things that make me mad....!

A couple of days ago I was standing in a queue at the post office in Harvard Square, here in Cambridge, Massachuestts. I was behind a gentlman who admired my Kenyan necklace. We got chatting and I discovered he was Nigerian, educated at Harvard and a writer. We then got chatting about African literature and.....Zimbabwe (surprise!). He asked me how things were in Zim. I replied that things are not so good -- something of an understatement, all things considered. He then proceeded to tell me that "it's funny that the victor (i.e. the British....!!) is now crying the victim." and that "Zimbabwe's economy collapsed due to Britain's sanctions." Although i was boiling inside, I simply replied that everyone in Zimbabwe is crying right now and terminated the conversation.

Seriously? In Harvard Square I get to hear Zanu's propoganda spouted by an educated man??? Jeepers.......save us Lord!!!

Traveling again...

Just a quick update on my life; for the past few months I've been battling electricity cuts, water cuts, food shortages, fuel shortages and numerous other exciting things in Zimbabwe! Have been enjoying my teaching/counseling job there and thoroughly enjoying the adventure and vitality that defines life in Zim right now.

A week ago I hopped first on a bus and then on a plane, and have escaped for a few weks to the land of "plenty" --America -- where I'm working until early September. Then I intend to hop back on a plane, and then on a bus, and make my way back to Harare.

So much has happened in the past few months, but I'll write when I'm not so boiling hot and close-to-melting in Massachusetts! I hesitatingly just typed up and posted a poem I wrote ages ago.....I think so many of us white Africans frequently deal with feelings of weirdness and identity crisis. This is one way I've been able to get some of the stuff out of my head. Sorry if it sounds harsh! [and hope anyone is still reading this blog...i know I've SEVERELY neglected it....promise that while I have access to internet AND electricity, I'll make the most of it!!!]

:-) V

My People

I wrote this when I was in a particularly "angsty" mood...and feeling the weight of colonialism on my lily-white shoulders and all the etceteras.

MY PEOPLE

You wanted to leave a legacy
Your mark on the land
Carve out a new country
A paradise for your children,
Your children's children.
My people, that's me.
And what do we have?

Your scourge is what's left
Your touch is clear
Wherever you went
Oh, your mark is there.

You boast of a trek,
"Great" you call it, down south,
What's so great
about a river that bleeds the
blood of your hosts?
You're the guests, remember?

Free passes to Africa
that's what you were told.
Land, land, land, diamonds and gold.
Take the lot, take it all,
Whatever you can hold.
But who's buried on that land
you farm so well?
Whose wife in your bed
So close you hold?
How many must live or die
For your paradise world?

A collection of hands up north
Wait, no, there's more
Hands, hands, hands, bought or sold
Yes, that's what we're told.
Rape, capture, steal, no, grab
Lives for free, just like the land,
Take whatever you can hold?

My question, my people,
is how did you hold on so long?
Did you all agree with this
take take take take?
Was it fear?
Was it greed?
Were you happy?
Did you plead?
You "gave" independence...
how generous. Were "they" ready?!

The better the paradise
The stronger you held
Holding out against hope
Couldn't you tell? Couldn't you tell?
Your legacy's of shame
Guilt, death and pain
You left us with nothing
But a conscience of hell.
Is this what you saw,
My people...my people? My hell!

What do we share?
A past?
A home?
A history?
A skin?
What makes you "my people"?
How can I let go?
My people. I thank you
for your legacy, the scourge
continues to spread
Continues to bleed
even after you're dead.
Let the blood run dry
Let us start anew.
Can we bury the past...
No?
That's what I dread.