Maravi

(HERALD) Of the rainy season, peri-urban wars

Of the rainy season, peri-urban wars
Saturday, 26 November 2011 00:00

A HALF brick narrowly missed me when I stooped to tie a shoelace, while fragments of something close to a rock hit me. Before I could raise my head to investigate, young boys armed with sticks, stones and a lame dog were advancing. They were hurling expletives with the thud of their feet getting more pronounced as the distance between them and myself grew shorter and shorter.

My crime: I had been adjudged to have stayed too long on a patch of land used by someone for peri-urban agriculture. Though less than five hoe-blades wide and about six metres long, the boys were determined to drive me away. They were ready to fight.

Probably the rewards they stood to get from the owner of the land made them even more virulent.

"Let's get him. We must discipline him. Imbavha yembambaira," I could hear them saying.

Such are the fights, people, especially those who use footpaths, have to contend with almost on a daily basis.

The moment you walk near someone's field, you are adjudged guilty until proven innocent. Unokimatwa.

It is now almost unusual to walk through vleis used for peri-urban agriculture and come out unscathed.

If you are not stoned, dogs will be set on you or you'll just be threatened.

It can be worse if you are holding a hoe or carrying a bag of seed.
There are bloody fights in the vleis bordering most high-density suburbs.

People are fighting endless battles as I commit pen to paper gentle reader. There seems to be an unwritten law that people using footpaths near where other families farm should be assaulted both physically and verbally. In worst cases, some women are being raped for being at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Thieves are also on the prowl in those open spaces bordering most residential areas which also happen to be shortcuts.

Yours truly is told committees have been set up to ensure no stranger comes near someone's field or reaps where he did not sow. Kudimbura nemumunda wemunhu kwakaoma kukunda kuchiva mudzimai wake!

Instead of using scarecrows, the job has become physical with unemployed youths who lift uninspected weights finding punchbags in strangers.

The harsh economic climate has made the situation even worse. Everyone wants to keep the little they have, and is prepared to take whatever action to protect that small patch of land. Kuri kutsva mbiti kumatondo.

Scattered rains being received throughout the city have not made the situation any better. Most peri-urban farmers, as I commit pen to paper, have engaged armies of unemployed youths to keep intruders at bay.

But why fight over these small pieces of land where uncollected garbage is normally thrown? Killing for land without title. Mahwani gumbo rehowa.

The reasons vary from sentimental value to sheer protectionism spawned by need.

"Mavakutadza kutaura manje mukuwasha. These pieces of land mean a lot to us. My late mother used to grow vegetables for our upkeep from this piece of land. Tinosvitsana kure munhu akada kutamba," a woman who was born and bred in the ghetto told this writer.

And she is right.

Most people who stay in high-density suburbs supplement their meagre incomes through producing their own food to scrap the need to buy.

Chief executives of most companies in the country who happened to have had a not-so-rosy life before climbing the success ladder can fully attest to the fact that the family plot was guarded jealously.

In their spare time, boys would go and play near the plot to ensure no one disturbed their crops and even to watch out for thieves.

Older ones who had girlfriends would be seen strolling with their lovers in the greens. And that situation obtains right to this day.

This is why during the rainy season strangers are stoned if they are seen anywhere near the plot which they might takeover at the expense of the family that has been cultivating crops there.

N'angas are even consulted to ensure misfortune befalls anyone who tries to grow something on someone's plot. Prophets are consulted during this time of the year by some old women in the ghetto desperate to ensure their sweet potatoes are not stolen.

"You need to fortify the field. Vanhu vanoba mbeu yembambaira vanofanira kuzvimba maoko. We do not want people who behave funny where my family ekes out a living,"

I heard a certain woman saying as her feet crushed vegetation along a footpath leading to an apostolic sect's shrine.

So possessive are people of their patches of land that you risk being fined for relieving yourself in their plot.

"We cant eat pumpkin leaves that have been urinated on by drunkards. If we see someone relieving themselves in our field we assault them and even demand that they pay us something.

"Drunkards are notorious for doing this especially when your plot is near the road. Lovers also convert our fields into bedrooms and we are now tired of throwing away used condoms," an old lady told this writer.

Property developers top on the list of people hated by plot holders in the suburbs.

The moment they start padding an area for housing development, most of the times they are chased away. At times they have their equipment vandalised or even get assaulted.

Glen View 7 stands on a swathe of land that was used for urban agriculture by residents of Glen Norah. The projected was resisted strongly by people desperate to keep their source of extra revenue.

And the spirit remains up to this day.

Ghetto fellows have an emotional attachment to their fields and are capable of doing anything to maintain the status quo. But let our possessiveness not lead to crime.

Members of apostolic sects who use empty spaces for their prayer sessions have a lot to tell about the goings on in the vleis.

Labels: PROPAGANDA

posted by MrK @ 10:05 PM