REFLECTIONS OF A MIGRANT - Part 2

Empowering and breaking barriers through stories

As the convoy approached Village 20, where Jessie lived, it sent her into a frenzy as it reminded her of fierce battle scenes from the civil war. She heard the sound of gunshots of the past, and wanted to run away. Old age had taken its toll. In a flash she remembered that the war had ended years ago. In this time of independence, the army vehicles looked much stronger and fortified and were a show of the current government's military prowess. Jessie's fear quickly transformed into pride: Of course, the new people's government has full military might. No one will dare attack us again. We have suffered enough. We are free and will no longer be a colony again. No more imperialists!

The day of the visit had finally arrived and most villagers woke up very early to make the journey. It was already a scorcher of a morning. The village head, Sabook, had spread the message earlier and all roads that day led to the KK shopping centre, with many hoping that there would be a big feast awaiting them. Jessie curled from her reed mat and hurriedly splashed the greenish water over her wrinkled face. Every drop of water was precious in this dry region. She could not remember the last time she had a soap tablet and towel to cleanse herself. She used her tatty wrapper to dry her face and got ready. Maria, her orphaned granddaughter, who fetched water and firewood for her, had died unexpectedly. “It was opportunistic infections which killed Maria, mbuya¹,” the nurse at the clinic had confirmed, “she had not reached that stage where she could start taking antiretroviral drugs.” Jessie did not know what opportunistic infections were but knew Maria had succumbed to a high fever two weeks earlier. The fresh mound of soil next to Jessie's ageing hut was a stark reminder of this. Jessie wanted to attend the Premier's meeting to distract her from her sorrowful life and recent bereavement.

Jessie joined other women who were still fit to tackle the stony trail to the venue. They trudged along the dusty trail to the local and rather declining KK shopping centre where tiny and poorly ventilated shops were few and far between and most shelves had been empty for some time.

Everyone waited expectantly and respectfully on the hot sand for most of the morning under the sizzling tropical heat. The villagers felt their bodies baking in the scorching heat, but the past war had taught them resilience and discipline to continue. In the mid-afternoon, armoured cars with heavily armed men soon appeared at the parade of shops. Their leader had arrived in a convoy of metallic cars with dark tinted windows. Their magnificence left the villagers gaping in awe. Indeed, their nation had become a powerful one, a nation among nations. He elegantly emerged out of one of the cars donning a neat suit and was welcomed with a burst of ululation which echoed pride and admiration. This is how they expressed their celebration of independence!

As soon as he arrived, the regional premier wasted no time in giving his pre-election speech.

“I have come to reaffirm my promise to you that after these elections, we will empower and free you from economic oppression. In the past, we failed to make progress due to illegal sanctions imposed on us by other countries. Yes, we gained political independence, but clearly we were still under the subjugation of economic oppression. Give us time, we will not let you down. I am your son, I urge you not to betray our ancestors and hand back the soil to the imperialists. This region is beautiful and rich in natural resources, the sacred wildlife in Musasa Woodlands is precious. These foreign nations impose sanctions on us for no good reason because they want our oil, platinum, sparkling diamonds, fresh fruit, vegetables, flowers; and our granite to grace their state of the art kitchen worktops. They want to recolonise us, leave their freezing countries and come to our African sun and areas of natural heritage. They manufacture diseases in laboratories to inject us so as to decimate our people. We say no to this. Please vote for my party, the best is yet to come!”

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This is an extract from a new book 'New Voices: Empowering and breaking barriers through stories' first published in May 2014 by the New Voices Wagon Project in conjunction with University of Leicester, The Rayne foundation and Praxis Community Projects. Part 3 of the story coming soon

1“grandma”

REFLECTIONS OF A MIGRANT .....

Empowering and breaking barriers ............

The visit had been a long time coming and seemed much longer than their wait for freedom. Finally this was their moment to catch a glimpse of their revered leader. They had been free from their oppressor for fifteen years. Now it was their chance to see their hero in person, to shake the hand of one of those who had liberated them from the yoke of colonialism.

