Harare, Southern Africa.
I live in a city in Southern Africa. Harare in particular. The Sunshine City.
On a good day I get up before the sun rises, while it is
still dark out- and sometimes dark inside when there is no electricity-just
before the birds start singing.
My Grandparents would have been proud; they were the
generation that believed that you begin work before the sun rises. My Grandfather
had a particular song, “Vasikana vekwa
Sengwe musafuge musoro, zuva rino buda muvete.” The Sengwe girls don’t cover
your head when sleeping, the sun will rise while you are asleep. Basically
chiding us to be early to rise.
Up I get, sleepily open up my eyes, get dressed and out the
door.
A small battle with the dogs that want to play so early in
the morning doubles up as a warm up, running up and down and stretching a bit.
Out the gate and I realise I’m not the only one awake. There are many of us, those going to work, and
school and the ones trying to get a good healthy start to the day. Some would
choose to call it exercising, but it feels more like energising and getting a
chance to talk to your Creator about all and anything.
If I am running late,
the first people I usually meet are the two ladies, who seem like the best of
friends- sometimes I wonder how they get their power walk and remember to
breathe while deeply engrossed in what seems like the news from the day before-
because I say good morning and its almost an afterthought that leads them to
say “goodmorning” and they carry on their lengthy conversation.
By the time we say our fleeting hellos I've come round the
corner. I meet the gentleman, we silently say hello through a nod and a smile-
but I wonder if he has many of the same tee shirts or it’s just the one that
always gets a good wash after the morning jog.
Then I pass by the security guard standing outside the gate
of the property he looks after, ready to end his shift. If I’m lucky I can
catch a glimpse of the well manicure lawns, and the landscaping. I think that’s
one of my favourite things, I often pick a route with the palatial homes and
well manicured lawns, those are a bit far so I have to jog further. But it is
worth it. I get some great visuals of gardening ideas…what plants are in season
and how to brighten up our family’s property.
I thank God for the
beautiful creations and the change of seasons as I run along the purple carpet
of Jacaranda flowers that line the streets for this short season. Note I run
along, not on top, my fear of being stung by one of the buzzing bees leads to faster
movement. I like bees and appreciate their hard work enough not to disrupt them
and have them waste their precious time and sacrifice their life stinging me.
But I get confused so early in the cool mornings, before the
sunrises, before I can blame the heat of the sun for my blurred vision. Is there a lack of architects or designers in
our country? I ask because here in Harare there seems to be palatial
monstrosities popping up everywhere. Why
are they ever expanding palatial properties on tiny pieces of land? Why are we
building on wetlands? Why is there not
enough affordable housing ? Why are these building projects being approved?
So many questions. So
few answers.
I carry on. There is the lady running, steady pace,
following the rhythm blasting out of her earphones. I envy her, she has enough
breath and energy for a vibrant ‘good morning’ and even a had wave.
Another gentleman, a senior citizen walking along as fast as
his legs carry him- I give him a special
shout out as he is out again the same route at a much slower pace late
afternoon pushing his grandchild through the neighbourhood on an afternoon
stroll.
There are the primary school kids, uniform clad, shiny Vaseline-smeared
face, who greet me with a smile, “Good Morning Mame”. I think to myself, I must
be aging quicker than I imagined since I’m now Mame, no longer Sister. But
their greeting is genuine, I don’t hold it against them and I reply as eagerly
“Good Morning”. Off to school these leaders go. I silently pray that they learn
something and that their teachers will impact their lives in a positive manner.
And then I thank the Lord that that is not me, I mean it is 6am! And the child
is half way to school already. Then I
think looking at their kind of uniform, they have quite a long commute before
they get to school. These kids are not wearing the colours of the primary
schools in the neighbourhood- so they probably
have a kombii journey or two before they get to school.
More confusion. Why do we not have more schools in the
surrounding residential areas? And why not good schools as well? It breaks my
heart when these small humans, get into a kombii alone headed to school. If it
were up to me, there should be a school within a walking distance accessible to
our primary school children. There are enough sad stories of these children
being run over by our careless drivers on our terrible roads. And then the
stories they don’t tell you of the evils that these young children are subject
to on their way to school, to supposedly get a formal education.
What happened to our
drive for education, good, high quality education for all?
So many questions. So few answers.
And then there is the one that really gets to me. Where is
the water? One of the local churches opens
up its taps for the residents during the early mornings and late
evenings. Drip, drop, drips of water into the containers. Containers into their
cars, or wheelbarrows, or on top of their heads, the residents head off in
their different directions. And this is in the low density, what more in the
high density areas? Why is this acceptable as normal?
I’m on my way home now, squinting as I focus on the road
ahead and enjoy the sunrise over the eastern sky. The two supermarket cashiers, wearing their uniforms,
perpetually running late as you see them
always running to catch the beginning of their shift.
You pass by that lady who’s lingering fragrance of the body lotion
tells you that the day has begun and that I should be getting home to start the
other tasks of the day.
The kombis zoom
past you and through the streets of the neighbourhood, picking up the people
shouting a many variations of “are you coming to town?”- Town here?- Harare!- City!- Handei Town! You wonder how long it will take for the kombi
to fill up before it actually heads in the direction of town. That is probably
the longest part of the journey as the kombis in general do not believe in
waiting and sitting in traffic. Enough traffic violations are committed to get
you to town in the quickest and not the safest manner. I’m sure they would
explain it to you as being efficient. If only we had more truly efficient and
effective modes of public transport.
Dai Dai dai I rwiyo rwe benzi—if only, if only, if only,
a song of a fool.
And as I approach my street, running quite fast (well I think it’s fast and that’s all that
matters) more cars are on the road, more people walking , going to their
various destinations- trying to change their tomorrows for the better.
I’m home now. I have not solved anything, (…well maybe
reducing my health care bills and nipping potential ailments in the bud). Gained
some perspective. Seen some beauty and ready for the new day.
I have not solved the world’s problems. Just seen them and
left me with more questions. Perhaps in the course of the day I’ll solve some
small problems and make some sort of impact.
The sun is up, blazing hot already. Not a rain cloud in
sight.
It has been a lengthy, hot, scorching, dry season. Perhaps
it will rain, even though not a cloud is in sight. Those are the conversations
are these days. There is a glimmer of
hope. The rain will cool us all down. Not solve all our problems but begin to
be a solution.
Kunze kupisia ndinoziva Kuchanaya kucha tonhorera –
Even though it gets so hot outside, I know it will rain, it will cool down -Alexio
Kawara
