Reflections on Harare

Early Impressions...

Harare feels a lot like suburban France- although there is nothing distinctly French about it, but I guess suburbs have that timeless, universal effect of squandering culture. The architecture in the capital is strikingly diverse- there is the strong British colonial presence, mixed in between clusters of post- modern and experimental buildings.

One thing that is truly unfortunate about Harare, and probably the whole of Africa (if you'll allow me to generalize) is that the wealthier you are, the higher, sturdier and more electric your fence is. In the wealthy neighborhoods od Harare, Dar, Lusaka and Nairobi, neigbor- to- neigbor contact is minimal, there are no visible lawns, no reckless children playing on the streets. Strolling through them is highly unpleasant, you feel like a tiny mouse wandering through alleyways of large, closed cardboard boxes. It all comes with a certain shock value - especially considering that the rest of Africa seems a living deffinition of the concept of 'community'.

Ive noticed that there doesnt seem to be much intermingling between blacks and whites, especially within youths - although i must say that thats relative to a Canadian's frame of reference, as opposed to a South African's. Ive been told that Harare bears much resemblance to the cities of South Africa. I dont think that I would like South Africa very much. Theres something about neon lights and strip malls on African soil that I find somewhat unsettling- its like Cheryl Kemsley in jeweled stilettos, Marilyn Monroe in frayed sweatpants. The clothes may fit, but it just doesnt feel right.

I feel safe in Harare (then again I feel safe in a Nepali prison) - In all seriousness, I would render the Zimbabwean capital perfectly safe and worthwile to visit. As an unfortunate consequence of interconnectedness, the economic instability ripples outwards into the cultural climate. As most can no longer afford city life, restauraunts and night spots are uncharacteristically quiet - you can hear a pin drop right across the national art gallery.

A large fraction of city Zimbabweans earn under 20 million Zim dollars per month. On my strict no-frills-except-wine budget (no cabs, live with a friend, most meals from grocery stores) i spend 2- 4 million dollars per day. There must be a healthy dose of black magic that goes into making ends meet with a family here.

Every so often you'll experience a glimmer of the political insecurity.

Like yesterday, we were walking by the state house, where Mr. Mugabe chills out.
" Walk straight, dont stop, look ahead and don't stare at the building," Nick warns gruffly.
Of course, I had to stop on three separate occasions. Once to adjust my sandal, once to fish for something random in my backpack, and once again to point at an average-looking bird that was perched on the main gate.

Predictably, we were beckoned over by 2 military men on guard, who brushed through the standard list of "explain- your- existence"- type questions.
"Im a professional nude cheerleader from Figi- here to see if the University of Zimbabwe wishes to participate in an upcoming tournament."
A few minutes of giggly flirtation later, we were on our way. (Im officialy in love with the fact that I'm female.)

I really wanted to attempt to break into the state house- not for the purpose of afternoon tea with Mugabe, but solely for the experience of being interrogated. Ive never been interrogated before, and think that it would be a worthwhile psychological experience. My posse wasnt having it, though, so we headed to the park for lunch instead.

One of Nick's friends who arrived yesterday by air from Lusaka also had an interesting story. He is an artist, expected to exhibit at the national gallery sometime soon. Upon his arrival in the terminal, he made the dreadful, all-common-sensibility defying mistake of correctly listing his occupation as a 'photo-journalist". He was detained for four hours and they tried (unsuccesfully) to ship him back to Lusaka. He now has to check in at the embassy every so often, and seems to be convinced that someone is following him.

Im learning a lot about sexuality, through conversation. Artists seem to talk about sex a lot, but very rarely engage in it. Im quite enjoying living with people who's views on the world aren't in the textbook. This is getting lengthy, Ill spare you more babbling.
From here- its to.... wherever the road takes me, and i like it that way.
Peace be with you.
oh, and if you wondering from my last entry- the black market currency exhange works like this. Extra, extra money (on top of the current extra money printed by the authorities) is printed and given to some government officials who quietly sell it to friends and vendors who deal it on the streets. (so its cheap because its real, but not accounted for)

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