Journal Entry 7: Celebrating African Freedom?

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So, the first day when I have arrived here in Zimbabwe, I made a call back to Zambia to check on the status on of my work permit. The answer that was given to me was that it was almost ready and that I should check back tomorrow. So I spent the day doing a blitz tour of Harare, quickly getting a small feel for Zimbabwe and then the next day, with my bag packed, I gave a call to Zambia. But when I asked them which bus I should take back, they said it wasn’t quite ready and that I should call back again tomorrow. No problem I thought, I get another day to explore the city in a bit more depth. So that’s what I did and the next day, again with a full pack on my back, I made the call and again I received the answer of it being almost ready and to call back again tomorrow. Today, was the 27th day that I made the very same phone call to Lusaka to ask about the work permit, the 27th day that I had my bag packed and was all ready to get back home to Choma, and the 27th time that the answer I heard on the phone was that it’s almost ready and that I should check back again tomorrow. I don’t know if it’s because I’m a slow learner, but I’m starting to think that maybe the word tomorrow means something different to me then it does to a Zambian. See, to me, tomorrow has something to do with the sun disappearing for a significant portion of time only to reappear for an equally significant portion of time. I use the term tomorrow to plan and prepare for actions that I will undertake and therefore it holds importance for me. I’m starting to learn that for many Zambians, tomorrow is a term that is not so much reflective of time but more of action or inaction. The comparison of time between westerners and Africans by Ryszard Kapuscinski in his book, “The Shadow of the Sun”, articulates it perfectly.

“The European and the African have an entirely difference concept of time. In the European worldview, time exists outside man, exists objectively, and has measurable and linear characteristics. According to Newton, time is absolute: ‘Absolute, true, mathematical time of itself and from its own nature, it flows equably and without relation to anything external’. The European feels himself to be time’s slave, dependent on it, subject to it. To exist and function, he must observe its ironclad, inviolate laws, its inflexible principles and rules. He must heed deadlines, dates, day, and hours. He moves within the rigors of time and cannot exist outside them. They impose upon him their requirements and quotas. An unresolvable conflict exists between man and time, one that always ends with man’s defeat-time annihilates him.

Africans apprehend time differently. For them, it is a much looser concept, more open elastic, subjective. It is man who influences time, its shape, course, and rhythm (man acting, of course, with the consent of gods and ancestors). Time is even something that man can create outright, for time is made manifest through events, and whether an event takes place or not depends, after all, on man alone. If two armies do not engage in a battle, then that battle will not occur (in other words, time will not have revealed its presence, will not have come into being). Time appears as a result of our actions, and vanishes when we neglect or ignore it. It is something that springs to life under our influence, but falls into a state of hibernation, even nonexistence, if we do not direct our energy toward it. It is a subservient, passive essence, and, most importantly, one dependent on man. The absolute opposite of time as it is understood in the European worldview.”

You think that after 27 times I would have learnt something and just realized that I’m probably never going home. But there is just something in the way they say that it’s going to be tomorrow that I get to leave that gets me all excited and planning for my future time in Choma. You know, if I had been told that I would be going to Zimbabwe for a month, a month ago, I would have planned to do all sorts of things, but instead it has been a day-to-day existence for me spending most of my time in Harare working with IDE Zimbabwe. Nonetheless, I’ve had some pretty crazy experiences here.

