Comrade Fatso’s blog

Cross border traders

nobody@vox.com(Comrade Fatso) — Thu, 29 Nov 2007 18:53:22 +0200

Shelves empty on account of price reductions. Please come in. Is what it should say on our supermarket doors. Sorry, I meant to say markets. Because they lost the 'super' a long time ago.

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Empty shelves, 'millions' marching. It must be the festive season. But the only millions that march in Zimbabwe are the many zeroes that militarily parade from your pocket to the till on a daily basis. And the only thing that this season will be doing is festering.

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Sometimes the word is the best weapon against silence and suffering. We have been word hustlers, makorokoza emashoko. Taking the word to the many corners of Southern Africa. Just over a month ago I was spitting poetic fire at the Poetry Africa Festival, Durban. From there we carried the word in a car as we stubbornly drove it one thousand kilometres from Harare to Gaberone. We presented our word to our our Batswana word warriors at the Infinite Word Festival where I spat words of murambatsvina-resilience-worm sellers-structural adjustment. And Josh, Zimbabwe's beautiful bass player, coated the word in a web of bass strings. Our spoken word-bass duet incited the crowd of 500. The word had been spat and understood. It was an unashamed kwerekwere word, barefoot and illegal. But it was truth.

We then rushed the word through borders and roadblocks so that it could be re-born in Harare's Book Cafe at the launch of MAGAMBA! our new network of spoken word activists and creative rebels. A movement of Zimbabwean artists that organises the most cutting-edge spoken word performances. Where the word is rebellious and free. MAGAMBA! 'Our Word Is Our Weapon'

The word rested. There was a power cut. And an attempt at a rain storm. It didn't work though as most of the prospective rain drops were in a ZINWA queue to pay their water bills after their water was disconnected.

The word woke up. To a breakfast of bread memories and long life milk that had lived long before and only left a good-looking box. Now we carry the word to South Africa where MAGAMBA! is organising MAKE SOME NOISE! A festival for freedom in Zimbabwe. Then the word boards a train for Cape Town and will let loose on Long Street. In a bar. Where it's noisy. And all you can hear is the word.

See www.comradefatso.com for gig details

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Ndazo

nobody@vox.com(Comrade Fatso) — Thu, 01 Nov 2007 16:57:00 +0200

South Africa was fire. From the insane buzz of the Arts Alive Festival to the entrancing chants of Tswana word warrior, Kgafela wa Magogodi. From the melting pot of Durban to the power of the word in squalid townships. From putting finishing touches to a master piece album to being in the presence of poetry icon, Dennis Brutus. From spitting word fire about the ruling elites of Zim and Ndazo to connecting with poets speaking truths from all corners of the world. South Africa was fire.

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Land of Gold and Gangsters

nobody@vox.com(Comrade Fatso) — Fri, 21 Sep 2007 00:32:55 +0200

Life moves fast. Decay is part of this. Upon returning to Zimbabwe from the UK I was welcomed back to ‘the land of hardware stores’. Because all that supermarkets seem to be selling are empty shelves. New forms of queues have been created by our revolutionary government. Yes, our rulers don’t lack innovation. Bread queues are so last year. We now have beer queues and soft drink queues. This, comrades, is progress. ZANU (PF) style.

I’m now in South Africa, doing the final mix of my album that I recorded with my band Chabvondoka. A revolutionary album that combines my spoken word with a fusion of Chimurenga, Hip Hop, Jazz and Afrobeat. It is an album layered with voices, stories and insurrectionary music. In creating it we hope to be doing what Mapfumo did in the 70’s: fusing Western and indigenous to create a new music that inspires, a music that incites a generation.

My past few days here have been full. I’m performing at the Speak the Mind Sessions at the Arts Alive Festival in Jo’burg on the 28^th and 29^th of September then the following day I’m performing at the Awesome Africa Festival in Durban. I’m staying in Durban for the rest of that week, performing at the Poetry Africa Festival until the 7^th October. So I’ve been trying to balance the mixing with the many requests from South African corporate media for interviews and performances. Tuesday night was an interview and performance on the SABC Sentec Channel.