When the civil war had escalated, those in high political places no longer visited tribal villages. It was too dry and dusty, and no longer safe for them. Life in these remote villages was too rural. Stuffy mud huts, fly-infested cattle kraals, anthrax in their livestock, deserted buildings, muddy drinking water, a diseased population. These were all an embarrassment to the outside world. This led the authorities to drive their ancestors to isolated parts of the country, far from the public eye.

During the civil unrest, the national leaders were preoccupied with the needs of the law-abiding minority and had a war to win. The tribal zones had long had their own segregated system, with their infrastructure not up to the required standard and in keeping with their depraved landscape. It looked like they coped well with very little. They lived in self-inflicted poverty, smelled of months – if not years – of sweat and urine, never to be trusted. No, it wasn't government policy to impoverish a segment of its population. It was their choice to lead such a life with beliefs that were far from modern.

It was their own children who had revolted against a legitimate government. They allowed them to cause terror and destroy all forms of government infrastructure, planting landmines on the roads, blowing up bridges and going against good conservation practices. They were killing government officials and innocent civilians. This had caused immense suffering and the blame laid squarely on them. They were terrorists! The war was necessary to teach these people a lesson not to bite the hand that fed them. They needed tougher policies and close monitoring to show who was in charge. The government then imposed dusk-till-dawn curfews and protected villages for everyone's safety.

As Jessie's thoughts flashed back to all of these past miseries, it was befitting that she and her fellow kinsmen were celebrating independence in this way. At her age, she was privileged to experience political freedom first hand. A lot of people, including children, had failed to cross over to this independence. Now they had their freedom and government which they had struggled for countless years. Their own sons of the soil had taken over the reins.

The day before the visit, a convoy of camouflaged vehicles appeared from a distance. It moved cautiously avoiding the pool-sized potholes on the village dirt road. Dark frail silhouettes, including Jessie’s own, swerved uneasily by the doorways of tiny huts wanting to catch a glimpse of the latest news.

Locals had heard that their quality of life exceeded that of the cities which were opposition party strongholds. Life was becoming difficult in the urban areas and the rest of the population thought city dwellers deserved this. Everyone in the village hated the cities and all they stood for – sell-outs, cowards and disease. Whoever governed the cities had failed dismally – electricity and water shortages, treacherous potholes, chipped tarmac roads and overgrown grass on every open space. There were long queues for everything even to view dead bodies. They generated a lot of waste from their commercialised lifestyles, yet blamed the authorities for not collecting it – their own rubbish! What happened to the days of dug out rubbish pits and pit latrines? Urban dwellers had become a disgrace to the nation with their maladies: tuberculosis, cholera, STIs and HIV. At least people in the rural areas proudly breathed fresh air. The Premier was right not to visit or do anything for that urban part of his constituency in Sunshine City. He neither had, nor needed any of their support. They were cowards, who had retreated to the comforts of urban life when everyone was fighting in the bush .......................

To be continued

This is an extract from a new book 'New Voices: Empowering and breaking barriers through stories' first published in May 2014 by the New Voices Wagon Project in conjunction with University of Leicester, The Rayne foundation and Praxis Community Projects. Parts 2 and 3 of the story coming soon

Ruth Pink

BEING A WOMAN IN AFRICA

PRESS RELEASE

Hatfield, England

New novel exposes misogyny in patriarchal cultures

‘Being a Woman in Africa’ offers an insightful glimpse into the mistreatment of women

In her new book “Being a Woman in Africa” [published by AuthorHouse] author Ruth Pink draws on her childhood experience to craft a novel that exposes the horrible treatment of women in some African cultures.

The book follows the soulful tale of Rosewitta, a young African woman, born into a misogynistic society. Her tyrannical father is reluctant to send her to school, and behaves violently towards the family. As the protagonist's story unfolds, the reader follows the prejudices she encounters throughout her life, from the sexual harassment she suffers at work, as well as the setbacks she faces, such as her husband’s death. Pink's empowering text provides a message of hope for readers.

“My main goal is to create awareness about the problems that some women still face today – lack of education, domestic violence, sexual harassment, rape, poverty and poor health”, Pink states. “I want to motivate people around the world to take action and to think about the issues which come out of the story. Where possible – and after reading this book – readers should start making changes which help womenfolk, wherever they are in this world – big or small changes.”

