Yesterday I pulled on my faded blue pin striped jeans that I picked up in Australia what seems like decades ago. Put on my bright yellow Brazilian soul t-shirt and trundled down to Courteney Selous School to see if my name was on the voters roll. Not surprisingly there was a queue. I mean where won’t you find a queue in Zimbabwe. So I sat on an old wooden school bench waiting my turn. I wanted to see if I’d been disappeared. After what seemed like an age and much flicking through of piles of pages, there my name was in its very simple glory.

But not so for Bella Matambanadzo whose very different V Day experience I share with you below.

An unorthodox update on Zimbabwe’s voters roll

I dressed for the occasion.
Put my cute fanny in lace nickers,
Gave my breasts some serious gravity (EJ Win always
says wear new, matching underwear on important days,
that’s why she got me stuff from Bravissimo).

I was already sizzling
Rainbows around my waist, beads, and beads, and beads
of them from Codou and Roses in Dakar.
She’s also sent me incense. Intoxication is critical.
I wasn’t just sizzling, I was leaving a most musky trail.

Layering: Vanila bath what what from Sisonke, coconut
oil something wafting.

Slipped my pink pedicured feet into slinky sandals.
Shells on the rim.
A trade we did with Alice from Rwanda in Zanzibar,
plotting Feminism

Needed some bling. Hooked in amber and silver earrings,
Muthoni Wanyeki style. Off of Biashara
street in Nairobi, necklace from Hope Chigudu, a
talisman from Thailand — Awid, Bangkok, Massage – Men
in our movements, masquerading comradeship, turning our
voice to footnotes.

Pulled back the dreadlocks. One side like Sylvia.
Now the war paint. Eyes the way Jessica Horn taught me -
intense, serious, sparkling. Mac to the Lips – pout,
shimmer, shine: Pat Made put this in my purse (need
to text Thoko Matshe to stop by the counter next time
she’s in London – I got to have another one).

Stand tall like Bisi, this is an election year after
all:

But my name was not there: Not on the voters roll,
where it had been 5 years ago. Vanished. Disappeared.
My name was not there.

Who took my name? I hollered, vagina twitching with
rage. I said – who took my name? Ziii no answer other
than stares of intimidation from some twobit cop
representative of rigging. Txt message to Teresa
Mugadza – most kicking lawyer in Town. Woman wrote
Domestic Violence Legislation surely this is a
piece of cake for her!

Someone took my name Tere I howl, mad as ever. So get
it back girl, she croons. Get it back. You know you
got to vote. Right?

Zimbabwe: hurting and burning. Rage.
Straight up. I am taking it back. And today I am going
back. War clothes and all. This V is my Day.

This entry was posted on February 14th, 2008 at 1:45 pm by Bev Clark and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.