HIFA

The Harare International Festival of the Arts was something we'd heard about prior to coming here. We were advised to join as HIFA Amigos to get certain benefits, like ticket discounts and first chance for buying tickets. So we did that. We were psyched for "the greatest thing Harare has to offer" - or so we'd been told by some. Others who live here don't even bother to go. I was curious about what the scene would be like.

The grounds are small compared to American festival venues, so it was easy to get around. Crowds are kept small and manageable mainly by the need to buy tickets to enter the ground or see any show. Most things are at the Harare Gardens park downtown, although there are shows at a couple of community theaters in other neighborhoods. It annoyed me that you couldn’t just wander around and check out various shows once you got in, and I started to suspect the nature of these rules when I attended the opening concert and was surprised to see so many white people. However, in retrospect it seems that Carmina Burana is just more attractive to that demographic. And the Coca-Cola stage at the concessions area where everyone filled tables and chairs all night definitely was dominated by the non-white crowd.

Sorry, but the whole racial/cultural divide does fascinate me here, and the festival was awesome for people watching. I was happy to see a lot more mixed couples and families than I have for the last 5 months we’ve been here, and it makes me wonder why I haven’t seen more up to now….maybe because I see them during the day when they’re working and not together? The South Asian community also had a good presence at the festival. They have their deep roots here as well. But by and large, the crafts and artisan venders were black African, from old ladies to Rastafarians. They had clothes, sculptures, wood carvings, toys, linens, instruments, jewelry, pottery, paintings…you name it. And it was really affordable.

It was less little-kid friendly than I’d expected. Now I know: you have to be more than 6-years-old to sit through an hour-long play/dance performance/comedic-juggler act. The kids did really enjoy the shows, but because they were targeting a general audience, it just didn’t hold their attention long enough. I’d spend half the time trying to keep them from disturbing people. Another lesson: get there early enough to find a seat that allows for a quick exit.

There was a lot to like though. People did come and go all day to see the various shows and just hang out in the gardens. The music was good, and a few shows were really moving. There’s nothing quite like seeing close up real professionals performing: their charisma, energy, and mastery over the instrument. I also was seeing types of music live that I’d never seen before (Sandra Nkake: funky Cameroonian/Parisian and Mafalda Arnouth: traditional Portuguese fado singer). There were a couple of big shows (Los Atlandticos; Salif Keita) that had everyone dancing…long jamming sessions, complicated, intense, beautifully performed by a stage full of amazing musicians. I mean, when did I last go to a concert where I and a load of other people around me were jumping up and down to the beat and going wild. It was awesome. And the parties on the gardens would go on and on (by my standards) every night after the concerts at the “VIP” tent where we could actually talk to the performers and get further sloshed with our friends (a couple of whom did actually perform).

So another lesson: take off work for at least a day or two to see the day shows and recover from the night shows (and better still arrange for someone else to take the kids to school at 7 a.m.).

(three times photos were rejected from being uploaded...will try to add later...though I didn't get much...left the camera a home most days)

Quick Lesson in Dialect

Being in a country of native English speakers, I've been surprised that I can't understand the locals probably 20% of the time. In other places we've lived, I communicated with people in English which was their second or third language, so the vocabulary and pronunciation was pretty standardized. But here, especially the "whites" speak fast and furiously with their own terms and phrases and their own (to me) funny dialect. (I still can't get used to that distinction -whites - but saying Rodesians or expats or European-Zimbabweans is even less acceptable here since they ARE adamant about being Zimbabwean and African.) It sounds closer to South African or even Australian English than one of England's dialects...as far as I can tell. (Zimbabweans who are from Shona or Ndeble tribes usually speak those languages as their first language and are fluent in English on top of that.)

I'm at the gym, where I get my best internet connection. The instructor teaching the class is providing me with a helpful pronunication guide:

• Leg = Layg
• Bench = Beench
• Guys = Gahys
• Hands = Hends
• Quicker = Quickuh, Over = Ovuh, There = Theyuh
• Nearly = Nehly
• Dance = Dahnce
• World = Wuld
• (my favorites) Weather = Waythah, Pleasure = Playzhah

Resilience

Today at the gym I go to regularly, there was a small gathering ‘round the corner bar to say good-bye to an employee. The gym is one room - there’s an exercise floor lined with mirrors on one end, weights in the middle, and the bar in the corner where tea, nutty muffins, salads and sandwiches are sold. Listening to the good-bye speech of the owner (who looks a lot like my sister-in-law Tracy), I started to get tears in my eyes even though I hardly know the woman leaving. She’s moving to Australia so her children will earn residency and be able to attend college there. There’s no quality university in the country, so most college-age kids leave. It’s likely it will be a permanent move for this family that has lived for generations in Zimbabwe. These kinds of moves are typical and have been especially prevalent during the last ten years or so when economic and political uncertainty has been so overwhelming.

