The rainy season is upon us.  Zimbabwe is a country whose prosperity is dependent on this time, so everyone is focused on the rains.

For instance, our esteemed Minister of Agriculture advised farmers recently that in their preparation for planting, they must pay attention to, and use weather information from the Met-Department.  While on the face of it the Minister’s advice could be considered as stating the obvious, looking at the questionable productivity of our new-farmers, perhaps counsel is warranted.

In churches too, services and prayers for a good rainy season are being held.  Being quite religious myself, I’ve also decided to seek divine intervention for a good season of rain.

Once again, like we have done for many years,
We come before you kneeling, eyes filled with tears,
That in your merciful kindness you please help us out,
Without your intervention we’ll surely suffer more drought.

We implore you to send us seasonable rain,
Rainfall that will mark the passing of this dry period of pain,
A cloudburst which will sweep across our beloved land,
Washing away our withered past into the sand.

As it is now, the fields lie fallow, robbed of their life.
And amongst the people is despair; poverty is rife.
But a chance to start anew will your welcome showers bring,
A change much needed, giving greenness and hope to everything.

So with the rainy season upon us, we repeat our request,
And pray that you cleanse Zimbabwe of elements that cause hardship and unrest.
Quench this dry place; bring this era to an end.
Your precipitation is needed; abundant rains please send.

Truth be told, when I define myself, nationality does not take precedence. From the time I was born, I was immersed in and shaped by my ethnicity. The language I speak, the traditions and values I keep, the history I’m rooted in and, to some extent, my way of thinking, are all affirmations of my primary identity as a Ndebele. I am part of the Nguni-speaking peoples of Africa – MaNdebele amahle, abakoMthwakazi, abondlela zimhlophe (The Beautiful Ndebele of Mthwakazi, for whom the paths are prosperous).

I wish that I could feel as deeply about my Zimbabwean-ess as I do for my being Ndebele. To some extent, being Zimbabwean is really a matter of fact for me – I was born here, I live here and I have the identity documents to prove it.  Between the great house of stone and me, there is little cement.

Social science suggests that national symbols are key to building national pride and the strong identification of a group of individuals with their country. And therein lies the problem. Zimbabwe’s national symbols have elicited in me, by accident or design, everything else but.

Take for instance our national anthem. I grew up singing “Nkosi Sikelela”. By age three, I knew the tune. In primary school, I knew the words and was beginning to develop an appreciation of it. Then along came “Kalibusiswe Ilizwe leZimbabwe”. Our new anthem just failed to occupy the same spot. I have never connected to it and simply learning the words has been a chore I’d rather skip. I console myself with the fact that at least I know the tune, but more often than not, the tune I like to hum to myself is “Nkosi Sikelela”.

Then there’s our national flag. Ask me about the colours, the order that they lie in, what each stands for and I will answer correctly, thanks to my patient grade-four teacher. I respect our national flag, whether it is hanging at full or half-mast or being raised and lowered. Maybe, that’s the trouble. My relationship and interaction with the Zimbabwe flag is rigid and formal, especially when I compare it with the vivid images of Americans and South Africans draping and painting and dressing themselves in their respective banners. Perhaps, if we gave it a pet name like the Star Spangled Banner that would help to build a familiar and loving relationship.

Citizens of other nations also take great pride in their currencies. Botswana has the Pula, both for money and as a national slogan. And who can forget the British, who have such pride in their Pound Sterling that they have honoured it with a name and a surname.  Unfortunately, when I remember the Zimbabwe Dollar and her cousin, the bearer cheque, it is the trauma of hyperinflation that stands out most. On the other, more positive hand, our suffering at the hands of a temperamental currency did serve to unite us in our misery.

I guess the reason why I’m troubled by my (lack of) patriotism is that I’m a person who always has a strong sense of loyalty and dedication to anything I belong to. I love my roots, my family, my religion and as trivial as it seems now, I even loved the canary-yellow of my schoolhouse. I really envy those who are devoted to and are prepared to serve their countries without question. I long for the day when I too will have a similar love for mine.

The Southern African Young Women’s Festival ran between 25 and 28 October. Young women were brought together to share experiences, energise each other and celebrate their youth and the potential they have to advocate for social justice in their respective communities. The Festival was a platform to equip young women with the practical skills they need for effective advocacy for women’s rights and included many exciting activities including the launching of the 16 Days national campaigns of activism. The Festival was supported by OSISA.

Probably the most conspicuous element of the sex, sexuality and HIV/AIDS session held on the third-day session of the SAYWF was the energy and enthusiasm of the young-women, aged between 18 and 30 years. The discussions followed a talk-show format, where young women from all over Southern Africa uninhibitedly shared, celebrated and sang their experiences and insight, occasionally punctuating discussions with their pro-sister catchphrase “Sister, sister. …Sister!”

