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！