Yesterday was mad. Driving around insanely with my man Teba for the 8.15am interview/performance on the popular youth station YFM where I showered listeners with the incite-ful poem, ‘The Streets‘. After this we made a mad rush to get to SAFM for 9.15 for another interview/performance. (For those of you in SA this interview will be live on SAFM tomorrow Fri 21^st after 9pm) From there we ran up the stairs to SABC Africa for the Afro Show Biz show which is broadcast throughout the whole of Africa on DSTV. Me and the presenter, Masechaba, chatted about the struggle in Zimbabwe and how we use arts and culture to try and liberate our people. (For those with DSTV this show will be live throughout Africa on SABC Africa at 8.30 pm this Saturday 22^nd) Then me ‘n’ Teba grabbed a pie and some fresh-carbon-filled air and made our way to the final interview on Mnet Africa Magic’s Africa Awakes show. (See this show on DSTV on Mnet Africa Magic on Monday at 7am) It was a good day of using the corporate media to spit revolutionary poetry and spread the knowledge about the people’s struggle back home.

I’m now sitting in Ikwezi Studio’s with my old shamwari, Vusa, mixing the third track. Soon bed will be calling because it’s another 6am start for morning TV interviews. No rest for the restless.

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Unit K

nobody@vox.com(Comrade Fatso) — Mon, 03 Sep 2007 18:03:05 +0200

They call it Unit K for a reason. This muddy, imperial island that has absorbed, sucked in so many strong Zimbabweans. So Zimbas in turn name it after a popular, dusty neighbourhood in Harare's largest ghetto or second biggest town depending on how you view it. Here in the UK, sorry, Unit K it's similar. It is at once an English country and a Zimbabwean ghetto. A country adorned with a Union Jack and an invisible, scattered army of millions of Zimbabweans fleeing from home. Fleeing from failed Structural Adjustment Programmes and One Party State Projects. Fleeing to this. Unit K. Knife-edge. Kachasu-headed. Kleptomania. Konsumerism. Kapitalism. Kold. Unit K.

I played at the 5000-person ZimFest on Saturday. The biggest Zimbabwean festival in the UK, awash with nostalgia and sadza, Rhodies and proud Zimbabweans, Zimbabwe's scattered future. So I performed a revolutionary set of poetry accompanied by the skilled Mashasha on bass. The crowd was crying out in unison to the song 'Mahara' and then began to jive to the naughty-jiti track 'City City'. We ended the set with the powerful 'Bread and Roses' featuring Chiwoniso. A poem that sings of the valiant struggles of women in Zimbabwe, the struggles of the WOZA movement (Women of Zimbabwe Arise) and the hope there is for justice in our beloved country. There in front of me swaying and bobbing to the music was Zimbabwe's lost generation, the diaspora generation. It felt like Harare's youth had relocated to London and left a ghost town of memories behind. It felt like hope was human beings and they had been exiled. As if the vibrance, the creativity, the rebelliousness of youth had been denied accreditation, banned from our country and now our former coloniser is reaping the benefits.

A group of burly, butch Rhodies approached me afterwards, I thought to hit me. No, to hug me. "Bread and Roses is amazing, man. Keep it going hey!" I guess there's hope yet.

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Fire in Da UK!

nobody@vox.com(Comrade Fatso) — Thu, 30 Aug 2007 13:07:37 +0200

Ndeipi!

My words haven’t touched this blog for a while. I’ve been travelling and trouble-making, partying and protesting. I’m in the UK at the moment where I’ve been networking with movements here about the struggle back in Zim while at the same time I’ve been ripping the mic as usual. I’ve had some fire performances in London at the Get Up Stand Up Festival, in Brighton at the Hammer and Tongues Night and for all of those of you in London this weekend you have to make it to Zim Fest. At this 4000-person event I’m gonna be doing poetry workshops and some fire performances while at the same time there’ll be performances by Chiwoniso, Thabani and many other Zim artists. So don’t miss ZimFest @ Raynes Park this Saturday the 1st of September. See www.wezimbabwe.org for more info. And I’ll see you when words become fire!

