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Raisedon Baya
ZIMBABWEANS have been through a lot that nothing shocks them anymore. We move about showing little feelings, hiding our fears, rage, frustrations and abandoned dreams inside our thick black skins — completely aware that the worst thing that could happen is death and not even caring. For we have seen it all. Crisis. Hunger. Bottled rage. Drought. Corruption. Power cuts. Inflation. Cash shortages. Unemployment. There is really nothing we haven’t seen in this country.
At the peak of our crisis we lost our own currency. I have never heard of anything like that happening to any African country. Our homes, places where we all expected laughter, love, and security, became more of hiding places — we went home to hide our tears, hide our frustrations and fears. Home has become a place to wait for electricity, or to beat silently at the wall to avoid going mad. Life has become a struggle — too much of a struggle that it has pushed millions of fellow countrymen and women to migrating to places they thought were better, places that offered them hope and other better things. Many have moved into neighboring countries like Botswana, South Africa, Swaziland and Lesotho because these country have better economies and, more importantly, stability.
The ‘‘lucky’ ones left for Europe, America and Asia. They left to find better places they could call home — a home safe enough to build a future around, safe enough raise a family in. For many that foreign ‘‘home’’ has become a reality. They now live new dreams; happy to have left their country of birth. For others moving away has been nothing but a nightmare — constantly living in fear. For those that settled in South Africa the nightmare has been worse as they have borne the brunt of serious xenophobic attacks — with some being burnt alive in open streets, some stabbed and other simply terrorised for speaking a different language and having a darker skin than the locals. When those in America, Europe and Asia occasionally call back home they tell sad stories of racism, unfriendly weather, loneliness, and depression.
Now how do we connect all this to art, which is what this space is about? Art has done more than just record history. Art has, and continues to, document the migration. Art has alerted the world to the situation pushing people to migrate. Art has documented the lives of migrants. Art has provided therapy to both migrants and those left behind. I know for a fact that songs have been written about migration and life in exile. I know theatre has, in its own small way, offered some kind of healing for many troubled citizens, included artists themselves, by offering hope and a space to imagine a better tomorrow. Theatre has been one of the few platforms in Zimbabwe where the general public has been told the truth — which our home is no longer a good home.
For years the arts have been a sanctuary for many. They have been home for pro-democracy ideas and alternative thoughts. Many artistes have spoken against abuse of power, against displacement and the senseless deportations of Africans and other immigrants around the world. People do not migrate from where they are happy, and see a brighter future for themselves and their children; people migrate from places that threaten their happiness, safety and survival. I personally believe in art that encourages tolerance, art that believes and celebrates diversity. I believe in providing safe homes for those that are genuinely running from harm and seeking homes in foreign lands. After all, we are one people whose differences are in the sounds of our tongues and the colour of our skins and/or the strands of our hair.
Zimbabwe is a cosmopolitan country. Way before independence, the country was a business hub for southern Africa hosting many migrant workers from Malawi, Zambia, and Mozambique. These workers found permanent home in the country and not even one was burnt alive. Go into the mines and other places and see how they have naturalised.
Reacting the first xenophobic attack Blessing Hungwe wrote and staged the highly emotional Burn Mukwerekwere. Years later I was also to react and write Fragile, a physical theatre piece on migration, homophobia, and xenophobia. The piece was about Zimbabwean citizens abandoning their country for South Africa because the other country offers better opportunities. One of the characters in the piece is running away from homophobia. She is lesbian and fears for her life because in the eyes of the former President Mugabe gays and lesbians were worse than dogs. South Africa is the only African country that honestly and genuinely tolerates minority sexual rights. Other characters in the play leave Zimbabwe for economic and political reasons. These find homes in SA. Some get comfortable to a point of even feeling more South African than their true original identity. Even when being persecuted they so much want to forget the past and with it their true identity.
I know of writers and other artistes who are in exile and feel exactly like some of the characters in my play. They feel lost. They feel betrayed. They feel angry. Most of these have found a home and even a stronger voice to articulate issues back here more eloquently than most of us who remained. Exile has given them a better perspective and more courage to speak about the crisis and injustices we see every day.
However, the truth remains that home is no longer a piece of land in one’s country of birth but any place of comfort. Home can be anywhere. This is what every government in the world should understand. Globalisation has reduced the world into a village and we all belong to this village.
Online Reporter