been an erosion of the rules and now, many young people get wasted and so do the mothers. It's more like in America. Although the law says otherwise about minors getting drunk, they still do. People drink for every occasion here, on holidays, after work, on birthdays, out of the blue, men, women, children, most do freely. Perhaps many people drink to escape their woeful lives, if they could be said to be that and also some do as a matter of falling instep with peers.

During the colonial error (no, not era I made no mistake), there was a lot of movement of people regionally. There came to the present day Zimbabwe people from neighboring territories such as Zambia, Malawi and they brought their own cultures and beer recipes, and they introduced a highly potent beer called Tototo, just like that. Its alcohol content was high such that some people did not get sober ever again in their lives, they died drunk. And it was made illegal but people still brewed and sold it in privacy. I have no clue what they used to put into the concotion that made it potent, all I know is that you paid double if you took it, your money and your health, and ultimately, life.

 In the streets of Bulawayo, where one could walk a considerable distance holding on to a beer bottle than one would possibly do in Montgomery County, it is a sign of defiance f the rules as well as being without care in this life and if one is a young man, young women would prefer to be with him, that is those whose lifestyles are attuned to such living. To be totally wasted is today seen as a way of spending one's youth. A woman came to my station at work with her daughter who I guess to be about twelve. After greetings were exchanged, she warmed up to me and she began talking about her past. Oh boy, she told me and her amazed daughter how she had spent her youth, getting totally wasted on Friday nights and doing things she cannot recall to this day. She laughed as I scanned her face for signs of whatever she was saying and I could see it in the wrinkles of her facial tissue. However, at the end, she told her daughter not to ever do that and I was glad. Just because I do not do it, I would not forbid anyone, however, I would highlight the downside of being as such, later. This drinking phenomena, is it an emerging trend or a of deeper social malaise manifestation, or just plainly, something that the future holds for us all.

P.S.- I think the phrase German Tanker came from German's fuel tanker and supply vessel that used to refuel ships at sea. The Altmark was one of the top of the range vessels built for purposes as such in the late thirties, last century. This vessel was involved in the famous Altmark Incident that you can look up anytime you want. But the thing is, it was large and drank very large quantities of fuel,and that is plausible a suggestion, don't you think? Or it was simply because the Germans drink a lot of bieres. No offense Germans, see you at the Oktoberfest of 2012!

Cherry Blossoms and Japanese Culture III

Hello, everyone!  This is the last post on this topic.  I'm sorry it is late.
So, what do Japanese people do when the cherry blossoms are in bloom? 
Public outings (picnics) under the cherry trees are very popular.
Snacks and drinks will be brought.  Usually, the cherry blossoms are viewed in the daytime.
However, in the past hundred years or so, night viewing is also common.
Electric lights are used to illuminate the cherry trees.
Some day, you should go to see the cherry trees bloom in Japan!

皆さん、こんにちは！その口コミは最後です。書いて遅れてすみませんでした。
桜を咲く時に、日本人は何をしますか。桜の下で行楽（ピクニック）はとても人気です。
お摘みやお酒を持ってきます。ふつうの花見は昼間の物ですが、大正時代から今まで夜花見も人気があります。電灯は桜を照らします。いつか、皆さんは花見ために日本に行って下さい！

In America, do as the Americans know.

