by Rutendo C. Chigora University of Pennsylvania, Class of 2015

It wasn’t just a journey through history; it wasn’t rooted in the present nor was it an espousal of the future. It was an amalgam of all these times and the people scattered across the years – some only remnants of body and soul; others – us [...]]]>

by Rutendo C. Chigora
University of Pennsylvania, Class of 2015

It wasn’t just a journey through history; it wasn’t rooted in the present nor was it an espousal of the future. It was an amalgam of all these times and the people scattered across the years – some only remnants of body and soul; others – us – real, living, breathing, feeling; and the rest, only flights of fancy, figments of the imagination, the matter of dreams.

I walked the narrow sand lines that grew more out of wear than tear, and heard people shout greetings as we went by, observing all protocol. I will miss that sense of community and belonging, I’m sure. That art of looking out for each other while maintaining this singular intricate sense of self, secrecy and mystique.

The cemetery wasn’t neatly manicured and guarded by shiny stones with messages for the dead – it’s just a place where we have placed our losses and attempted to keep track of who lies where with cemented borders and metal plaques. There, a father told me how each one had come to lie here and how I fit into the timeline, the family, the history of glory, despair and, at other times, glorious despair.

I said farewell to those already fared, those bones beneath my feet, while holding a digital camera and speaking in a tongue and tone that, for many of these souls, meant oppression. The closeness I felt to them was undeniable, yet the distance between us hovered and made me acutely aware of how far removed we had become without losing much of what we had, yet picking up so much more – most of which was probably inconceivable to the lady whose name was printed on the plaque on my right and the great-grandfather I had never known. And I knew then that the moment I would step foot off my motherland, onto a vessel that would take me through space and time into a distant, foreign, strange land, I would have to grip harder at all these things that made me who I am.

Everything about the place – my village, the birthplace of my heritage, the rural home to which I waved my hand in valediction – was symbolic, special, perplexing, painful and, well, pretty all at once. Perhaps goodbyes amplify everything and fear has us seeking solace in simple things because they seem closer and safer than the futures we have to leap into as we trek our way into horizons beyond the motherland, beyond Zimbabwe.

Book Review: The Memory of Love by Aminatta Forna by Ajani Husbands

This is a massive book. I spent months reading this book, intermittently, sometimes pausing for weeks at a time. Admittedly, the content was so beautifully dense that I simply could not pick the book up again without taking some time to digest what I had [...]]]>

Book Review: The Memory of Love by Aminatta Forna
by Ajani Husbands

This is a massive book. I spent months reading this book, intermittently, sometimes pausing for weeks at a time. Admittedly, the content was so beautifully dense that I simply could not pick the book up again without taking some time to digest what I had just read.  Aminatta Forna describes a post-war Sierra Leone via a complex tapestry of fictional characters, all of whom intertwine regularly without knowing it, leading to an eventual climactic ending. Perhaps I am a bit selfish, though. What I found most striking about The Memory of Love was not so much the characters themselves, but how I could find myself as a background character within their world.

The book tells its tale partly through the eyes of an British expat psychologist and partly through the gaze of a Sierra Leonean surgeon.  The tiny post-war country, as seen through the eyes of the expat, is often my own world. The psychologist, Adrian, came to the country for his own reasons, though none of them seem adequate enough to any local professional who thoroughly questions him on his presence. Did he come to help? To be a hero? How long would he be staying? Did he really think he was making a difference? Through the entire course of the novel, Adrian never really has a good answer for any of these questions. Yet, he persists, driven by his own passions and in part, his own inability to understand what exactly he is looking to achieve or find.

I find my analysis selfish because, given the nature of my job, I am always an expat in somebody else’s country, that country either being economically downtrodden or rebuilding itself after a long fought war. Adrian’s observations and inability to just quite “get it,” all mirror my own. There even comes a moment where Adrian believes he has truly found a way to help, just as I have sometimes. And, of course, it comes crumbling down as he simply spends another day in Sierra Leone and learns a little bit more.  Throughout the novel, I find myself speaking to Adrian, shaking my head and saying “of course that wouldn’t work. Haven’t you thought this out?” And then, I realize Adrian doesn’t get it because I don’t get it, regardless of how long I spend in another country.

The book isn’t one of an expat’s foreign wanderings, though. The book title, though admittedly bland, aptly describes exactly what is happening in the book. A story recounted by an old man of his love for another man’s wife. The Sierra Leonean doctor whose nightmares are only ever soothed by thoughts, or memories rather, of the woman he once loved. Even Adrian from time to time must reckon with the memory of his wife and child in London, whom he mentions in internal monologue so rarely and out loud to others even less so that one wonders if he ever has intentions of going back to them.

