Welcome to the Mad House

Life in Zimbabwe can make you feel like a scurrying cockroach. Days pass as if you're caught running through a maze to achieve the most basic things. Our days are spent doing 'marunnings'. No time to sit. None to meditate. No, here we have to be creative. Stubborn. Like a mealie stalk blindly breaking through the concrete pavement. To live here one needs to cultivate a certain madness. We are all sick with this madness that tells us that we can recreate our power-cut country, that we can paint over the blood stains. We dream of painting the town red in an insurrection of graffiti vandalism.

Tese tinopenga. All mad. Mad with beliefs of overcoming. As we spend entire days waiting for petrol in petrol queues, hustling for money on the parallel market, lining up in generator-powered super markets. Yes, you do need to be mad to live in this country. Otherwise you're dead or diaspora.