There are a lot more white Zimbos in Harare than I expected. It's something I haven't experienced before: a significant population of white people in Africa who call it their home (unless Lebanese in Sierra Leone count). I can’t count the number of people I’ve met who were kicked off their farms and who now are reinventing their lives. When a farm was taken over, it was often at gunpoint, and families lost a lot: their possessions, their house, their livelihood, and all the land they’d developed and invested in over the years. As I get to know people, I feel how they have been through something traumatic and have reached deeper into themselves. They're extremely hardy, but you can see the toll the stress has taken. And still they're extremely positive and warm and have a stellar sense of humor.

As usual, my vague expectations of a new country have been scrambled somewhat. I didn’t come here expecting to have a very sympathetic view of the white Zimbabwean farmers. But of course, people are people wherever you go. It’s easy to feel sympathetic when you meet lovely genuine people, and then you see how they've suffered. It’s all very humbling.... my moving-around-life…. What do I know of suffering and survival? How easy has my life been? How lucky am I?

For Barbara

I’ve been wanting to blog for a while but have felt so scatter-brained and distracted. It’s hard not to say anything about Barbara. She was David’s dad’s girlfriend of 15 years. It is very sad and shocking for us that she suddenly fell ill and died of cancer in just a couple of months. Jack’s siblings and children are gathering this weekend to be with him and to remember Barbara.

Death does give one a lot to think about, but I’ll spare you.

Here’s to Barbara.

Day in the Life

5:30 get up and start getting everyone dressed, fed, brushed and combed and off to work and school with their bags, laptops, permissions slips, etc.
7:30 take Eliza to her school. The drop off was inexplicably difficult (was it because we were a few minutes late? Or the attention we were giving the strange sores on her cheek from the "mango milk"?) E was all a tremble, clinging, crying, Mommy don't leave! I want to go to the car with you! And then that awful last vision of the teacher’s firm grip on her arm as I run out the door…
8:00 receive call and respond to husband’s request: bank machine, then office to give cash to operations team who are registering my car. Tom, the mechanic, checks the fuel tank for leaks...where does it all go? This ancient Camry we bought from the wife of the previous director is looking more and more like a lemon and a black hole for money, sigh.
9:30 meet new friend / real estate agent at house in Avondale where owner is willing to move out for a price (no thanks)
10:30 Fabulous Friday field day for kindergarteners and preschoolers at the HIS...parents gathered on the margins, little kids lined up... I was really looking forward to seeing Miles race since he enjoys running and feels confident and competitive. But he was sidelined! – learning a hard lesson on keeping up with his hat. (Is that a lump in my throat? I should have double-checked his school bag this morning. Off to the lost and found: BINGO!) School rule demands that all children have to wear hats outside... sigh. At least he got to do the long jump and relay race. And I could tell he thought it was special having me there :)
12:00 rush to pick up Eliza…didn’t realize I was supposed to take Miles home after the mid-morning activity and got totally off track…last parent to pick up my kid on a Friday (12:08 yikes)
12:30 lunch at home, drawing and painting with the kids, phone calls and arrangements to see more houses
2:30 tea at Jan’s house… a friend of a friend from Amman (Hillary)…meeting her for the first time, she was so sweet, and there is nothing as valuable as local knowledge and connections.
4:30 hair appointment…running through a downpour with my raincoat held over my head. I need an umbrella!
5:30 hot bath
6:30 set off for the “dinner-dance” fundraiser, wearing the dress and shoes I bought in 1999 for E&W’s rehearsal dinner. We headed to the once Sheraton now down-graded to Rainbow Towers, and downtown traffic came to a total standstill in the pouring rain.
7:30 made use of the Mercy Corps 4x4 and had the pleasure of cresting the median. Sweet freedom! Tried a new route and not really knowing anything about the area, ended up stuck again, this time with stranded unhappy pedestrians crowded into the streets and against the cars. Was feeling like an idiot in my dress and our big empty car while all around us smaller cars were packed like sardines. A guy banged on my window. We were totally blocked in like this for a very long half an hour. That was the low point in the evening.
8:30 abandoning our efforts to get closer, we head in the opposite direction as soon as possible. Impressively, David does not give up and is going for a third attempt, looping around to approach from the opposite side of town… as if a dinner-dance was high on his list of ways to spend an evening.
9:00 we make it! ... a strange scene…like we’re arriving in the middle of the night in the middle of a storm to a tower in the middle of nowhere to be with a hundred other overdressed frazzled people from around the world who have been sitting in their cars for the last 2-3 hours. We roam zombie-like around the buffet. A magician goes from table to table to make watches and rings disappear from our bodies then reappear in his wallet or mouth. There is a live auction, then a ballroom dancing demo by sequined high school kids, then a band plays 80s songs with an African twist. Lucky for us, we’re at a table with some heavy drinking Serbs and Australians. And strangely but mercifully, when the lights are dimmed, everyone gets out on the dance floor and dances.

