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A tool for change

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It is pretty interesting to try and go into the finer details of anything and to discuss the core issues that form its main components in terms of description. This exercise becomes even harder with an individual whose mind is not on par with the teacher. It is a fact that all that needs definition oftentimes needs to be presented in terms that are familiar to the audience.

A fine line to tread however, presenting the full definition of any entity demands in the first that the teacher be cognizant with the knowledge systems of the given audience. Failure to adopt this type of attitude on the part of the teacher is at least suitably complemented by respectable acknowledgement that the sanctity of what is sacred to the audience shall be preserved for the sake of their sacredness to the given audience.

Failure to know or at least to acknowledge the wisdom of other individuals leads to misunderstanding, for then, a  man consumed by his own opinion cannot see the error of his ways and shall soon fall into a pit because he then begins to put himself in the shape and countenance of a demi-god. This is the countenance and attitude of the plutocrat gone and forgotten the sad hard paths he has walked as explored in the works of literary writers like Ralph Ellison’s The Invisible Man.

The plutocrat is the type of figure that keeps honourable men in bondage, one that would willingly send an aristocrat into serfdom just to keep the few caesarean pieces of metal in the fold of his torn pocket; and the world and its unfolding circumstances at this point have given room to the power of the plutocrat: those who have can actually hold the world at ransom because they have the means to counter the effects of what is unfolding at the given point. This is literature in its infancy, an exploration of the events unfolding in the moment and a look into the relationship between Marley and Hitler, Marley and Cesaire, Dennis Brutus and William Edward Burghardt Du Bois and whoever may be the trending figure at the given point in time.

One first has to understand the oneness of the variety despite its seeming scatteredness. One has to understand the everyday through the different ages of man and to understand the interconnectedness of what goes on in the everyday with what goes into the annals of time and books of history as has been seen and read or heard through the book that recount the story of time through the ages.

Considered an honourable profession only by those that have gone through its process, dwindling in terms of curricular support, and phased out in certain schools, the study of literature is not done enough or hasn’t been done enough in the last few years that it has reached a point of insignificance. It is as if that however vital literature is to the study and understanding of life’s unfolding scenes, it is has reached a point where it is deemed incongruous with the process of progress.

The field’s significance in the progress games of the world may seem to those that are working hard to phase it out seem irrelevant, but the fact is that this outlook is erroneous: literature will never be irrelevant, thus the reason why it forms part of every field of study.

The critics of literature should understand that the understanding of true literature is as scattered as the knowledge systems of this world. The basis of any idea or plan and strategy finds its roots in aesthetic sense and appeal, that is, it can never be understood enough to be put into action if the imaginary side to it cannot be presented in written form as literature.

Jules Verne presented submarines and space travel well before Neil Armstrong landed on the moon in 1969. The literature of any society is the guiding ethos with which what is wished can be given face to enable science and other fields to bring it into reality. Well before George Lukas fashioned Star Wars, it took Erich Von Daniken and other space age writers to trigger the thought of a space age franchise in the minds of future scientists and screenplay writers.

He that approaches literature should do so with caution, it is a field that demands utter selflessness, extended patience, and a humble type of attitude when dealing with its understanding. Meja Mwangi did not just pen Going Down River Road out of the blue. A psychedelic type of fantasy ride in the lives of two construction site ‘boys’, Ben and Ocholla, the tale’s meanings however go deeper than just the entertaining but imaginary sight of two drunks wobbling (and staggering) to their sleeping quarters after a busy night at the Karara shebeens with their jostling masses of people trying to get rid of the day’s problems at the speakeasies.

This was the tale of everyone in those days and could be read after a long day to while away time. The old tale is still relevant and similar to the now common scenes of the nightlife many of the construction workers that come to the concrete jungles of Africa and the rest of the world. Such scenes have however now got an ‘update’ in the prevailing faster world of worldwide web, their social media websites, and multimedia files shared on different platforms at stratospheric real-time speeds.

This means that the unfolding scenes of literature of the people at the current moment in time do actually go far more than the analysis of past literary experiences penned in novels. One may actually be tempted to think that they do not count in the midst of the COVID-19 war ongoing at this given moment in time.

They do however count for the different experiences of the people in the midst of a pandemic need to be recorded in one form or another for the sake of future generations. We have the need to understand that our situation is not particular or peculiar to only us in the history of time: what is has been before, and will come to be again in the future.

I came across a beautiful volume of literature on one of those journeys I have to take from time to time. Interestingly thrown into a storm ditch, The Heritage of Literature Series volume of short stories by then modern writers was suitably covered in a ‘War Emergency Binding’. Upon reading and turning the pages across the different authors that were part of the volume from Richard Garnett to O. Henry, Ernest Bramah to G. K.

