Six days after Jestina Mukoko was abducted from her home, she is still missing. This morning, two of her colleagues were also abducted from the ZPP’s Harare offices. Just days before her abduction, in remarks to the Women’s Coalition to mark the 16 Days of Activism, Jestina discussed the horrors experienced by many Zimbabwean women during political violence this year.

We got this email recently from Tonderai X – who took the photograph of Jestina Mukoko we put on our blog last week.

To: Government of Zimbabwe
Heads of SADC
Those who think they are men

Not-So-Dear-Anymore Sirs

As a son of Zimbabwe, I am appalled that one of my mothers, Jestina Mukoko, was taken from her house without her permission.

She was almost naked and is a woman who is in need of medical care on a regular basis.

The cowards who took her had to come as a mob – as did the soldiers for Jesus. Her little child watched in horror as this happened to her. My question to you men of the government and of SADC is this: Are there no real men among you? Will not one stand up for Jestina and other abducted Zimbabweans? Will not a single one of you say that enough is enough?

Martin Luther once said: “In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.” That silence from our “friends” is painful. Too too painful to bear.

I am a son of Zimbabwe. Will you please free my mother.
Tonderai X

I’ve been of two minds since hearing that the “government” of Zimbabwe has asked for help in the current cholera crisis.

On the one hand, I thought to myself, “finally.” On Monday this week, water supplies to Harare were turned off completely – the water authority had run out of chemicals. So surely, if the “government” declares it an emergency, and they get some help, then they can start to do something about it, and people will stop dying.

But on the other hand, there’s a huge gap between the “government” saying it’s an emergency, and people actually getting help. The problem is exactly that – they’re a “government,” not really The Government. It’s the same “government” that failed to account for more than US$7 million from the Global Fund to Fight HIV/AIDS, Tuberculosis and Malaria. The Reserve Bank of Zimbabwe eventually paid the money back, and the Global Fund approved another US$169 million in assistance to the country. Now the EU wants to give another USD11million for cholera – and the US has contributed USD 220 million to Zimbabwe’s food and health crisis since October 2007.

It’s a complicated issue, and I don’t really know how to resolve it in my own head. I don’t want anyone to die from cholera when there is help available to stop that. But I have no confidence that this regime will handle that assistance responsibly. So I was encouraged to see CHRA’s statement which raised similar concerns. WoZA’s recent report also points out the relationship between the regime’s growing and the spiralling health crisis.

It’s this failing “government” that created Zimbabwe’s cholera crisis. They’re not the people who should be trusted to solve it.

I learnt last weekend that Thabani Zikhali, better known to most of us as Fela, died. I remember Fela fondly from meetings and discussions at the ISO offices – sitting on those wooden benches in the office, or outside in the car park. And I’m sad, and angry to lose such a good, strong, capable, confident, powerful, energetic, useful, motivated, activist. Fela fought for social justice and better basic services like access to water, health care and sanitation. Little did any of us suspect that it would be exactly this collapsed health care system that would fail him. Political violence has taken its toll on Zimbabwe – but perhaps an even greater threat is the health crisis. This is Comrade Fatso’s tribute to Fela. May he go well.

Die For The People

Today we paused for a moment of silence. Silence amidst the echoes of cholera cries, mutinous outbursts and beaten trade unionists. We paused for a moment, calm in the chaos of our struggle. We stood by a red dust Warren Hill grave side to remember our Comrade Fela. A comrade who tirelessly fought in the trade unions, the Zimbabwe Social Forum and the residents associations. A founding member of the Uhuru Network and The Amandla Centre. A comrade who died from the injustice he fought so hard against. A collapsed health care system that failed to give him basic treatment.

We stood. We cried. We paused for a moment of reflection in the whirlwind that this struggle for justice can be. Because this is what it can be sometimes. Life or death painted in stark red soil. Each shovel-load of soil by each comrade onto his coffin was a reminder of the urgency of the struggle we are in. Each speech about Fela’s life was a call to uprising.

Fela died as he lived. Determined. Dignified. His death was poetic. Because he fulfilled the destiny of his name: Fela Nabantu. Die For The People.

May our comrade rest in peace.

Zimbabwean human rights activist Jestina Mukoko was abducted from her home in Norton, outside Harare, around 5am on Wednesday 3 December. Reports indicate that a group of at least 12 men in two unmarked vehicles came to her house. She was taken by force still barefoot and in her pyjamas. More than 24 hours later, there is still no sign of Mukoko, nor any indication of her whereabouts or who might have abducted her.

Amnesty International issued an alert yesterday, demanding that Zimbabwean authorities guarantee Mukoko’s safety. Mukoko is the director of the Zimbabwe Peace Project (ZPP), a local human rights organisation that monitors and documents human rights violations.