Given the straightforwardness of the title, one would also imagine that the narrative is told in equal parts by women, often the focus of this love’s memory. It is not the case. In a purely academic context, I’m sure one could draw up a basis for critiquing Aminatta’s use of female characters as simple pawns in the movements of their male counterparts. In an academic analytical vacuum, this could be the case. Yet, Aminatta crafts her female characters in a way that mirrors their realities in a male-dominated society. And though we are never privy to the internal monologue of any female character, we find ourselves intimately aware of exactly how they feel and what they believe, more so than, at times, the males with whom they associate.

As I stated earlier, this is a massive book. And I am all the better for reading it. It’s an excellent introduction to not just Sierra Leone, but is also a fantastic work of fiction that invites one to learn more.  To whom would I recommend this book? Though never mentioned once in the book, I would say Peace Corps workers. In addition, of course, anyone interested in Sierra Leone, learning more about post-war countries, and of course anyone who enjoys good fiction.

l sat helpless,useless and stunned in the searing hot sun.   l never  felt  its effect for there l was only in flesh with a heart stabbed as if by a lance.  Gone was my spirit with my broken dreams.  So painful was the sound of his words!  l was left clinging [...]]]> BY ANYWAY IMMACULATE BRENDA KAPINGIDZA

l sat helpless,useless and stunned in the searing hot sun.   l never  felt  its effect for there l was only in flesh with a heart stabbed as if by a lance.  Gone was my spirit with my broken dreams.  So painful was the sound of his words!  l was left clinging to despair.  This was all l had for a life’s meal.

How did l find myself in this dilemma?  When l received my Advanced level results l was over the moon.  l came out with flying colours and somehow  l  felt  that the future had the brightest and the best  in store for me.  l was  rest assured that l was going to fulfill my dreams of becoming a medical doctor.  l wasted no time and applied for Medicine at the University of Zimbabwe.  In less than three months l received a reply from the Faculty of Engineering that l was admitted to study Electrical Engineering instead of the program l had applied for.  Half a loaf is better than nothing so, l embraced their decision.  l was surprised to find out that my fees and tuition was US$710.  l also needed  accommodation and food because the University is about  eighty  kilometers away from Marondera, my home.  All this would cost my parents an arm and a leg as they are low income workers.

There is always a way to a wiling heart so,l decided to apply for a scholarship to study abroad.  l applied to New Zealand, the Netherlands and South Africa.  Approximately two months elapsed without any response.  l grew anxious and restless during that time.  Finally, l got a scholarship to study Software and Electronic Engineering at Leiden University in the Netherlands.  This was like a flash in a teacup, one and only success.  l applied for a passport that was supposed to be ready for use in just fourteen days.  My time was running out as l had to leave Zimbabwe the following month.

The sun dimmed for me when l went to collect my passport and the man on the delivery counter said, ”lm sorry, madam, but we have a technical fault and our machines and computers are not working until further notice.  Maybe you can get an emergency travelling document.”  l needed a passport to apply for my student visa.  l tried to reason with him (and later also with the passport  office registrar general) but to no avail.  They said the problem was at KG6 Offices where the passports are printed in Harare so it was a countrywide problem.  Hence, their hands were tied.

The day for me to go drew closer by the eye’s twinkle and the machines were still down.On the very day of my  intended departure tears like a perennial river flowed down my cheeks.  So painful was the sond of the registrar’s words.  The torrid stream of thoughts, bubbling fear and awe ached from my heart’s core.  A lifetime opportunity had just slipped away from my hands and there was utterly nothing l could do to stop it.  l looked at the trees and they seemed to lift their massive arms in prayer and pointed to God together  with  me pleading for a change, a change for the better.  That day l visited Mrs Mufuka (one of my mentors) wearing a face long as her arm.  She consoled me and asked me to give her my educational transcripts to show her husband and workmates.  Little did l know that Mr Mufuka has a brother who owns the Mufuka Private Foundation Scholarship, which is a programme intended for students to study in the United States of America.

Founded  in 2004 by an empathetic  couple, Dr Douglass and Mrs Jean Mufuka , the Mufuka  Private Foundation Scholarship funds gifted but underprivileged students to pursue their tertiary education at Lander University in the USA.  The couple formed the scholarship fund in memory of Dr Douglass’ late father who was a loving and a sympathetic leader who gave his all to help the needy during his lifetime.  Dr Douglass is a Zimbabwean by nationality, who after years of hard work looked back at his people and decided to empower his fellow Zimbabweans by one of the most important gifts of all, knowledge. Even when the cock does not crow dawn will break my mother rightly said.