“Being a Woman in Africa” by Ruth Pink

Hardcover | 6 x 9 in | 124 pages | ISBN 9781481798143

Softcover | 6 x 9 in | 124 pages | ISBN 9781491879573

E-Book | 124 pages | ISBN 9781491879580

Available at Amazon and Barnes & Noble

Ruth Pink was born in Zimbabwe. She has a background in Social Science, staying current through reading and personal involvement. She has one daughter. She lives with her husband, Paul, in Hatfield, England.

For more information, visit www.ruthpink.blogspot.com

Book links:

http://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/Being-a-Woman-in-Africa-/291021986876?

http://www.amazon.co.uk/BEING-A-WOMAN-IN-AFRICA-ebook/dp/B00FUYNF8A/ref=pd_rhf_ee_p_t_2_G469

WHSmith link; http://www.whsmith.co.uk/products/being-a-woman-in-africa/product/

MY SIGNATURE

GIGANTI GIGANTI PERFORMING

My signature

At seventeen, I entered High school,
I signed admittance documents.
At nineteen, I enrolled for a Psychology Degree at University,
I signed admittance documents.
At twenty three I graduated with a lower second degree class,
I signed for my certificate.

At twenty four, I became a clinical psychologist,
I signed my first employment contract.
At twenty five I had to sign my life
To a man I loved since childhood.
Our traditional wedding took place under a huge Msasa tree in Guruve communal lands,
On the 25th of April 1992.

I had made a vow to God.
To follow our traditional Shona culture of purity before marriage
So I did wed as a virgin
My in laws gave me a traditional white cloth for purity
And the church gave me a white bible.
Oh, how I remember these events so vividly.

Our wedding was like a royal rumble
Songsters sang sonorously
The grass and trees also sang along
We were greeted by a fanfare of people
Blowing traditional trumpets-  mbira and hosho
It was a real jamboree
Everyone had gathered to witness our signatures

“You may embrace the bride”
These words from the late Reverend Moyo fifteen years ago,
Always ululate in my mind as if it was fifteen days ago
My husband gave me these  handmade sandals as a wedding token.
I loved you Lawrence Marshal Moto.
Rest in peace my darling husband.

I signed almost every paper in my life
But my greatest signature,
Was when I signed the marriage papers on that day during the harvest season.
I reached the zenith of my bliss.
Quavering in disbelief.
For real I had married a romantic protagonist of my life.

With my signature, I lost my virginity happily
Inside our round hutted bedroom on top of a reed mat.
It was a dream come true.
I changed my name from Chiedza Adriana Mugove
To Chiedza Adriana Moto.
Oh, how beautiful it rhymed

Unfortunately, my greatest signature became my greatest snare.
I had signed my virginity to an HIV positive man.
I felt annihilated and cheated.
By a man I loved more than life itself.

After all the long wait my Lord
What I got was HIV
I lost the will to survive
Lawrence had lost it for the umpteenth time a long time ago
So he died five years later
On the eleventh day of the seven month 1997
He was buried on an anthill in Guruve communal lands
I signed for his death certificate.

I have forgiven you may husband.
Today I am coping well.
Though at times I feel lackadaisical.
But my rectitude keeps me going.
I turned forty last week.
Today it’s my fifteenth year living positively with HIV.

Our signatures were important.
They gave us a strong personality later in life.
It was not easy to accept my tragedy.
But I tell you, if it was not for your signature.
I would not have been this ascetic.
I would not have become a Systemic Family Therapist.
And I would not have saved people’s lives.
I became a living example to the hopeless.

At forty I am signing my life.
I will always sign it.
In remembrance of those great signatures.
We both scribbled many years ago.
I wish you could sign again.
For I know you were not a sadist.
Till we meet again
I leave you this, MY SIGNATURE.

Reproduced with Lance Muteyo's permission and taken from the blog giftsinopenhands.wordpress.com/2012/09/03/99-days-of-pentecost-two-weddngs-in-zimbabwe/. I cannot wait for the poetry compilation.

Please visit www.charityhope.org.uk/for more of Lance's work.

One way, among many,  to support this charity's work is by buying my new book via this link  http://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/Being-a-Woman-in-Africa-/291021986876? your views will never be the same again after reading this book.

