A recent blog of mine ­Rights claims in court­ generated an excellent comment and I wanted to highlight this comment and all its intellect.  I appreciate that I was too quick and too vague in saying that being a women is irrelevant in the case of the South African sex-worker who filed a claim against a brothel owner for unlawful termination.  Being a woman is relevant.  Particularly because, as the commenter notes:  “The judge chose to interpret the law in a way that entrenched discrimination against a particular sex and class­ female and sex worker.”  I was writing from the perspective of a gender-neutral world, which is not reality. Even purchasing beer in Zimbabwe can be gendered.  On many occasions, I’ve had men and women tell me it’s inappropriate for a woman to make such a purchase.  I wouldn’t continue to use the phrase “that she’s a woman is irrelevant” in reference to the South African sex worker (or any female sex worker).  But I stand by my argument that as a labour issue, the rights claim does not necessarily need to be asserted exclusively based on sex.  I would hope that this South African sex-workers case becomes an inspiring element in advocacy around decriminalizing sex work.  Sex work exists because there’s a large market for it; there has been since the dawn of time.  Women are the predominant sellers, but men sell sex too. In either case, as long as people are willing to buy, I believe that a sex worker is entitled to the same rights and protections afforded to any other person engaged in a form of employment.

Additionally, the conclusion of the comment importantly points to the difficulties around balancing, “problematic representation of women as poor powerless victims” with “nothing is as powerful a tool for inspiring women who are going through similar challenges as the story of one of their own, who has fought against the odds and won.”   A recent article in the Mail & Guardian reminded me of how difficult this balance is.  The author describes how her dog head-butted her at the veterinarians office resulting in her getting a black eye.  Once she went on with her life, it became apparent that nearly everyone she encountered had a difficult time looking her in the (black) eye.  There appeared to be uneasiness and an assumption that the black eye was the result of abuse by a man.  She was rendered a victim without the facts being known.  I agree with the author and also feel for how women who have been abused, “not only have to endure the physical and emotional pain of that violence, but must then suffer another round of beating and shrinkage when they venture into society.”  And yes, very much so, the many courageous women who are able to heal from experiences of violence are powerful examples of fighting the odds and winning.

It’s common in Harare to see combies zoom past you.  Often with a man’s head sticking out the window so that he can scout for more customers.  And even though the dilapidated vehicles travel faster than light speed, that roaming head emanating from the window can spot potential customers.  Once spotted, somehow this man gets a signal to the driver who is then able to stop in no time flat.  The other day I saw a type of combie I’ve never seen before.  A brand-spanking new one.  It was white and so pristine.  Not a scratch, dent, or loose part dragging on the road anywhere on it.

This unspoiled combie looked out of place.  I instantly jumped to the thought that there was a story behind its existence and function. Some sort of corruption; that only certain people get to ride in this brand new combie. Like so many things in Zimbabwe, this combie seemed a paradox.  Part of the façade where a carefully placed basic service is propped up to make someone think things in this is country are ok.

I saw the combie whilst I was walking along Milton Avenue.  Got me thinking about another paradox having to do with the very road I was walking on.  In Avondale, it’s King George Road.  Once in Milton Park, it’s Milton Avenue. Then when you cross over Josiah Tongagara, the road is called Leopold Takawira.  How can one road have three names?

I was walking along this road with three names on my way to an event organized by Pamberi Trust where two speakers (Ezra Chitando and Nokuthula Moyo) would be discussing Shimmer Chinodya’s novel Strife.  As is a theme in the novel, the speakers explored the tensions between the power of tradition and the forces of modernity.  Ezra Chitando made the compelling point that Zimbabwe needs leaders who have eyes like chameleons. This clever creature is able to effectively balance one eye looking forward at the same time the other eye is looking back.  When I was walking on Milton Avenue the forward eye was Leopold Takawira and the eye looking back was King George. Made me wonder.  Selecting a single name for a road might end up a superficial part of the façade, but at least it would be one step towards resolving the conundrum of balancing present and past.

