Watching
Mtunzini in September

We sat on the shores of the Indian ocean
watching the sun rise over the sea and set over distant Zululand hills
we walked the dune forest
fruit filled, bird sung, butterfly danced

walking the edge
between earth and ocean

time to sit still enough
to listen
to the silence
through which we learn the changing voice of the sea
hear it moulded by the wind
called back and forth by the moon
shaped by the lie of the land

We came home slowly
through rural Zululand
through mountains made of ancient larval flows
we sat on the edge of gorges
cutting vertically through time
calling memories of billions of years ago

witnessing something wider than the angst  of our souls

Coming home
10 September

It was 39 degrees at the bridge in the afternoon
so we decided to wait and cross early next morning
and stopped in the Soutpansberg mountains
listening to the news from Zimbabwe

Talk of the agreement to be signed?
compromises being made?
power sharing?

the Zimbabwean way . . .

The South Africans were cleaning up their border post
collecting rubbish, scrubbing walls
but the surly silence of the immigration and customs officials
(who were on a ‘go slow’ )
and the rudeness of the guard at the gate to the bridge
left a sour taste as we drove across the Limpopo

. . . into the strangely organized chaos
of the litter-strewn, dust-shimmering Zimbabwean border post

‘Welcome home’

despite the heat and noise and money changing and confusion
the immigration officer is smiling
‘today is a good day’

The armed policeman at the road block outside Beit Bridge
signal us on with cheerful wave
down the potholed, edge-tilting road to Harare
watching endless miles of bush unravelling

People we see walk slowly between villages
listless and thin

I find some muffins packed for our breakfast
and hand them to two small thin children wandering down the side of the road
In the rear view mirror we watch as they run excitedly to distant huts
- home to share this meagre bounty!

A small group of children are getting out of the back of a truck
and as it drives on, they laugh and dance and clap hands with glee
‘we got a lift!’

And I am glad to be back home
to witness the spirit of my people

Signed
Full Moon – 15th September

It has been done . . .
the agreement has be signed
the two leaders have spoken to the nation
one of ‘the depths of his hope for the future, running deeper than his scars of the suffering of the past, of the healing’
and the other about ‘enemies’ and ‘sovereignty’ and ‘the evil of colonialism’

and somewhere between these positions
a new way begins

and the Zimbabweans ask
‘can this be the moment?
. . . can it be that the fear is gone?
that background angst?
the possibility of imprisonment ?
even torture?
the constant silencing?’

. . . for loss of money and water and electricity are overshadowed by comparison

but today it feels strange
like an old habitual response to ‘authority’
a frisson of distrust
- there will have to be a re-learning
that we are free to disagree without being harmed

even this moment is done the Zimbabwean way
no instant singing and celebration in the streets
but a questioning –
‘what does this mean?’

can we speak of our lives?
tell our stories?
come home from foreign countries?
will we own what we earn?
can we start the healing?

I hung our name plate back on the gate – after 5 years
reclaiming our right to live openly
in our home

the fig trees are flushing and the paradise flycatcher has arrived back from Zaire
the planet is turning,
and the southern hemisphere begins to show its face to the sun
and the full moon and Venus fill the evening with light

In repeated patterns
the planet turns

- it is that time again
when skeletal-dark branches
that space the beige of winter
bud into copper and gold
and the bougainvilleas bloom
in flowers of fire

at sunset we sit in the stillness of twilight
as the earth holds her breath
approaching the time to dream
collecting our vital force to cross the invisible canyon

news this morning reports that 2 days of SADC meetings
‘have met with no resolution’
the death of thousands on their hands

and still the old man holds us in his grips
as we watch our people starve

the street child stands on the corner
street worn
bare feet in a carpet of crimson
fallen petals
of the lucky bean tree

waking
awash in slanting winter sun
birdsong singing my cells
breathe in light
breathe out peace

a flash of news before the electricity goes
the BBC announces that
‘the UN Security Council has been unable to declare sanctions on Zimbabwe’

and I see the fear
in eyes of the child watching his father being taken into hiding

grief washing my cells
will there be no end?

the structures that are supposed to hold this in place
cannot hold back this violence

breathe in light

each step we move closer to the edge

when we leap into the chasm
trusting that we will be held by
the invisible web

Today I awoke filled with grief
Jackie said she had finally resorted to one of the dog tranquilizers!

after a largely boycotted/rejected election
last night there were calls everywhere for ‘safe’ houses
the South African Embassy evicted 300 families who had been displaced from their rural homes
into the cold unforgiving streets of Harare
This morning we heard that the UN Security Council  ‘regretted’ the election
but were barred from calling it ‘illegal’ by the sole voice from South Africa

and as the politicians juggle with their own restrictions of ‘consensus’
Zimbabweans, who have done all the can to peacefully and democratically
to choose their freedom
are still, today, being beaten and displaced and killed

