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.

Shona Table Manners.

By Clem C.

The Shona people  of Zimbabwe have a variety of tantalizing cuisine that you all should at some point have a chance to enjoy, and I am pretty sure, your taste buds will thank you.

On a perfect evening, the father and or the leader of the home sits with his male children and sometimes male neighbors or relations under the starry night discussing critical issues of the community. During the harvest time, they will be roasting maize on the cob, or groundnuts and any other field produce at their disposal. Heroic feats of past warriors are told to the younger men to inspire them, cultural teachings and other vital aspects are passed on to them, success and love stories are discussed over the flickering flames that dance and their shadows dance on their faces. Curious young men listen attentively, their minds actively assimilating every bit of the details so as to tell them to their playmates. The slow breeze transports the aroma of the cooked food from the kitchen hut where mother and girl children as well as other women of the homestead will be preparing dinner, the main meal of the day. After a day's hard work in the fields, at the pasture lands herding cattle,or wherever they would have been, every member of the family, present at the time the food is served settles down to enjoy the food food, which usually is the staple Sadza (made from maize, rapoko or sorghum mealie-meal). The head of the family usually has his food alone, in two plates, one containing the Sadza and the other what it is eaten with, usually meat or vegetables. The younger men and children eat together in their groups. They sit around to plates containing the sadza and the relish and before eating, they clap their hands and ask to be excused by saying  'pamusoroi' then the oldest of them all breaks a piece and eats then the rest of the children follow, giving each other turns to get pieces of food, mixing and eating it. The oldest of the group usually is the first to pick a piece of meat and the younger ones follow suit. No one is allowed to pick a the meat if the oldest hasn't and breaking that rule results in punishment from the mother and punishments vary according to the mother's discipline regime. Before eating again, the family may pray to bless the food.

Quiet is observed during meals and meals are eaten whilst everyone is seated down. Children sit on the floor, on mats with their legs crossed. Women sit on mats, older women with their legs out in front of them kept close together while younger ones sit cross legged like the young boys. The parents may talk during meals. If the children need some more food, they request from the mother by sending usually the youngest with the empty plate and the mother replenishes them and so the dinner goes on.

One interesting thing about this is that before every meal is partaken, the girls who would have helped their mother prepare the food wash the cooking utensils before eating, usually the cooking sticks. There are two sticks used to make sadza, one is a flat wooden stick (mugoti) with a broad base used for mixing mealie-meal in the pot into a thick paste and the other is used initially to mix water and mealie-meal. The mixture is let to boil and cook for about ten minutes and this stick is a thin straight stick with thin wire pieces crafted into its one end in semi-circles to beat the lumps that arise when one mixes boiling water and mealie-meal (musika). When that  process is done, the resultant is a thin paste that is usually part of breakfast and it is called porridge. Sometimes the porridge is made from mixing mealie-meal with boiling milk and sometimes one can add peanut butter to it or just butter. Nowadays people have oat meal and other meals of this sort for breakfast. So before meals, the utensils are supposed to be cleaned and after the meal is over, everyone starting from the father, thanks the mother for preparing the tasty dish and the children follow suit by thanking the mother and the father by their different totems. Then they rise to leave the eating room, the girls to clean the utensils and the boys to go and sit somewhere out of their way, if they had not had their meal at the dare, they then take leave to go to their room(s) or may sit around and plan the following day's chores with their parents. Sometimes, on moonlit warm nights, they sit outside and listen to each others' stories and watch the starry night, dreaming dreams bigger than themselves.

Japanese Culture and Cherry Blossoms--Part II

毎年の春に桜を咲きますから、桜は春の象徴的です。その時にも新学期を始めます。高校の卒業間に桜の下で写真を取る事はさすが日本人です。そして、日本人は桜を見れば懐かしいに成ります。（私は高校の時に日本で留学生でした。そうですから、私も桜を見る事が懐かしいと思います。）
来週の週末に最後を書くつもりです。お待ち下さいね。
お質問があれば、メールを送って下さい！

Because the cherry blossoms bloom in spring every year, they are symbolic of the spring.  The spring is also the time when the new school year begins (in Japan).  Taking high school graduation photographs under the blooming cherry blossoms is a very Japanese thing to do.  Therefore, when Japanese people see cherry blossoms in bloom, they become nostalgic.  (When I was in high school, I was an exchange student in Japan.  Because of this, I also think that cherry blossoms are nostalgic.)
I plan to write the last part next weekend.  Please wait for it.
If you have any questions, please send them in!
culturevillagers@gmail.com