The OK Supermarket in my neighborhood doesn’t even bother distinguishing between a cash queue and a swipe queue. Everyone in Zimbabwe is swiping (except me). The Spar by me, on the other hand, has outlawed swiping for cash. And I’ve witnessed that they do enforce this. I don’t mind when people ask to swipe for me. It’s not the best etiquette, but the situation has made this a necessity and I’m happy to help people out. But there’s still some queue etiquette which I have a hard time politely accepting. If I’ve been waiting in a queue for five, approaching ten minutes, I don’t think it’s nice etiquette for someone I’ve not seen in the queue to walk up with their basket full of groceries and say, as they slide in front of me, oh I was here. I’m sorry, but no. You were not here. Actually you were in the two aisles that have food doing your shopping. I tend not to say anything. I think it wise to avoid a verbal confrontation. But I do try as best I can to give a serious hairy eye-ball to signal first, I’m not at all happy with this and second, if you’re a Buddhist this is not a way to gain good karma and in fact, it’s a way to increase the likelihood that you will come back in your next life a cockroach. So far, the hairy eye-ball strategy has yet to result in someone taking what I think is their more sound etiquette appropriate place at the end of the queue.

The other day at the OK, I experienced several new twists in the world of swiping. The two people in front of me were buying three loaves of bread and a bottle of Breakers (some sort of alcohol). Which I guess possibly were their bare bones essentials. The attendant rang up the total. They swiped. Came back insufficient funds. A conversation ensued with the attendant about the exact cost for each of the items. Then a conversation between the two customers about what to do. They looked in their pockets only to find pocket change. Which in Zimbabwe I’m sure is far below the world’s average for what constitutes pocket change. Then they made a phone call asking someone to transfer more funds. A few seconds passed. They asked the attendant to try again. It worked. I had no idea one could transfer funds that quickly. But they must have made a mistake. Or they didn’t have sufficient funds to transfer as they only had enough money for the Breakers and two loaves of bread. So they settled on that, their essentials. I was quite happy because I snatched up their discarded loaf of bread. And even it was the really good bread that I like. The more doughy kind shaped more like a ball/blob as opposed to shaped like a taller and sturdy loaf. So it was my turn to buy my bare bones essentials. Two packs of cigarettes and a loaf of my preferred bread. I counted my cash. The attendant asked if anyone was swiping for me. I said no. To which she responded: Can I?

I’ve taken an interest in a couple recent rulings in the halls of justice.  They have led me to think about the layers in understanding what women’s rights are about.  What I mean by layers is that it’s not just about the surface layer.  Being a woman is not necessarily the organizing principle around an assertion.  The woman part can be irrelevant.  It’s the rights part where the argument rests.  Yet when women assert their rights, often courts, the press, and donors play the “woman card” whether or not that’s the heart of matter.

The first person of note who had a day in court is a South African sex worker who made a claim to the Labour Court that a brothel-owning boss unlawfully terminated employment on the grounds of failing to give clients blow jobs. No doubt in South Africa and everywhere in the world it’s an important endeavor to critically examine the conditions around the degree sex work is by choice.  Definitely with an open mind that by choice is possible.  But in this case, why is the choice aspect of this sex worker’s history relevant?  After 18 years of service, she chose to take her claim of unlawful dismissal to court.  She lost and she’s heading to a higher court.  This is a labour issue.

The second person of note who had a day in court is a Kenyan claiming unlawful termination based on being HIV-positive.  The court ruled in favor of the plaintiff and awarded US$35,000.  I was impressed the headline of the story read:  Kenyan wins landmark HIV ruling.  Because really the woman part is irrelevant.  This is a labour issue.  But then I was disappointed when the first sentence read: A HIV-positive Kenyan woman has won… Why? Why is it relevant to insert woman into that first sentence?  What seems all too often systemically (sometimes subtly) embedded in knowledge production is over-reliance on highlighting womanhood as driving assertion of rights.  Whether it be knowledge generated through the press or donor dollars often there is too quick a leap to assume sex is relevant merely because the key voice is from a woman.  Moves in this direction potentially play a role in troublesome representations of women as poor, powerless victims without agency to think and act on their own behalf.