Phone the Norton Police station and demand that they investigate Jestina’s disappearance: +263 (0)62 2120. Be persistent! It can be hard to get through.

November 25 to December 10 marks 16 Days of Activism Against Violence Against Women. Pamberi Trust held a musical and poetry extravaganza to bring home a strong message of saying no to violence. One performance in particular was all that and precisely what activist voices can embody. The poignant words of performance poet Xapa and hip hopper Misfit along with an affecting and we won’t stand down drum beat by Rumbi provided inspiration. The words and the drumming made the hair on my arms stand up. Made me want to change the world and hug every person I can find who personifies peace. The title of the performance was apt with respect to violence against women. And with respect to a great many other on-goings in Zimbabwe.

We should protest always

Always
The beating of the bongo like the beating of my heart
The beating of the bongo like my heart before you come
The pounding of the bongo like your fists upon my skin
The pounding of the bongo like the agony within

Violence in the garden
Violence in the house
Violence from the children
Violence from the spouse
The weeping and the wailing and the terror and the tears
The weeping and the wailing and the terror and the tears
The fat and the thin, the soul and the hurt and the fears
Violence from the sober
Violence when he’s drunk
Violence on the weaker
Violence on the young

The rhythm of the bongo like the rhythm of my soul
The rhythm of the bongo like the agony
The pounding of the bongo like his fists upon my skin
The pounding of the bongo like the agony within

Violence is coordinated, violence is control
Violence is from the place of the young of the soul
The fighting and the pressure and the struggles and the drone
The beating and the fighting and the immediate unfolds
Abuse of her body and abuse of her soul
Abuse of her feelings and abuse of her hopes

The throbbing of the drum is like the throbbing of my pain
The throbbing of the drum is like crying in my grave
The booming of the bongo there it is, let me go
The booming of the bongo, there’s victims no more

As you wake up you might have the audacity of mumbling a few words of thanksgiving to the Almighty for the new day that has come up and also for guidance on the day’s adventures.

As is the case everywhere you run straight to the toilet to relieve yourself of the digested air in your stomach only to receive a shout from the person cleaning the toilet (probably on duty that week) that you can’t expect to use the toilet when there is no water. Blaming yourself for your ignorance you walk into your room pondering your next move because relief will only be possible after it gets dark, in the nearby veld.

You prepare for the day and as you move towards the wardrobe you just realize it is a mere waste of time as all the clothes are lying in the washing basket and you didn’t do any laundry for the past two weeks due to the acute shortage of water in your suburb. Again you curse yourself for such self attained stupidity and you proceed to the washing basket to look for something that is a little bit clean so that you can  put it on. Luck strikes you and you find this pair of jeans that you have worn only once in the past two weeks and a t-shirt that is semi-clean. But these need to be ironed for a better impression and alas there has been no electricity for the past three days due to a transformer fault and surprisingly it is only your residential line that has been affected by this since the guys across the street have electricity.

This means double trouble since there is going to be no breakfast and already this is triplicating the issue since you did not have supper the last night.

Finally, with the wretched clothes on, you board a Kombi but to your surprise the fare the conductor was shouting for a single trip has doubled the moment the Kombi starts the journey and you have no option but to fork out the $500 000 that you got from the Bank yesterday and pay the fare. When you get to town it is again a surprise to find out that the queue to your bank has gone past three or four blocks and there is no option but to wait in the queue. The thought of being a professional, having graduated from one of the country’s renowned universities, but still unemployed, makes you think it as improper to wait for a paltry sum.

You make it to ZIMEX mall were you intend to change the ZAR 100 that you had got from a relative. As you line up a buyer (because buyers are now being outnumbered by sellers there is a queue) a pickpocket slips their hand into your pocket and gets the much depended on ZAR 100. Meanwhile they also wait in the queue behind you to change their loot. You approach the buyer and you put your hand in the pocket to look for the money but it is to no avail. The confusion that surrounds you makes the other people around you think that you are a thief and the next thing that happens is you are chased from the place, even by the same people that stole your money.

The next thing to do would be to report the rascal to the police so that they can be brought to book and within you there is a feeling that the police should wipe all the dealers away from the Mall just because of your case. Horror strikes you as you get to Harare Central Police Station when you find there is a queue so large even as compared to the one at the bank. You think it is for those that want to have their documents certified and you “jump” the queue only to receive a lash from the Officer on duty telling you to go to the back of the queue. Attempts to explain your issue are fruitless as the Officer is already attending to some people that have been brought in on charges of “illegal” vending of bananas at Copacabana Market in the City Centre.

Everything about, and around you seems to be hard hit by complications and there is no way to solve any of the issues at stake. In the long run you become loser in your bid to be a winner in the race for your own economic stability in a country like Zimbabwe.