Signs of the Times

Our town is filled with signs. Signs of frustration, suffering, humour. A town where free expression is a price-controlled commodity that only exists as an empty space on a shop shelf. We queue for things that aren't there. We read half of the truth. And half of the lies. They call it news. 

In such towns, people create their own signs. Walls are bombed in a graffiti-drunk uprising where once-white-walls now scream black writing. 'ZANU PF IMBAVHA CHETE!' ZANU PF are thieves! In a land where non-state newspapers are bombed the povo find their own grassroots journalism. A popular worm seller along Churchill Avenue has turned his rickety sign into a sign of the times. The sign has grown from 'European Worms for Sale. Pliz take me to Kariba' to 'Jesus Christ It's Desperate Man. Canadian Worms For Sale. Please Take Me To Europe'. Stickers spring up all over the city 'TIRED OF POTHOLES? GO VOTE!' Our subversive album now finds itself being played in dozens of kombis as the public transport system becomes our pirate radio station. Old signs spring up too as walls become the flashy toilets of politicians' promises. Our people use whatever small space they have to express themselves in. From political messages scribbled on a bankrupt currency to poetry performances that paint revolution. Many signs are born at a time when the old is dying. Signs that signal fatigue and hope.

Our sign tomorrow is one of hope. Tomorrow MAGAMBA! is hosting a show called The Day Before. A concert of poetry and music, dreams and hopes on the eve of the election day. We create freedom spaces with our words, new worlds with our rhythm. A sign of things to come. A sign of a new Zimbabwe.