Just one phone call on the night of 12 June 2010 changed my outlook on life.  Mrs Mufuka told me that l had been accepted to the Mufuka Private Foundation Scholarship prior to my acceptance at Lander University in USA and the receipt of a student VISA from the USA Embassy.  l had received a four year scholarship to study Chemical Engineering!  The scholarship fund covers my fees, tuition, housing, health insurance and a monthly living stipend.  What more could l ask for?  l was in great ecstasy !  God had given me a better chance in life, a golden opportunity to rise and shine in this world!

I later learnt that l was the ninth recipient of the Mufuka Scholarship from Zimbabwe and only the second female.  With the help of my family, Mr Richard Mufuka, Lois Martin , Mr B.Chiondegwa , Mrs Mano of the USA Embassy and others ,l was able to write and pass the SAT and get a student visa. Finally, l am looking forward to depart for the USA on 22 August 2011 to start my studies in the fall.

Though l owe a number of people a basketful of gratitude, Dr Douglass Mufuka and his wife remain my inspiration.  They look at the plight of gifted but underprivileged students and come to their aid.  After completing my studies, I would also like to help my fellow countrymen, just like Dr Douglass has done for me.

With a spirit that lives and grows, courage that cannot be conquered and determination that cannot be devastated in despair l will not give up!  Yes, l will forget the times of trouble, but not the truth they taught.  I will erase the bitter moments when heaven seemed unkind, but not the lessons learned – the riches left behind.  The lesson learned of assisting my countrymen in need!

Youth is the long process of growth that allows human beings to build skills and competencies in order to function and contribute to society.

The United Nations defines youth as people between the ages of 15 and 24 years.

Power defines a society and its beliefs [...]]]> (Article originally posted in the Zimbabwean News Day by Energy Maburuste.)

(Article originally posted online on The Zimbabwean.)

For many youths who had finished their A level education, the next stage for someone wishing to go further up the academic ladder was enrolment at a university or college.

But local college life was unbearable because of the hunger and poverty that students faced at a time when the government had frozen personal grants and loans for students.

In addition, anyone who finished their studies earlier were failing to get formal employment. The unemployment rate was estimated by the UNDP at a staggering 90 percent. Those who did manage to get jobs were hired as temporary teachers – earning peanuts.

Such a scenario made Hope Ndhlovu (19) lose hope in achieving his dream of getting a university education.

But this year his dream came true when he became one of the 31 underprivileged students to receive scholarships worth $70 million to study in the United States, courtesy of the US government.

Ndhlovu’s road has been rocky.

“I wrote my Ordinary level’s in 2008 and as an avid student I knew I had to do something to supplement what my father earned and to pay for my tuition fees as I really wanted to proceed with my education,” he said.

For Ndhlovu to see his dream come true he had to get a job. Not just any job – but a risky one that would give him a decent income to continue schooling at the same time helping his father as a breadwinner.

“I worked as a gold panner in West Nicholson – sleeping underground at Times, or sleeping in the bush waiting for my shift,” he said.

Gold panners make more money a week than some professionals earn per month. But it is risky – some die as rickety shafts collapse, while others are arrested or killed in turf wars.

“One is thrown into an environment where one sees the harsh realities of life. Everyone has heard about the lifestyle of gold panners and I was a child in that situation trying to raise funds for survival. It used to make me think about life seeing different faces from different places,” he said.

Ndhlovu narrated how he and other four young men would arrange to buy some food groceries and send them home to their families.

“Those days we were earning Zimbabwean dollars and the money would lose value every day,” he said.

However he managed to overcome the hurdles and do his A Levels at Mpopoma High after passing his O’ levels.

He did Mathematics, Physics, Chemistry and Further Mathematics for A level, and scored 20 points.

“I am going to be studying at Harvard University and I am so excited,” he said.

Ndhlovu and other students from diverse backgrounds left for the United States last week at a ceremony graced by Prime Minister Morgan Tsvangirai and the United States ambassador to Zimbabwe Charles Ray.

Tsvangirai is his address said: “You must know that as your Prime Minister, I attended a humble primary school in rural Buhera and I did not have the great opportunity afforded to you today. So go and be good students, respect your hosts and work hard. Exhibit the true Zimbabwean spirit, that of hospitality and hard-work. Be vigilant.”

The US ambassador said the scholarship wass part of his country’s positive contribution to Zimbabwe.

“Education is crucial to the success of both our countries. As we share education resources for the benefit of our young citizens, we both grow stronger,” he said.

