“The Grass is Singing…”

Recently Doris Lessing died at the ripe old age of 94 with more than 50 books to her name and 3 children, 2 of whom she abandoned to achieve her career dreams. So I find it interesting that she was later known for her humanitarian efforts – is it just me or is there something wrong with that picture?

Oh –  she also won a Nobel Prize for Literature at the age of 88 (oldest recipient) for her life’s work.

“The Grass Is Singing” was her first publication in the 1950’s, at the time a shocking story of life in Southern Rhodesia – now Zimbabwe.  That country banned her for 25 years but recently welcomed her with open arms.

I remember reading the story in the 60’s when I lived over the border, in Northern Rhodesia and being impressed with the characterizations  and ‘reality’ she managed to capture and share.

And now I find out she was a poet, as well!

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Footprints in the dust…

Today, I’m watching The State Memorial for Nelson Mandela.  The camera pans across all the international attendees as the representative of the A.N.C. reads out a list of those dignitaries.  As she reads ‘President Robert Mugabe’ a huge roar erupts and I am astounded!  Don’t they know how many of his own people he has slaughtered, starved, beaten to within an inch of their lives and stolen from – and continues to do so?

Here Mugabe sits in a now free and democratic South Africa where everyone has a vote.  I wonder how the people around him feel?  Surely the UK and USA PM and President will not shake his hand… I find his presence insulting and wonder if Mandela would have felt the same way.

There must be more of Africa in me than I thought, because I seem to have the memory of an elephant.  How can that despot be feted when he has hated and been responsible for so much misery perpetuated onto his own people – not his enemies, but his fellow citizens of what was once a beautiful country.  A country I visited often, before he raped and pillaged, to swell his Swiss Coffers and build a Chinese Palace.

Quite a few years ago now, I wrote a poem inspired by letters smuggled out of Zimbabwe when the killing was at it’s worst when the world was finally taking some notice and new hope was on the horizon in the form of Morgan Tsvangirai.  Unfortunately, Mugabe didn’t go quietly and still pulls the purse strings, making it more than difficult for Morgan to help his people.

‘Roots & Wings’ was published in newspapers and on the net by others.   A second poem was written at Easter, when I could no longer ignore the obvious metaphor; Mugabe often likens himself to Our Lord :   An Easter Tragedy

#RobertMugabe  #Zimbabwe  #AnEasterTragedy  #Roots&Wings  #Despot #Terrorist #Poem

 

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