Losing the plot

A lot of African countries today have lost the plot through the focus of their leadership. It is not surprising that everywhere we are turning, nations are finding themselves in uproar and upheaval

Just look at Kenya, once the darling of the west in its show of democracy and governance, now a nation reeling from tribal conflict and disdain. Then there is beautiful Zimbabwe, crippled by intrigue and now on its knees as he economy crumbles to all time lows.

Issa G Shivji, in his Silence in NGO Discourse: The Role and Future of NGOs In Africa raises interesting points about what he terms the failure of African countries to adopt the plot of Pan Africanism in favour of territorial nationalism which was based on the old colonial context, already perilous.

It was the same kind of territorial nationalism which spurned African leaders to consider what they termed developmental nationalism over the democratization processes, already absent during colonial regimes. As Nyerere, justified, “We must run while others walk”. New African countries we beholden by the great desire to make developmental progress that power was retained in the executive and governments had to do all the work, including the thinking,, on behalf of the communities that they were meant to serve.

One could argue, as does Sihivji, that the concentration of power in the executive was nothing more than the government’s responses to the expectation that people had. However, it led to the assumption of control based primarily on ethnic dominance. The leading party would focus and champion the needs of its ethnicity at the expense of the others, and the initial cracks were made on the basis of what ethnicity ruled the other, and for how long.

Independence in many of our countries is just an old word signifiying nothing. We lost the plot the minute we assumed African leadership was anything different from what we had before.

We are many

Who would have thought that a transit would lead to me knowing souls from back home?! Today was a good day, and I think there is a lot that can be said about fate and chance.

Passing through Woh to reach Agok; I was supposed to wait from nine till four in order to get my transport. I was not sure how I would pass the time. It looked certain that I would just need to type away on my machine till the battery ran out.

I heard them within earshot; two men. They were talking. “I come from Zimbabwe,” the other man was saying. “I work with a demining concern about 120 km from here. I have been here for more than 5 months now.”

I left my laptop running; not caring if the battery went flat and extended my hand to him,

“Makadini;
from which part of Zimbabwe do you hail?”

He is a DZ fellow, “location boy” born and bred in the populous part of Harare’s burgeoning residential areas, Dzivarasekwa.

He is happy to know me and tells me another Zimbabwean is with him. “We are many here,” he tells me with a smile, “There are three Zimbabwean police details working for UN here in Woh.

Whenever we have time, we meet and discuss home.”

At his demining camp there are at least a dozen Zimbabweans. They are all supervisors. The company is an offshoot from a Zimbabwean demining concern that was started by a veteran Zimbabwean army colonel.

We get to talk about the hard year that was 2007. It cost my friend a marriage.

“My wife could not get herself to accept that I lost a job as a caterer and could not bring money home like I used to. I stayed with her at my in laws. Right there in Dzivarasekwa… They treated me like scum.”

He tells how he began having problems at home with his mother in law. She felt her daughter needed someone with more money. She needed her daughter to have a “better future”

The woman began bringing other men home. His son, Innocent, began to know there were other men that could be called dad.

He decided enough was enough and went off to live with his cousins. They chased him away after two months; they could not support someone who did not have enough to look after them either.

This was when he secured a job in demining. Before long the job opportunity came in Sudan.

“I am going home to buy a housing stand. First I will pass through Juba and buy clothes for my mother and son. I have five new pairs of jeans. I am going to wear them all back home. I will buy three cell phones in Nairobi and will wear one on a neck chain when I go to see my son.”

His eyes are bright with determination as he relives what has been for him a sudden turn in fortunes.

He keeps patting his bags.

When he gets home tonight, Dzivarasekwa will rock to the sound of his voice.

Tech or Take, Challenge or Fate?

Technological developments impacting societies define whether it sinks or swims. Any change, whether good or bad, is certain. It is said that nothing remains the same. Even what were once deep and sacred pools shall become sand bridges connecting different sides of the divide.

The intercourse between cultures results in a radical change in the way people do things. Changes in trade and commerce, community development and structure, as well as politics create an opportunity for society to move forward.