The freedom and openness of expression was exactly the result the organisers of the SAYWF wanted to achieve. The author, activist and moderator of this conversation, Luta Shaba pointed out that the spaces where young women can speak freely on issues of sex, sexuality and HIV/AIDS have become limited. These spaces either no longer exist or have become sanitised and usurped by other agendas. The space that SAYWF created for self-expression was fully appreciated by the sisters gathered together.

In general the discussions demonstrated that situations and challenges surrounding sex, sexuality and HIV/AIDS are more alike than dissimilar for young women in the region.

Societies still widely disapprove of premarital sex and the subject of sex itself is even considered taboo. Openly discussing sex in public is frowned upon whilst young women who engage in such talk are judged as badly behaved or promiscuous.

In addition, societies expect that young women’s knowledge of sex be about using the information to please the man in their life (or more precisely, their husbands). For young women who talk about sex in their work, it is difficult to find the appropriate language or terminology in the vernacular. It is tough to convey their messages without coming across as lewd. The discussion on why young women have sex showed that economic exchange is a common reason, whether as prostitution or simple survival. Anny Modi from the Democratic Republic of Congo explained that young women in the DRC are even willing to have unprotected sex with an HIV positive man, in order to earn more money, knowing full-well the man’s status.

Read more and listen to audio from the festival here

It is pure jealousy that has motivated the writing of this piece. Some young man has just been awarded a ridiculous amount of money for sitting in a house for 3 months. I know that I’ve achieved just as much, in fact, I’ve accomplished more, having been unemployed for over a year. Unfortunately for me there’s been no recognition, no pomp and fanfare, and no fat cheque!

However, watching the luck of this fellow unfold, I’ve realised that making money is very easy. If he could become wealthy for displaying absolutely no talent, then I conclude that, with my good looks and God-given abilities, I’ll be a millionaire in no time. So, given my aptitude for writing obscene amounts of drivel, I’ve figured that instant wealth will come to me if I write a soap opera. Why not? The plots don’t need much thought and it’s a billion dollar industry that I would like to be part of.

With inspiration all around, I’ve already drafted a few ideas for ‘All My Diamonds’. I’m sure, in typical soapie-fashion, it’ll make for entertaining and bewildering viewing:

1.    At each other’s throats – It’s always about rivalry and in my production it’s between an elderly man, the patriarchal figure and his wicked son, every soap opera’s proverbial villain. The wretched boy resents that his father won’t retire from the helm of their diamond-mining corporation. So, he turns against him and sets up a rival enterprise.

2.    Back from the dead – The son launches an attack on his father who has to seek the assistance of long-lost comrades. In a dramatic scene, the veterans who were believed to be dead re-emerge and carryout violent campaigns in support of the patriarch.  They manage to keep the ingenious old man firmly in power.

3.    Bloodlines Unearthed – The cause of the son’s waywardness is discovered. Paternity results show that he is not the old man’s child but was sired by a horrid chap from abroad. To add insult to the betrayal, this errant member from overseas was thought to be a friend of the patriarch. Exercising his nasty influence on the boy, the two combine efforts to inflict suffering on the old man and his close friends.

4.    Amnesia – In soap operas amnesia eventually befalls everyone like a common cold, including a trusted colleague of the patriarch’s. He becomes useless in fulfilling his local governance and planning responsibilities with the company. As such, evil forces (probably supporters of the prodigal son) penetrate the diamond-concern. But luckily, the old man discovers this and undertakes a massive clean up of his enterprise, which involves the destruction of tens of thousands of illegal records.

5.    Being blackmailed – The wayward son influences his powerful friends abroad to use their positions to exert pressure on his father to cede control of the company. This results in very difficult times for the patriarch’s employees who endure dire shortages of money, food, electricity and water. The restrictions are also especially uncomfortable for the patriarch and his close friends, whose movements around the globe are restricted. However, despite this, the comrades bravely fight on.

6.    Boardroom Coup – Despite the father’s admirable manner in presiding over the diamond company, its laws of corporate governance state that an election must be held. The father and son go to great lengths to ensure that they secure the votes needed to control the company. It is a bitter fight in which underhanded tactics are used and many board members and employees are assassinated or maimed in the violence in the run up to the vote. When the board does go to the polls, the evil son almost prevails. However, the patriarch manages to avert disaster by citing an obscure rule governing the process. In the end, he manages to retain power, in a run-off contest where his ingenuity sees him as the only candidate competing.

7.    Highly anticipated weddings – Every soap opera must have a lavish wedding and I am toying with a radical idea along these lines.  Imagine that the father and son put aside their differences and decide to unite to make the company profitable and well governed, for benefit of all, employees included. On second thought, that is a boring idea. Such coalitions never work any way. It’s probably best that I stick with the tried and tested, where someone, running from a helicopter or riding on horseback, dramatically stops the union from happening. Then the fighting can go on, the drama will continue and “All my Diamonds” can progress well past its 30th season!