On May 25th, I was lucky enough to be in a country that had a exhaustingly strung out battle in order to gain independence from British colonialism, and with a people who were very proud to call themselves African on the one day every year they get together to celebrate what it means to be African, African Day. I figured that as with most celebratory days, there would probably be some cultural entertainment type festival going on somewhere in the capital city. So, it being a holiday (meaning that when I called Zambia, I was told to call back tomorrow, but I reminded them about the holiday and so they said to call back in two tomorrows), I decided to go wondering around Harare and see what I could find. It didn’t take me long to find exactly what I predicted I would find, all I had to do was follow the rhythmic beating of African drums into Harare’s main central park. There was a huge stage set up and on the stage was a group of traditionally dressed Zimbabwean dancers with the banner “Africa Day Celebration 2005, Proud to Be African” above them. “Perfect”, I thought as I entered the fenced off area to join the thousands of other Harareans expecting to sing and dance the day away. But if all we did was sing and dance to traditional African beats all day, then this wouldn’t be much of an update now would it. Nope, of course it being me, just looking for a relaxing afternoon to enjoy some culture, just isn’t going to happen. It wasn’t that long after I had entered the grounds, when all of a sudden a big group of chanting and dancing people entered the grounds all wearing white t-shirts with green, black and yellow bands wrapped around their arms and heads. And plastered on the front of each of those shirts was the confident looking, thick lensed glasses wearing face of none other then President Robert Mugabe. I watched as this dancing group slowly entered the grounds, made their way to the front of the crowd and tried to start the crowd in a number of fist pumping cheers. While this was going on, few people noticed that the only entrance gates to the area were being closed by four extremely muscular and mean looking men. At this time I start to reassess my situation, taking note that I am the only white person in the entire area and that I now really didn’t have an exit strategy. The Mugabe choir kept trying to rile the crowd up, pumping their fists in the air to the Zanu PF (ruling party) slogans. I observe that maybe a quarter of the crowd is following in the chant while the other three quarters is looking disgruntled. A lot of these disgruntled people get up and head towards the gates. However it become quickly obvious that the huge muscular guys at the gates sporting Bob’s face on their chests aren’t in the mood for letting anyone leave. I rescout the situation and again try to strategically find the safest place for me to go. Middle of the crowd? Ehh, to much possibility for mob actions. Climb the fence? Eek, way to obvious and desperate looking. Crawl up in a ball and start crying? ……. definitely a possibility. But then I find my answer. The Rastafarians. You know, anywhere you go in the world and you’re looking for non-threatening safe haven from potential racial or political violence, you can almost guarantee that a bunch of guys in Bob Marley t-shirts, dreadlocks and black, white, green and red striped caps are a pretty safe bet. I made my way over to the guys and introduce myself. A man named Bailey Munziumze instantly put out his fist for me to knock with my fist and we both tapped our hearts, “Hey Man!, yeah man, no prob, you can hang with us. We just chillin and relaxing. Not so into any of this political stuff, we just want peace. You with us?” I again knock fists with him and tap my heart and suddenly I feel like I have an impenetrable force-shield of hemp necklaced soldiers surrounding me. One of them leans over to me and says “you know friend, you’re one in a million here, one in a million”. Inside my protective shell, I watch the rest of the presentation with a little more ease. It consisted of a number of loud boisterous speeches that get the people in the white t-shirts all riled up and excited, while the rest of the crowd sits uneasily eyeing the gate to see if there is any opportunity to slip out. The speeches contained your ever popular buzz phrases such “European Colonialist Enemies”, “Exploitive Capitalistic Trade Rules”, “Imperialist Cultural Takeover” and “Together we will fight the Western Devil in order to Maintain our countries rightly earned sovereignty ”. There was even a skit where a man dressed up like a white person (wearing a white farmers hat and a nice suit) is beating and kicking his black African workers. He then starts to horde all the foreign exchange currency, the sugar, the fuel and the food in the country as to create artificial shortages and bring down the government by creating an unstable situation …... I definitely got some stares from people around me during that skit. Throughout the presentations, person after person got up and tried to persuade the guards to let them out of the area, but were then turned away by a stern point to get back into the crowd. I decided that it was ridiculous for me to even try, but I was comfortable where I was and very set on winning the waiting game. I just sat with my friends for a good part of the day until at last the event finished with a number of riled up chants in support of Mugabe, then the drums started to beat again, the crowd livened up and finally the thugs opened the gates and allowed the crowd to escape…I mean leave.

Funny, it was supposed to be a day for Africans to celebrate their freedom and independence to live lives that they choose after decades of repression. After my deportation, robbery and trapped inside the gates experiences, it was understandable why I maybe felt my life was lacking of some freedoms, but I also wasn’t African. However, through my many conversations with people here and being apart of this celebration, I’m not so sure how much freedom the Africans here feel either.

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Photos

A newly found football team
You might think that the clump of plastic in front of us is garbage, but it's actually an African football

Proud yes, free.........?
I was warned that if I take pictures any where in Zim I could be considered a spy and my camera would be confiscated. So these pics come from the accidental going off of my camera from inside my shirt pocket

Bob's pretty face
I got deported to Zimbabwe and all I got was this lousy t-shirt

Traditional Zimbabwean Dancers
Man could these guys move!