In Southern Sudan, ICT development is rising at an impressive rate, and presents the community’s capacity to make use of the same to define its own progression.

It has made inroads in the villages of Yei, Lanya, Tenj and Juba.

Thatch huts and squares don satellite dishes. Here, DSTV subscriptions go the full length because it is not just the subscriber and his family who watches programs. The whole community is tuned in, and spectacular shows are shared by communal groups.

You will also find satellite phones in the same huts. People are communicating with the outside world and sharing news with sons and daughters abroad.

I was speaking the other day to a man who tells me he grew up in Yei, “My family; they live here,” he told me with a smile,

“We left our homes some years ago in the height of the war, and I went with my family to Uganda. My two brothers went to America, and now they are permanent citizens there.”

He calls them ever so often. He tells them about his hoard of cattle not just by phone but also through email.

Organizations which have brought electricity to such towns are also bringing in Internet connectivity through high speed VSAT and radio links.

They are dotted all over the terrain, and they are bringing the world much closer to a community that would have otherwise been shrouded in mystery.

In the face of a constantly evolving world, opening up to outside development is not selling out, but it is facing the inevitable. The more the world assumes a similar face in development; the more we can get to know the full beauty of human ingenuity.

All African Leaders are the same

I arrived in Uganda drunk. It was not something I intended, neither is this meant to be an apology.

My airplane seat was directly opposite a fellow imbiber's, and though we never spoke a word to each other, we seem to have agreed, in sync, that two cans of cold Heineken could and should be topped by at least four small J B's.

Our "Scotch on Rocks please!", soon became chorus and we did not feel the four odd hours between Joburg and the majestic environs of lake Victoria pass.

I will not talk about my fear when we were about to land. I thought the pilot was going to stop smack on the water before we reached the banks of Lake Victoria!. All I could see from my window was a stretch of dark water, reaching out as far as the eye could see...

My drinker friend sensed my apprehension, I think. When the wheels of the massive air bus touched earth, we gave the pilot a glorious applause.

Waiting for me was a wiry gentle soul who had my first name spelled wrong on a placard. We exchanged glances of relief. I think he had been waiting for more than an hour. "Welcome to Uganda" He smiled. "Please put your trolley there and wait for me. I am still waiting for another person to come."

We waited for 15 minutes before he decided we could go, "The other person did not come" .

I teetered after the man and the warm rains of Entebbe hit my face as we raced to the parking lot. We exchanged names and views on the way. We also exchanged politics, "So how are things in Zimbabwe?" He asked,

....I cringed.

There is a saying that you should not raise your armpits in public. The crude smell they emit will bring dishonour to your people back home.

I told him about the queues, the dashed hopes, the escapes to worlds beyond.

"It's corruption," he remarked, " Africa is suffering from corrupt leaders. We see it here in Uganda."

His remarks were to be echoed by another driver on the return leg the next morning. This one was older; indeed, much more composed...

"Its corruption and the unwillingness to relinquish power. Look at the Kenyan crisis, my president, our own Ugandan president is the only one who congratulated Kibaki: do you know what he is doing now?"

I professed ignorence ashe dodged a pothole on the road,

" He has sent soldiers to Uganda to help Kibaki, because he knows if Kibaki goes he will not be leader of the East African bloc, Kenyan opposition does not want Museveni. He wants to hold on to power, and its the local people who suffer..."

He pointed to the roads and said, "You see these roads? They are well kept here but you should go to the other parts of the country... there is no development at all. People are suffering!"

The return journey was too short.

He helped me carry my bags and bid me farewell... As I watched him leave one thought stayed in my mind.... All African leaders are the same...