In his congratulatory message the minister of Education, Sport, Arts and Culture, Senator David Coltart, welcomed US support to education in Zimbabwe.

“This year’s scholarships awards …will enable still more students to pursue their goals and career paths through higher education – something that they might not otherwise have been able to do. Indeed, this generous support is particularly welcome at a time when families are facing increased financial pressures,” he wrote.

It goes without saying that Haiti is Africa.  Well, perhaps I should clarify myself somewhat.  Haitian culture shares many aspects with various African cultures, as do other Caribbean islands.  Specifically to Haiti, though, the country suffers from an abnormally negative image that outweighs any positive efforts taking place in the country.  Moreover, since [...]]]> by Ajani Husbands

It goes without saying that Haiti is Africa.  Well, perhaps I should clarify myself somewhat.  Haitian culture shares many aspects with various African cultures, as do other Caribbean islands.  Specifically to Haiti, though, the country suffers from an abnormally negative image that outweighs any positive efforts taking place in the country.  Moreover, since the January 12th earthquake, western viewers have been inundated with images of rubble, orphans, and overall destitution.  I am not saying that these facets do not exist, but any Haitian will tell you that there is more to there island.  That is where The Mamelodi Project and DC-based Haitian-American Charles Jean-Pierre come in.

DAY 1

Several weeks ago, I traveled with DC-based Haitian-American artist, Charles Jean-Pierre, to Stanford University for The Movement, a socially aware arts performance put together by the East Palo Alto Mural Music & Arts Project (MMAP). The work that these high school students did as part of The Movement deserves recognition on its own.  Never before have I seen young people so committed to the cause of peace.  Weeks later, the refrain from the encore song “No War” still resonates in my head: “No war no war no war no war… What do we want? PEACE! What do we want? PEACE!”  Maybe you had to be there, but those kids had the audience entranced like it was a Jay-Z concert.

In the midst of all this, Jean-Pierre wowed the audience with his usual forte, live on-stage painting.  Throughout the show, JP painted two murals, both based on scenes and knowledge from his recent trip to Haiti.  The first mural (shown below) was raffled off to the audience, with the proceeds going to support MMAP’s continued efforts.

(Jean-Pierre standing to the right of his painting and the winner of the raffle)

Jean-Pierre donated the second peace to MMAP out of admiration for all the organization’s quality works.

(Jean-Pierre standing next to the second art piece and Tunde Sobomehin, a program coordinator with MMAP)

DAY 2
Jean-Pierre also shed light on the current situation in Haiti.  Working alongside the Nu Sigma chapter of Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Inc., JP gave a presentation on Haiti, the importance of voodoo culture, the best ways to provide assistance to Haitians, and, most importantly, dispelling any existing rumors.  The presentation was just the first of many that JP plans to give in his agenda on promoting a positive vision of Haiti.  Stay tuned for a transcript of JP’s presentation to learn more.

(read about the partnership between the two entities on our Supporting Haiti page)

Jean-Pierre standing alongside Nu Sigma chapter after his presentation on Haiti at Stanford University

With YOUR help, we can get this film finished ASAP and [...]]]>

It’s been a looooooooooooooooong time coming, but right now we have version 2 of The Mamelodi Project documentary (tentatively entitled Amandla Ngawethu).  I need a core group of volunteers to help me go over the film and figure out what changes need to be made.

With YOUR help, we can get this film finished ASAP and continue promoting a positive vision of Africa.

If interested, contact me at ajani@mamelodiproject.org

If you’re not familiar with Mo Ibrahim, learn about him.  Sudanese, founder of the Mo Ibrahim Foundation, former telecommunications entrepreneur, and the catalyst behind the Prize for Achievement in African Leadership.  Basically, Mr. Ibrahim has the on-the-ground experience and dedication to make informed commentary. 

He wrote a piece in the Financial Times back in May (which [...]]]>

If you’re not familiar with Mo Ibrahim, learn about him.  Sudanese, founder of the Mo Ibrahim Foundation, former telecommunications entrepreneur, and the catalyst behind the Prize for Achievement in African Leadership.  Basically, Mr. Ibrahim has the on-the-ground experience and dedication to make informed commentary. 

He wrote a piece in the Financial Times back in May (which I’m just now catching unfortunately) disputing Moyo’s claims in Dead Aid.  To contrast Moyo’s emphasis on an elimination of aid, Ibrahim says instead:

We need a holistic approach to development in Africa that is centred on good governance. This must encompass African governments, civil society, the private sector and donors.

You can read the rest of the interview here:

http://www.ft.com/cms/s/0/66f75478-4bb8-11de-b827-00144feabdc0.html?ftcamp=rss&nclick_check=1