For those of you who didn't see it my raucous words have also been ripping it on the British corporate media. A few weeks back there was a feature by the popular programme, BBC Newsnight, on the Book Cafe, Harare's alternative cultural space. There's a good focus on the House of Hunger Poetry Slam, the rebellious poetry slam we started 2 years ago. And yours truly features in interviews with comments and revoultionary poetry. Also featuring the powerful Chiwoniso, Godobori and others.. To watch it online see the following link (you can watch from beginning or fast forward to after 7 min 18 seconds into the feature to cut to the nitty gritty): http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/programmes/newsnight/6935608.stm

This is my latest blog... for more info see my site @ www.comradefatso.com... and to watch and listen to my poetry click on the poetry section... to check the blogs click on the blog section. I encourage all of you to check out the site cause it's looking like fire now!

Fire and Love,

Farai

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Welcome to the Mad House

nobody@vox.com(Comrade Fatso) — Wed, 23 May 2007 22:11:31 +0200

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.

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Parallel Lives

nobody@vox.com(Comrade Fatso) — Fri, 18 May 2007 18:04:07 +0200

Zimbabwe. Our land of contradictions. Ironies grow from the city concrete like mealies. Because these are parallel times of parallel economies and parallel lives. An economy turned-around so many times that it's dizzy, upside down, standing on it's head. It makes you laugh and cry in the same gasp.

This is a land where those selling cell phone air time are treated like criminals, where women selling veggies are dealt with as if the cops have finally found serial rapists. But all they've found is rape, a vegetable commonly sold by women determined to make sure their families survive. It makes you laugh how surreal it is sometimes: having vainly attempted to buy mbanje, weed in Zimbabwe, from the usual Rastas we succeeded in buying it from the local security guard. And when you pull up just down the road to fill up your car with petrol the garage is empty. 'No petrol' is the eternal graffiti. So instead you fill up your car from the makorokoza, the hustlers who swarm around the empty garage with their battered containers vomiting out petrol. Everyone is living upside down, turned around, on their heads. It makes you laugh and cry in the same gasp.

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Power cut

nobody@vox.com(Comrade Fatso) — Tue, 15 May 2007 23:45:07 +0200

We live in darkness. The lights are out. The land of perpetual romance and eternal candle-lit dinners. We flounder in the dark for the light switch. But there's no power. Just this. Darkness.

We return after long days of korokoza-ring to dark corridors where we walk with solitary candles, trying to bring light to our invisible homes. Stubbornly believing that we can bring light to this black hole. But the power went a long time ago. And electricity is a small part of the problem.

In the mornings we go to the well. No water today either in this dry city where all we can produce is potholes and power cuts. And politicians who drink us dry. (Nhasi woisa tsvina mutsime.) So we pull up the bucket from the well and place it on the fire. No power still. But power lies in our pockets: why pay ZESA bills if they cut our power? Why pay the corrupt city council if their twisted understanding of 'refuse collection' is to refuse collection. We haven't paid our council rates for over a year because all they deliver are bills. I look forward to being taken to court and delivering a power point presentation on why we refuse to pay our rates. Power lies in a rates boycott. So stop floundering in the dark with that lone candle. Maybe then the light switch will work...

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My Word Is My Weapon

nobody@vox.com(Comrade Fatso) — Thu, 10 May 2007 17:22:16 +0200

Ndeipi!

Welcome to the Comrade Fatso blog and the website in general. This will be a space where you get to see into the words and weird ways in our mad country of Zimbabwe. I'm a poet and an activist so for me the power lies in the word, written or spoken, rapped or spat. In times of oppression the word is the most powerful thing. So I try to use my word as a weapon, a non-violent weapon in a struggle for freedom.

There is power in performance. I have performed my protest poetry in many countries around the world but last week was one of my best performances. We tore apart the Harare International Festival Arts (HIFA) with a series of spoken word sets that climaxed in an inferno of spoken word-hip hop-chimurenga-jazz fusion as we ripped the stage with my band, Chabvondoka. Harare exploded into a riotous mood. Dust everywhere. Hope in the air. The word is power.

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My Word Is My Weapon

nobody@vox.com(Comrade Fatso) — Thu, 10 May 2007 17:16:48 +0200

Ndeipi!

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