Mystery and Intrigue in Bulawayo

 Art was my least favourite subject at school.  I think I despised it more than maths.  At least I could once in a while get a sum right or understand a concept, but in Art I seemed doomed to be forever terrible with no redeeming factors.                 When I was ten, I had a bully of a teacher called Mark Lewis.   He was a perfectionist and everything, including his pupils’ work, he saw as an extension of himself and, therefore, if it wasn’t right, he would throw a fit until it was corrected.                 One day in Art, he was showing us how to draw trees.   I have an absolutely perfect memory of the tree, a black silhouette against a dark blue sky.   As usual, I was struggling to make my tree look recognisable as such.   I had painted over it so much, the paper itself began to wear away. ...

    It’s been a busy last two weeks.   On the plus side, I won a National Arts Merit Award for Best Fiction for All Come To Dust.   I was extremely happy.   This is the second award the book has won since its publication roughly a year and a half ago.                                                              On the downside, I am unsettled.   Overwhelmed is a better word. I don’t know how to get myself out of this particular writing rut.   My problem is not an uncommon one for me, although this time it seems to be more heightened than usual.                  I tend to set myself unrealistic goals and even more unrealistic deadlines. This result is that nothing happens.   At the end of la...

  My elderly friend and I are discussing the possibility of becoming gold dealers.  It seems everyone is at it these days.  I recently contacted someone who did some work on our driveway a couple of years ago and discovered he no longer does crazy paving; instead, he has become a gold dealer in Esigodeni. I imagine him meeting customers in the back room of some shabby establishment or drawing up next to them in the car park of some shebeen and handing over a bag of gold nuggets in exchange for large wads of money.  'You'd never do it,' says my friend.  'You'd be caught almost immediately.' I must say, I am a little offended.  I don't particularly want to be a gold dealer, but nor do I like being told I lack the ability to be one. However, I know what she means.  I'd be too nice.  Of course, that might just be my modus operandi.  It would certainly provide a good cover and it save me the need to meet clients in dodgy hotels in the dead of nigh...

  I am often asked by friends and family who don't live in Zimbabwe why we still stay here. It is not a question that is easily answered, except to say why does anyone live anywhere?  We all have things to complain about wherever we are in the world.  Those who don't experience power or water cuts will complain about traffic jams or the weather.  Nowhere is perfect. Recently, I wrote on Facebook how excited we were when the electricity, that had been off for nine days, came back on.  It was actually longer as we had had nearly a week prior to this of being one phase down, so we had no lights, but some sockets worked and half of the stove as well. Nine days is by no means a long time at all to go without electricity, and nor is two weeks.  Some people I know have gone without for three to six months, a year even.  I am sure there are those on my Facebook page who even wonder why I mention it at all. Surely this is to be expected when you live in Africa....