I suppose we have all become accustomed to, and to some extent, accepting of, the torrents of water gushing freely from broken municipal pipes or streetlights that are lit at midday. Perhaps we might grumble about this wastage to friends and family but let’s face it, we are not known for doing much else. We are certainly not going to hold a march against it, or even pen a letter of complaint. Blatant wastage of limited public resources is a given and many of us have resigned ourselves to it.

What I do find a bitter pill to swallow is wastage on a smaller scale, done by individuals, within our homes and in our daily lives. I’m referring to situations where security lights and water sprinklers are left on for the whole blessed day! A look at the piles of refuse littering our open spaces reveals shameful amounts of discarded food and clothing. And I know you are all familiar with that idiot driver who burns fuel speeding at 120km/hr to the red robot just ahead. I find this behaviour especially disturbing because I recall the dire times Zimbabwe has recently emerged from. We’ve been through commodity shortages, endless queuing, power cuts, water cuts, etc. Given our first-hand experience of being without, one would think that people would be more appreciative of what we now actually have. Good sense would advocate for conservative usage of our limited resources especially since we are not out of the woods yet.

Pop psychology does provide some explanation. Apparently, when societies emerge from situations of deprivation – à la Zim 2007/8, the Second World War, Communist regimes – there is a tendency towards one of two forms of reaction. People have been observed to become either ultra-economical, like the survivors of the Second World War, or else, like China’s new nouveaux riche, they develop really extravagant tendencies. (Closer to home, remember the stories of how our previously disadvantaged war veterans lavishly spent their compensation money). In light of this I’m more related in spirit to the WWII survivors, who would also probably be irked by my neighbour’s 24-hour flooding of his lawn.

My neighbour, whom I suspect might be a relation of a billionaire Chinese, may ask, “What’s my extravagance got to do with you? It’s my water/car/floodlight/ etc and I’m paying for it with my own money!”

This is true and I am definitely not questioning the right to use it, or the ability to pay for it. What I am trying to do is to appeal to humanity and an innate need to live for something more than you. We don’t live alone; we have to be mindful of our neighbours, countrymen and fellow Earthlings. Our individual actions will have an effect on the next person, directly or indirectly, immediately or eventually. Personal efforts to conserve our limited resources will ultimately provide a better life for all beings on the planet, human or otherwise.

So, if we find wastage by public bodies reprehensible, why don’t we question what happens in our own homes? While we can’t come together to stop the waste by the powers that be, surely each of us can switch off a light, close a tap and drive more slowly? Ultimately our individual actions to use limited resources more conservatively will combine to achieve a greater good. Now, that’s a civil action that I think most politically inactive Zimbabweans can civilly engage in!

Mona Eltahawy writing for The Africa Report discusses the power of new media in an article called Facebook Against Faceless Authority. Here it is:

Khaled Said was not the first Egyptian to be brutally beaten by the police. What was unprecedented was the number of Egyptians who have protested police brutality since the 28-year-old businessman died on June 6 – up to 8,000 at one silent protest in his hometown of Alexandria alone. On July 27, the two policemen initially connected to his death stood trial on charges of illegal arrest and excessive use of force. If convicted, they face three to fifteen years in prison.

Social media – Facebook, Twitter, YouTube and blogs – were central to organising those protests and to bringing together activists and many ordinary Egyptians who turned out to demand justice for Said. Around 3.4 million Egyptians use Facebook, meaning that Egypt has the largest subscriber base in the Arab world and 23rd-largest globally. One of the many Facebook groups launched in Said’s memory now has almost 250,000 fans.

Social media have connected Egyptians and amplified both the voices and the courage of those who want to protest against President Hosni Mubarak, who has been in power for 29 years.

Across the Arab world, these forums have given a voice to the voiceless, providing a platform for the most marginalised to challenge authority, be it political, social or religious.

Long ignored by the state-owned media, young people and women are using the Internet to reach those who had been most eager to ignore them.

In Saudi Arabia, which fuels most of the world’s cars but bars half of its population from driving, women’s rights activists have used Facebook and email to collect petitions against the driving ban. One of the activists, Wajeha al-Huwaider, posted a video on YouTube of herself driving as she narrated an open letter to the Saudi interior minister.

In Lebanon, Meem – a group of lesbian, bisexual and transgendered women – uses a website and Twitter to offer shelter and support.

The desire to take on both the current regime and the old guard of their own movement compels young Muslim Brotherhood members in Egypt to blog. One of them, Abdelmonem Hahmoud Ibrahim says that he started his blog Ana Ikhwan (I am a Muslim Brother) “so that I can show my true self”. The desire to express oneself and to circumvent censorship has created a thrilling equation in the Arab world: one person + the Internet = one very angry president.

Regimes throughout the region intimidate and arrest bloggers, which begs the question: what do all those rulers, in power for so long, have to fear?

Back in Egypt, young people who have known no other ruler than Mubarak and who realise that any one of them could have been Khaled Said, seize the chance to challenge the state and its once-absolute ownership of the narrative.

The majority of the Arab world is younger than 25 years old. The power of answering back – that is now the power of social media.