Lucky

Looking for a house is one of my major projects these days. I'm learning about Harare real estate: the neighborhoods ("the golden triangle"), the peculiarities of architectural choices (toilets in closets), the MUSTS (a borehole), and the perks ("staff"). I've moved beyond the wow stage and have started wanting the quintessential Zimbabwean family home: an artsyAfrican tiled house with more than enough room for family, guests and entertaining and a big ol' yard with loads of beautiful indigenous plants and trees. Mainly I am going with my gut instinct: is this a place I can raise my family? So far, every place has been...mmmm....not exactly. Sometimes I feel like a spoiled crazy woman. The things I turn down! However, we're renting and not buying, so we can't really invest much in making these places ours. It has to be pretty darn ready for us...and since we have until June (I've been told), we have time (I hope!) to be picky.

The place where we're staying now is gorgeous if a wee bit run down on the inside. There are lots of little broken, chipped, smelly and non-functioning spots that I would love to attend to, but alas, it's not ours to improve. I'm extremely grateful though that we have this amazing house, if only temporarily.

Here's a review of what I've learned about home life in Harare:

Domestic help: most houses come with a housekeeper and gradener. This is Tari.

Kitichens have an additional "washing up" area where domestic help do the dishes and laundry.

You can see from the last picture and this close up the style of tile that is made locally and featured in lots of houses.

...as well as teak wood furniture, like this dining room table and chairs with leather strap seats (this is at a friend's house)

Most houses also have a bar. People take their entertaining seriously here.

Enough parking for guests (that's the garage and guest cottage where Tari, her son and her cousin/helper live...Yes, even help have help.)

The "gardens" are amazing, mainly due to the master work of the gardeners. This is Stanford in the herb garden.

In addition to the green house full of veggies, we have corn growing in a corner of the garden. You see corn growing all over the city since it's a staple of the diet here.

This is a typical "domestics quarters" and where Stanford lives next to our house.

You also find all swing sets in this general style: metal, painted bright colors, unique.The in-ground trampoline is pretty standard here.

Do you see just how big this tree is? That little purple thing is a kiddie swing, and man, do the kids get high when we swing them in that!

These are called "Wendy houses" and are just playhouses for the kids. You see examples of these and the swing sets at intersections around the city where craftsmen are advertising their various styles.Electric fences atop high security walls are also a part of life here, as are alarm systems, remote access automatic gates and security guards. There's not a lot of crime here...as a result? This is the view of the garden from our bedroom balcony. It isn't exactly typical, I realize now as I search in vain for another bit of paradise. Let's hope the luck in having this place carries over to our seach for the next place. Looking forward to sharing with visitors!

A Kind of Holiday

Last weekend we drove just north of town to Domboshawa. It was a nice afternoon with scattered clouds that kept us from getting too hot on the walk up to the cave where the rock paintings are. Another family arrived when we were there, and Miles started introducing himself. When he asked them where they were from, they said Zimbabwe. Miles said, “You don’t look like Zimbabweans.” It was a quick first lesson on white Africans.

We walked up to the top of the hill which was bald, rounded reddish stone. Families and group of friends were settled in different places to catch the view: round thatch roof houses, green fields, trees, layers of hills that reminded me of the Appalachian Mtns, and afternoon showers in the distance over Harare. Miles kept introducing himself to people, and would be annoyed when I’d intercede to give the poor people some relief. Then he started wandering down the hill out of sight.

About that time, Eliza announced that she needed to go to the bathroom, so we started packing things up and getting ready to walk back down. Unbeknownst to us, Eliza was already taking matters into her own hands and was bare assed and peeing on the rock. Her shorts were off but in the direct line of fire, and of course I’d left spare emergency clothes in the car. She announces she’s ready to do a caca, but luckily, she was dissuaded. Meanwhile, Miles has been out of sight for a while so once we get E back in her panties, we start trudging down looking for him. We found him finally and gave him a good talking to about snakes and such. He proceeded to walk down a wet trail that turned into a rock slide which he proceeded to slide down and just stopped himself before falling in a pool. D was concerned about bilharzias so advised against the kids actually playing in the inviting water.

One more week until school starts. This has felt like a long break without a holiday. David didn’t really have much time off, just a day here and there which was spent unpacking or setting up house. The office was quiet, so convenient for D to get oriented. The kids and I have had time to find our way around a bit, but other than that, it’s been uneventful, considering. There’s been no vacation agenda or frame of mind to do a holiday thing. It’s been great to go to parties, but meeting people for the first time doesn’t compare with getting together with family and old friends.

Still, the view from the balcony off our bedroom and from the ground floor veranda at this Chisipite house is divine (as were the gardens at the Bronte the first 10 days we were here). The pool, in-ground trampoline and swing set are surrounded by a diversity of plants and tall trees all lushly green from the afternoon rains. We have been hanging out by the pool, reading books, taking day trips around the area… This would be a great set up for a holiday! One need just relax and suspend the wondering and list-making for a moment.