Here is a story, but first let me
emphasize that the biggest take-away from this experience is that the
people of Zimbabwe offered grace and friendliness and most
importantly a wonderful sense of humor. In the few hours I spent in
Bulawayo I made a couple of new insta-friends, was greeted with many
delightful attempts at learning how to say hello in Kiswahili and
enjoyed mutual political curiosity.*
And then I had to leave because I had
foolishly stated “media consultant” on my immigration form under
“occupation.” In August of 2016. In Bulawayo. Immigration wasn't
having none of that mess, thank you very much. People: context is
everything. If I was paying even a bit of attention, I would have put
down 'development specialist' or 'NGO consultant' or any number of
dubious two-word terms to describe whatever it is that I do. But... I
didn't. Foolish!
On the bright side, I am now a member
of the club of people who have been honored with a request to leave
Zimbabwe for lack of the right press accreditation. Did I tell you
about that time I went to Pakistan? Yeah. “War” stories, baby,
buy me a double of mid-shelf firewater and I'll tell you some. But I
am still not a journalist, even if the Government of Zimbabwe is being overly broad in its definition.
This is the point at which I tell you
that the authorities took me into a back room and beat the truth out
of me with a chain-wrapped tractor tyre until I confessed to having
eaten my fraternal twin while in utero. In keeping with the idea that
critical cranks like me are always out to vilify governments, and
that repressive regimes are run by thuggish bureaucrats in
ill-fitting suits.
The Zimbabwean authorities I interacted
with were polite. Every refusal was issued with an occasional smile
and an apology about the official's inability to help with the
situation. Who wouldn't fall a little bit in love with a country
where the people are so determined to practice the idea that laughter
is the best medicine? Even if the laughter is sometimes only implied,
due to the constraints of the circumstances?
I hope to come back to visit sometime.
Perhaps when things are a little more relaxed, and maybe for pleasure
rather than work. To putter around some stone buildings and enjoy a
few beers with people with a deliciously wry perspective of life.
Whatever might be happening politically is not something I need to
comment upon- everybody goes through tough times. I'm just glad I got
to experience, first hand, 48 hours of Zimbabwean hospitality.
So well-met, friends, and thank you for
the street cred. Now I can hang out with baby journalists and
exaggerate about that one time I was thrown out of Zim and watch them
swoon with envy. As per tradition. Stay well.
*Africa: what is it with you guys and
the crushes y'all get on Tanzanian Presidents? We've got three
retired ones to spare, feel free to adopt one (except Mwinyi. We need him for powerwalking fundraisers). Jay Kay likes to travel: think of all the gorgeous smiling
you would get in exchange for footing his wanderlust. Any takers?
AU? Hmmm?
Exaggerate about that one time... :-) Can't wait to hear about this in person.
ReplyDeleteIt's the kind of story that can only start with the sentence: "yaani mwenzangu! we acha tu..." :)
DeleteI'm sorry about what happened to you. But this recounting made me chuckle. We really do need Mwinyi for powerwalking fundraisers...bless that man :)
ReplyDeleteBless him indeed :)
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