And since I touched on landmark HIV-related rulings.  The US has lifted the 21-year ban which prohibits HIV-positive foreigners from visiting the US.  I’m a firm believer that former US President Ronald Reagan’s religious right stance on HIV/AIDS from day one has had a devastating ripple effect across the globe.  This ban was his doing and I’m encouraged to see one of the many bad legacies of the Reagan years fading away.

A couple weeks ago I was working on International Video Fair Trust’s (IVF) Sex in the City of Harare Project. My feelings at the time were excitement around discovering that talking about sex in Zimbabwe, it turns out, is not all that taboo. My feelings have not changed. The fourteen participants (seven men and seven women) were indeed brave over the course of six days of filming at a hotel in the Avenues. They were part of a revolutionary project; an important step toward breaking taboos and creating spaces to talk about sex, not only in English, but also in local languages. The participants professions included a soon-to-be radiographer, pastor, personal assistant, and journalist among others. They were aged between 23 and 53. Some were single and some were married. Some were parents and some were not. One participant, with heartwarming honesty, spoke about why he was choosing to wait until he was married before he had sex. And much to his credit, he embraced being the lone virgin in the group with a sense of humor. After watching the film Spreading the Word, which traces the making of Eve Ensler’s award winning play Vagina Monologues in Botswana and Mozambique, the group ended up conveying their own vagina monologues. And penis monologues. As I said, with a sweet sense of humor, this young man said: I don’t yet have much use for my penis. But of course humans are sexual beings and it was clear that he emphasized “yet” in his comment.

During the production, the participants looked at issues pertaining to sexuality such as self-awareness and whether sex involves pleasure or pain or both and to what extent. They talked about gender-based violence, HIV and AIDS. And they talked and talked, in detail, about their sex lives. We learned about the ways (male and female) condoms can be an exciting part of foreplay. Some participants shared personal stories concerning how experiences with violence and/or sexual abuse have shaped their sex lives. There was discussion of the ways certain sexual positions are more pleasurable for men while other sexual positions are more pleasurable for women. The project benefited greatly when a facilitator from Padare-Enkundleni/Men’s Forum on Gender joined us for one-day. His calm, caring, and adept persona blended with his ardent stance as a gender activist/feminist created a positive space for people to speak about vulnerabilities in general and in relation to one’s sex life.

The participants laughed; some cried. But most of all they relished in the opportunity to share, open up, and expand their sexual minds. There were some tense moments, largely around recognizing that opening up and expanding the mind carries different levels and degrees for each individual. Some participants discovered that, in comparison to others, they were not as open about sex as they might have thought they were. These levels and degrees of openness pose challenges in conceptualizing and producing a film. Yet they are exciting challenges, ones that potentially make this film groundbreaking. The challenges raise important questions about how to productively balance the ways people might be simultaneously (perhaps paradoxically?) open to talk about sex, but at the same time, have firmly fixed views about what sex entails. This is to say that speaking openly about sex is not necessarily the same as having an open mind about sex. Seems that sex is a topic which requires a lot of self-exploration. To really ask yourself: How open am I to understand and embrace the diversity of sexual desires, practices, and acts that do very much exist in the present, and also to engage in connecting the present to the past and reality to imagination?

The participants signed up for various reasons, but all signed up eagerly. Not surprisingly, one of the first people to respond to the call for participants was Grace Mutandwa, a prominent journalist, who back in the day, wrote a weekly column that explored issues of sexuality. She is also the author of the excellent novel Whose Daughter My Child?. Grace’s participation was invaluable and one interesting thing with her presence was that the group remembered her column, with interest and admiration. This is a column she stopped writing in 2002, yet six years later it remains prominently on people’s minds. Grace indicated in her application she has been able to “vault over the cultural barrier where sex is a taboo issue”. Seems to me, given the sustained interest in her column, Zimbabweans are seeking spaces to read and speak about sex and a great many Zimbabweans have vaulted over the cultural barrier where sex is a taboo issue (or at least want to).