I am part of a vision
A vision that has been held by hundreds of Zimbabweans
as they have sat in healing circles over these last 5 years
a vision of groups held together by their own chosen agreements
of love/equality/trust/truth/non-judgment/diversity

I am part of a vision of peace
where we can exist in our diversity with dignity and respect

In these dark times
these things have become illuminated in ourselves
it is the darkness that has called us together
connections that we would never have made

I am part of vision
where others have shown such courage and love
that I am humbled and honoured to be a small lens

where women, young and old
under the banner of love
walk the streets calling for the rights of their children – to schooling and food

where doctors work day and night with battered and beaten bodies
and still have the courage and dedication to go on

where lawyers have struggled out of bed
to follow up thousands who have been arrested
and still walk with trust that there is a place for truth

I am part of a vision where people have put their lives at risk
to rescue others more vulnerable
moved by courage and love

I am part of a vision where people cross barriers and boundaries that held us apart
in a common search for the freedom

to be the most wonderful parts of ourselves

We awoke to the news that Tonderai’s wife had been abducted . . .

Plaxedes and her two young children were trying to move to a safer place at night
They had a driver and the next door neighbour to help
Plaxedes and her two children were thrown out of the car on to the side of the road,
the neighbour was shot in the face and chest
the driver, car and all their possessions were taken

the neighbour is presumed dead
the drivers where-abouts are still unknown
and the lives of one innocent young woman and her children are changed forever
deprived of their father/husband/friend/protector
their home and possessions
their belief that the world is a safe place

Micheal, the chef from the cafe heard his wife and mother had been beaten
he took the bus to his rural home to find how they were
and was arrested on arrival
taken to the militia base where he was told that in order to avoid further beatings of his family
he had to play his part . . .
the graveyard shift at the rural bus stop from 10pm to 6 am
watching who was arriving in the area
and reporting them to the base.

Rural and urban Zimbabweans are being forced to all-night pungwes
are being beaten unless they wear the Zanu t-shirts and head scarves

and tomorrow we are instructed to go and vote
for the monster who created this energy

or else . . .

Finally the African leaders begin to show their shock
finally they distance themselves from this violence
the global reaction is one of outrage

what has been present for 8 years suddenly visible

wringing of hands
‘what is to be done? what is to be done?”

what is to be done?
‘how’, as Morgan asks, ‘do we get rid of a dictator democratically?’

and in the mean time
as the world wrings its hands – waiting for a solution
we have run out of them here
Praxades, and her children, and Michael, and his wife and mother,
and hundreds of thousands of the people of this land
stand in the face of uncontrolled evil

the ultimate cost
being peaceful comes with the price of death

Every effort is being directed at putting out the light . . .

MDC have been banned by the ‘ruling party’ from campaigning on local TV
People have been told to take down their satellites as they are picking up ‘outside’ news reports
wind up radios have been declared a tool of opposition
NGO’s have been banned
recharge cards are unavailable for many cell phone networks  – no ‘juice’
many land lines are down – cables stolen
Biti is still in jail
militia camps have been set up in all high density and many low density suburbs in Harare
Zanu youth roam the streets at night
forcing people to all night rallies
to join the ranks of the destruction

E’s old father left his rural home last week
threatened by Zanu youths for voting wrongly
last night he had to return
called back by the invaders to face them
‘or we will burn the whole village’
an old man held to ransom
showing such courage
his fate is still unknown

it is a dark curtain that has been pulled over the land

and yet . . .

the light still shines
in small bubbles

in the back yard of a mechanic’s garden
where they celebrate work completed on his minivan
by sitting in the back
and imagining the places they will visit
the mechanic, his wife, their 2 large dogs, the assistant mechanic, and the old sekuru who cleans the yard
all crowded into the back
imagined what they were seeing
a wonderful escape
all without moving

out of the isolation of having the home fires broken
they gather in an old woman’s small kitchen at night
a mother with her 3 children from a house in the next suburb
an old woman who has brought 2 girls in from the rural areas
a man who has his arm in plaster from a police beating in Marondera
all have walked through the fire

new found friends at a new fire
gently praying for this to end

in the circle at Kufunda
when they dedicate this time to gathering their gifts
and holding their spirit

in a suburban garden
where an activists sits – alone
at the foot of an oak tree
watching the leaves fall
listening to its wisdom

in a suburban garden where 70 young children
left behind in the invasion of their villages
are being cared for
awaiting their scattered parents return

on our veranda at night
watching the gold of the sunset through masasas
and the bush babies at the feeding tray
and the acrobatics of two joyful jack russels

and our back door in the morning
counting the new flowering of the sweet peas

from this place of such beauty and courage and grief
to a web of light out there that holds us
I wish you a golden sunset