Is it a culture or a norm?
 I wish I knew. Preliminary discussions with my friends revealed the vast differences that exist between the American and African societal setups, at least where I come from besides the huge environmental differences like the the powerful cold chill that hits you in the face and knocks the breath out of you as you take your baby steps on the continent. Everyone foreign to this land had this feeling even the founders of modern America I believe had this feeling when they stepped out of the water. Then comes the blazing heat that enervates you to the core, no wonder someone had to be genius enough to invent the apparatus to contain the extremes of nature. Then is the ever dynamic culture of America that is unique in its very own way. Say something in the same exact words but in a different tone of speech and an American person will not understand you, not because they are deliberately trying to shut you out but strange sounds in their ears just make little to no sense. They are like a blubber and you have to encounter the question, 'What's that?' which in normal circumstances will be, 'Pardon me or I beg your pardon?'. The land of allergies where it is a common thing to have an allergy. People sneeze or have runny noses, some have red eyes and some do not eat peanuts and they all take loads of prescriptions to curb them and they proudly take ownership of these conditions, if they are not feeling well, " I have allergies". They can not enjoy so many of things at their disposal like take a closer walk with nature because nature has these nasty little grains not visible to the naked eye at the time when she is adorned in the most beautiful apparel. I remember where I am from, there are people who have allergies too but many do not know that they are intolerances, they think they are normal sicknesses that occur at certain times of the year or after eating certain foods. For example in Spring and Summer when the Jacaranda is in bloom, lighting up the sky with purple flowers, my niece has runny eyes and she says they are always itchy and my friend's nose runs uncontrollably. Every time we took a walk along Jacaranda Avenue in Northend, they had severe cases or their eye and sinus irritations and I got to sympathize with them. Not to say I was the strongest without allergies, I would not stomach groundnuts without a visitation from pain and would not even enjoy a glass of fresh milk which I loved so much, I still do not unless its lactose free, that surely, in American parlance, it sucks.

The ever growing and expanding capitalistic lifestyle of the society is quite perturbing to a soul that has lived most of its life in a community where new things were bought not everyday. In America, there are gluttonous shoppers as well as gluttonous businesses that have you buying things just to throw them away when you get home. They name it consumerism, which is fuelled buy all sorts of triggers from music to health. Daily television screens show messages from blaring loud enticements to subtle ones that have people scrambling to make purchases for things that they believe are ' Now better than ever, number one rated, guaranteed to work or their money back, offers not affordable to be lost, Hurry Hurry Hurry!' Now in a nation where 99% of the population owns a television set and on average a household member watches the tube for at least four hours a day, there is a lot of selling and a lot of convincing that happens through the set. With the conveniences provided in the nation, one does not even need to leave the house to get things, they just pick up the phone, or go online and purchase while sipping o n a drink, in the comfort of their homes. Sellers have long discovered the trick to sell and they package usually shoddy products covering them in attractive wraps and sending it off with praise words and selling them through the music that is known to move the needy part of human beings, making them buy subconsciously. Ask advertisers, they will tell you that its true.

In terms of relations with the whole world, I have to high five American founding fathers and the stewards of this great nation for instilling in the people what is the envy of many, patriotism. Although they may say, the same is, 'The last refuge of the scoundrel', I say kudos because the difference between the patriotism in Africa, particularly where I come from, is that in America, they provided the people with all sorts of creature comforts, even exceeding them to a point of sterility (not the opposite of fertility), super-exceeding them them that its like a dream (which it somehow is) and in my part of the world, Zimbabwe to be specific, there is patriotism with no creature comforts. Only the elite who rule have all sorts of imaginable comforts while the rest of the people are poor. This has however made the nation to be a country of improvisers, many people still live to make money and buy things needed in life by thinking out of their boxes. But there would be none fully committed to patriotic causes because the word is associated with the ruling guys who are greedy and want nothing else but to squander the resources of the nation. An average American is in full support of his country's ideal which is sweet, and would rally behind whatever the country is doing around the globe because of the fact that the people are patriotic to the point of absurdity. One fine gentleman in a coffee place was labelled as a bad man by his relation and he snapped at her, 'What, I am American and I pay my taxes!'. Jeez, if the president hears this he would be shaking his hand right this instant.