Spending six days/five nights on location seemed to create a great sense of camaraderie among the group. Also, it seemed that, in stepping away from everyday life, people used this experience to get to know their sexual selves more intimately. By embracing the experience in this way, everyone involved learned an awful lot about the lives of the participants. The researcher in me is gushing over this as it represents incredible data. But there also was a touching aspect to this. I enjoyed, on Friday during the closing reception, seeing the everyday re-enter the participant’s lives. Suddenly some of the significant others joined the group; they were physically present as opposed to the previous days when they were spoken about. When I met one participant’s husband I felt like I knew him already. It’s interesting and as I said touching. In a sweet and encouraging way. He was the husband of the oldest participant, a 53 year old woman. This participant, throughout the week, had spoken openly and with from the gut honesty that comes with age and experience. I suppose that’s big reason why when I met her husband I was seeing a couple who have had an enjoyable sex life for 32 years as well as a happy marriage for 32 years. And I think there’s another 32 years in their future.

All this said, Sex in the City of Harare and all its boldness and openness is moving forward. The second stage of the filming will take place by September and will include interviews with prominent personalities. The film is due for release in 2009. Sex in the City of Harare is being produced by the International Video Fair Trust as part of the Zimbabwe Film Practitioners Joint Programme funded by the Royal Norwegian Embassy in Harare.

On a recent visit to the US, my family and friends were not only happy to see me, they also got a kick out of seeing my 50 billion dollar notes.  There were some dropped jaws at the site of all those zeroes. And laughs with stories I told about how confusing it can be to pay for things and receive change.  Importantly these reactions were combined with inquiries and concern surrounding an economy which requires 100s of billions to buy a loaf a bread.  What I find unsettling are the places where the concern seems absent.  Where interest in Zimbabwean Dollars has inflated into hyper-insensitivity.  This got me thinking about the dark side of the internet.

Let’s start with eBay.  I thought maybe the sale of Zimbabwean Dollars on eBay was an urban myth.  Not the case. I found an economist/blogger who identified three on-going auctions with prices ranging from US$49.72 to US$71.  He also reproduced an interesting graphic from The Economist showing that 100 billion is the 4th highest-denomination banknote in history.  The highest is the 1946 Hungarian 1,000,000,000,000,000,000 Pengo (one quintillion I think).  Other sites reported 100 billion notes going for AU$87 and US$152.50.  I see the benefit of eBay as a way for people to unload their junk onto someone else and make a little money.  Nothing wrong with that.  But this, I think is too much.  Selling Zimbabwean Dollars on eBay for profit is not right. Particularly if seller and buyer have no knowledge of the situation in Zimbabwe.

In addition to this insensitive free-for-all on eBay, I shake my head in confusion and anger over the places sales are being discussed/advertised.  One site is called Boing Boing: A Directory of Wonderful Things. What world do the creators of that website live in if they think hyperinflation in Zimbabwe is a wonderful thing?  And next, the comments people make.  On a site called ask.metafilter.com there is a post where the person is seeking Zimbabwean Dollars with the reason given: I wanna pose for pictures on my myspace page with my billions of Zimbabwe dollars on display, just stacks and stacks of it… maybe even make a little youtube movie where I flash my Zimbabwe dollars in my hands and yell, I’m rich, bitch!

I wish I knew the dockworkers instrumental in stopping the Chinese weapons from being unloaded in South Africa.  If I did, they might have some advice as to how to shut down the sale of Zimbabwean Dollars on eBay.  Perhaps it’s not neatly parallel or fair to compare the sale of weapons to a dictatorship with a few people making money on eBay.  However, there are similarities in the underlying end results.  In both cases, a set of people are operating (consciously or unconsciously) with seemingly no concern around the difficult and unjust realities for a much larger set of people.