All I had was 15 rands

Travelling across Africa is always a pleasure, particularly when one has no money and they trust in the goodness of people. Believe you me, when it comes to sharing, we are big on it and we do it definately big.
I got out of Zimbabwe clutching some coins. Three in all; South African rands; saved by my mother from her last trip down South. Enough to buy me 500ml of coca cola . I could have made a withdrawal of 20m from my bank account in Zimbabwe, and changed it on the parallel market for us dollars or rands. The former would be about 5 dollars, the latter; 35 rands.
But to go through the hassles again! The 15 rands my mother gave me were enough to buy coca cola. I approached a coke vending machine at the Johanesburg airport with unease. They were displaying the precious liquid which has become rare back in my homeland.
With a click you select the flavour and voilà, out it comes. Money is in abundance here. I did not see any queues. The machine told me to slot in a rand for the drink. I did and waited. Nothing happened. The seconds ticking by as I stared at the machine brought a nauseating feeling of the wait I had the other day at Barclays for the ATM to dispense some cash. I had waited four hours... and Nothing came out.
"Put 7 rands!" I hear a sweeper bellow over my shoulder. Instinctively I dig into my reserves for the other 5 rand, and smile as he takes over the machine, pushes a few buttons, and cold fanta comes out of the machine in a taut package.
He looks at me and smiles at the miracle he has made happen. "Do you have any more rands to spare?" he asks. I look at him and reply in honesty, " I only have 5 rands left" He is determined though. "Do you want to use them?"
I want to take him to a seat close by and explain that there is no way I am going to part with the last coin that seperates me from coinlessness but I think, no; a little dignity would be necessary. I tell him, politely, "Yes. Sorry"

For the next couple of hours I roam the alleys of joburg airport, musing at what I could buy if I had money;lots of money. I come to a digicam shop and I am stunned at a 10,1 megapixel machine, silver reflex labelled Lumix. Its an upgrade of my own lumix which I left at home with my woman.
I am about to bolt as I see the price when a burly woman, the shop attendant flashes a smile and approaches. I am caught. She gives a sales pitch that would shame any executive, and says the camera would suit a journalist like me, " How could she tell?"
My brain goes into overdrive; its a machine to have this. Oh if I could just afford it?! I remember how I bought the first one...500euro it cost me, thanks to the untold benevolence of the Catholic Church...
I manage to slink away from her on the pretext that I need to check if I can get some money downstairs. She warns me there's another shop exactly like hers there, and "You will see the same camera, but please heh, dont buy it. Come up stars and buy from me because you are my customer"
I should have escaped her had my plane not been leaving at gate A23. Her shop is quite near gate 23.... Later I was to pass again near her shop. I cast a sheepish glance at her broad welcome, and managed a sorry "It did not work out, maybe another time". She smiled back then quickly sought out another customer.
Our departure was delayed because someone missed the flight. I wondered whether they had enough money to hire a cab to the airport.... Maybe they only had 15 rand...

On the road again

The gnawing guilt ate at my insides the moment i boarded the plane back home. 18 months of trying to make it in a world that did not give me a second glance. Promises made with verve at the beginning, the same that lost meaning along the way, till they became nightmares haunting me every day.

The same would confront me that very same day. Seeing the country I love, gone so much into decay. Yet a part of me was rejoicing; indeed it jumped and sang hallelujah that very day, for finally, I was coming home to stay...

I craved for the sweet smell of dust on the Zimbabwean streets; the whiff of urine and excreta that came from service lanes right in the deep recesses of a city I called home. The site of bumptious young women with ample breasts covered in tops varying from lime to blue and sometimes gray...

I longed to be back in a country I called my own; To bump and jive to the sounds of Oliver Mtukudzi, as his voice resonated to the lyrics of Nhava.

As with many, I vowed to listen only to the sound of his voice once again and ignore the meaning of his words, as he rued the coming back of a son of the soil from the diaspora to an empty life with nothing to give his family and friends.

I could have done better. That is what I constantly swore. Could have made it big. That is the idea, is it not? "You board the plane, and you are rich" When you decide to eat dog, better get the male and take the balls and all, the elders used to say...

People will only smile at you when you are in the diaspora, far away from home, missing them, with a dollar or two to spare...

That is the life of the one who chooses to go to the world out there...

It took me a year to realise that Harare would not be a home for me again.

This is why, after a year of pain, I packed my things and left...