As a result, of the many factors and the hope contained by the nation, many immigrants have flocked to the nation and have been assimilated into its system. Some come by ways authorities disprove and some come in with the approval of the same. For may reasons people come, to seek refuge from persecutions, to seek for opportunities in life, to get everything that is promised by The Dream. A walk down the street can confirm this, you meet and hear languages that confound you. Its quite surprising that with so many people from so many different parts of the world, little is known by average people about where they come from. Maybe its because people from other parts of the world do not want to share the stories with their hosts. Some would do everything possible to shake off anything that ties them to their original culture. Their children born in America they do not teach them the ways of living of where they are from. Some, however are resilient, holding on to their cultures and enthusiastically doing whatever they do in the ways they have always done things even before crossing the high seas to discover this nation. Average people in the street think that Africa is a country and that its inhabitants roam about amid their wildlife picking berries, hunting animals to eat wearing nothing but loin skins. They think people speak one language (African)  and that's the clicking language they heard in some African movie like 'The Gods must be crazy'. There some who have had the opportunity to travel there and they know the truth and some who have been taught in school or have had enlightenment from their friends and neighbors that know more, and they do not make such wild assumptions.

In this way, is the general way of living similar also to the way of living from where I come from. Drinking, a pastime. Many people have generally drinking habits here, some drink at the bar after work, others drink during the day while some drink at social gatherings and some do not touch alcohol at all. The difference is that no one is supposed to drink at work which is also the same thing with Zimbabwe except in the past. This I heard from my grandmother- People used to have events called 'Nhimbe' in the villages. A Nhimbe was a call to a household's neighbors, friends and family to come and help them harvest their field produce. The hostess would brew traditional beer and the host kill a beast or a goat and prepare the meat. People would come to their homestead early in the morning and go to the field to be harvested and begin working. When they were through, the party began. Calabashes of frothing beer would be brought out as they all sat under the shade and food accompanied the beer. By the end of the day, the work would have been done and the people full and drunk. That was how a 'Nhimbe' was conducted, collective effort with food and drink as a thank you.

It is considered neighborly to greet those that live close to you. Here you may be intruding their privacy, in Zimbabwe, you smile if you see a kid as a sign of kindness even in a supermarket. A person may talk to some body's little child and it would not be anything at all. Children can wander off in a park and a stranger picks them up and bring them back to their parents. Of course there are some people who are sick like any other pervert you will find in any other state. People interact loudly in the streets, not so loud to disturb the peace of the surrounding and people care. If somebody is in distress, people offer to help them out of their dire situation. It is a different case altogether in this land of dreams. People tend to shrink into themselves and want to live life by themselves even if they are in danger, they would rather dial a number and call for help than call out for help. Even if they do, they may or may not get any response. Its such a cold environment, isn't it?

There are stereos that exist among the society and like a friend of mine remarked the other day, 'Stereotypes only exist only because we live up to them'. What a mouthful? Well, I was watching ABC's and host John Quinones' 'What Would You Do?', the episode where they put actors to act as if they were stealing a bike in a public place. One was white man, the other was black man and the other was a beautiful white girl. The reactions they got were reactions from real people who had no idea they were acting. The white man got very little attention from the passerbys as he was sawing the chain off a bicycle that was parked in a park. The black man came and he was met with outrage. People thronged to him and tried to stop him right there and there. The beautiful lady came and got help from gentlemen who admired her beauty. Well, at the end of the day I saw that the black male was treated so differently from the other two. Here, if I walk down a street in a neighborhood where the rich live, I may be hurt because of people who have a sick mentality that any black person is a criminal. That is the worst stereotype to exist on this earth ever. Some people do not even believe there are black people that do not steal, do drugs and live violently. They have no sense of knowing the truth but to live in perpetual ignorance and fear. A lot of tongues are wagging currently over the unfortunate and untimely death of a young black kid at the hands of a George Zimmerman, early in the year. It is unjust and grossly unfair to take a life, worse of a young person and I do believe the killer was enveloped by this stereotypical thinking, thinking he was saving the world, he took the life of a person. Now read the following by our former president and tell me where today's people get such horrible stereotypes: Written by Thomas Jefferson in 1776,

We hold these truths to be self evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed.