Sunshine City

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