********

It's my daughter's 25th birthday today. Ebenezer!

Pink Rose xxx

TRAGEDY OF THE OUTCAST

A POEM FROM ZIMBABWE

This is a touching poem from Zimbabwe and it's self explanatory. Over the past few years and at the time I worked with women and children and now, I have met with amazing and very spirited men who are determined to tackle gender equality, poverty, domestic violence, sexual abuse, rape, education (or lack of it) and disease. Lance is one of these amazing men and his work in Zimbabwe is inspirational. Thank you all men of valor out there - too numerous to mention.

Tragedy of the outcast – by Lancelot Muteyo, Harare, Zimbabwe

Like any infant she was born
Healthy and gorgeous
Somewhere through the fateful eyes of history
Her parents were caught with their pants down

Unaware, the Human Immuno – Deficiency Virus infiltrated their veins
Residing in a dilapidated squatter camp they quickly developed AIDS
A squatter camp called Tariro meaning hope
Yet with no ray of hope inside that community.
A squatter camp that had no street names
Her parents sadly succumbed to the pandemic and died

Rudo, their daughter was left vulnerable in Tariro.
Though adolescent, she became a pauper
A static of HIV and AIDS orphaned children in the AIDS on line resources.
With nowhere to go within the dusty roads of the camp.

She found spiritual support within the church
A church constructed by cardboard boxes.
Inside the haven of comfort
Pastors sexually abused her inside the holy baptistery
Male teachers terrorised  behind the library stacks.
Uncle Taka converted her into a sex machine in exchange for food and shelter.

Already vulnerable!
Consequently, vulnerable to vulnerability!
Pathetically, an AIDS orphan became an AIDS victim
An AIDS survivor – not victim rather
Honestly history gave her an unfair destiny

World AIDS DAY 2013 Celebrations Zimbabwe
Lancelot Muteyo

First published by Maren Tirabassi on http://giftsinopenhands.wordpress.com/2013/11/28/for-world-aids-day-poem-from-zimbabwe-prayer-from-the-united-states/

Reproduced with Lance Muteyo's permission.

The video below sums it all up. 

AFRICAN WOMEN VIDEO

2014 CHALLENGE: RESTORING HOPE

This year I will be working with the following organizations in my own small way.

1. Charityhope Trust – 

I have worked with this charity from day one. Please donate towards improving education in Africa via their website www.charityhope.org.uk/. My own passion is for a school called Madimutsa School, located in a remote part of Zimbabwe.It's school buildings are like this 33 years after Zimbabwe became independent. Nothing much has changed (see pictures below)

We need more donations like this

We would like more books, footballs and net balls, sports kits, money to pay tuition fees- it's $5 a term for one child. Some children do not afford $5 a term so drop out of school - every little helps. Please check out ways to donate on the Charityhope Trust website.

2. Adonai Baptist Church, based in Marondera Zimbabwe. This is a growing Baptist congregation based in a small town called Marondera in Zimbabwe. They work with ordinary people in the community and come face to face with people affected by poverty, disease, HIV/AIDS, illiteracy and dropping out of school, domestic violence, child marriages, sexual abuse and rape. I'll be bringing you reports of actual cases from his community.
   Special appeal;
   The immediate need for the young and energetic Adonai Baptist Church Pastor is a laptop. If any of you readers from around the world would like to help with a laptop for our Pastor in Zimbabwe, please drop us a line on this e-mail address adonaiorg95@gmail.com. Adonai desperately needs that laptop for their work at Nyameni, Marondera, Zimbabwe.
   Partnership
   Would you like to visit Zimbabwe, partner with them and and help them spread the word of God in any way? Do you have Bibles to spare in your local Church? Do you have anything else suitable for this growing Church? Please get in touch.
   Individuals, Churches and organizations are welcome to donate.
   Please get in touch if you are up for this! Contact details are Adonai BaptistZim's facebook page, be a friend, be a partner. OR write them an e-mail on adonaiorg95@gmail.com, or visit their blog page on adonaiorg95.blogspot.co.uk.

My book is still available on http://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/Being-a-Woman-in-Africa-/291021986876? Proceeds from this will support the above organizations.