Chesterton, the volume proved a worthy companion to the last short story by H. E. Bates. A collection of short stories published in the middle of World War Two in 1942, the collection proved to me the timelessness of some of the then explored themes by different writers in the field of literature in that period.

Another factor that proved quite interesting was the relevance of tales written almost a century and a score years ago to the now very fast life of the modern day. From The Rewards of Industry to Roads to Destiny, the reading of the volume revealed one fact about literature that the sceptics of time often misplace on its true essence; literature reveals the ever-changing facets of life in all their diverse forms and this fact alone is uncomfortable to those whose professions thrive on having something to hide or for those that are in the comfort of such issues as complacency.

Simple in description and mundane in terms of expression because of its understanding that it should be easily and mentally consumed by the ordinary man in the street, good literature is written for the sake of its being relevant to different individuals on the different rungs of the social hierarchy. Good literature can never be possessed because it demands to be shared due to the beautiful portraits it paints of the changing scenes in life that are often familiar to the reader or at least good enough to trigger the imagination of the reader to the point where they can fashion a personal image of what is being spoken about in the written words of the literature.

The distant shore never before seen by the boy living in the rural villages far from the sea can be painted so clearly in the imagination that the waves breaking on the rocks vividly described by the writer that includes such scenes in his story cannot only be seen, but the salt in the breeze on the coast can be smelt and tasted. This is one of the effects of well-written literature, the reading of a work not only becomes a sight experience but also encompasses the other four senses of the body. Reading in that sense not only becomes an encounter but an experience to be remembered for a lifetime.

What the writer feels inside or outside his or her skin is a sensation felt only by the individual feeling it, what the writer  sees is thus seen as viewed from his or her perspective and not the next individual’s, what he or she tastes can only be described as tasted by the individual tongue, what he or she hears goes only into their auditory senses and however loud, cannot be deemed to have been heard by all in spite of their proximity to the source of the sound heard, and the smell of the wild rose reaches only the individual’s nasal nodes and affects each person that comes across the thorny plant on a level individual.

Processed and interpreted in the individual brain; what is seen, tasted, smelled, touched, and heard carries only a certain level of meaning applicable only to the individual. It is only after it is passed on to the next individual in the form of words spoken, scribbled, or signalled as literature that it begins to make sense to those that themselves have a certain level of understanding of that which I am trying to describe.

Without the understanding of that which is being described, the process of interpretation out of which meanings are drawn is rendered temporarily impossible, as the transmitter is forced to find similar entities in the immediate environs to try and describe that which they are trying to pass on in their words.

African and other literature finds its root in the word and stems from somewhere. It is inspired somehow by something, some occurrence at first not clearly understood, but with the passage of time unravels and its meanings in their full magnitude are defined by the words written about it. Common knowledge as expressed in literature is penned somewhere in the

subconscious of the utterer that in simple terms ‘speaks’ it (for the term is in its basic definition related to the act of communication, passing the message on and receiving it via various senses).

The word then is what becomes the nexus of the act of communication, a bridge that connects the dots in the act associated with connecting the human and animal and plant races of the world; the word is on its own the core of the process of communication, the definitive element that gives the act of communication its character and meaning: for without the word communication is non-existent. In many shapes, scents, colours, sensations, flavours, and other stimulants words have their form; and they are thus used to serve the one primal purpose of connection in the world: communication through literature written for and relevant to the unfolding moments in a given era.

I have always held the view that literature as a tool of communication should always be in touch with the real-life situations of the audience. This means that it should adopt a real-time approach most of the time or at least find common points in history that are familiar to the audience. The literature teacher should always find some common points at all times to aid the student in terms of gaining enough understanding to have the requisite knowledge to  then interpret a work of literature.

Out of touch with the real-life experiences at the present moment, literature then loses one of its basic purposes that aimed at communicating life experiences and share them with the audience. Communication exists only if the entities associated with the words are familiar or have familiar relatives from which meanings can be drawn.

Without the simple element of familiarity present in an episode of communication, the whole episode is non-effectual in terms of the basic purpose of the episode of conversation between the two or more parties involved; because then, the two parties involved might as well be talking to rocks or staring at the sun, and the only meanings they can draw out of the whole episode are drawn out of what is little understood or instinctively understood.

Literature thus has to be in touch at all times for it to be an effective tool inspiring change or instilling a sense of resolution and resilience to a people going through a certain uncomfortable experience. We have to tell the tales of the now through the only medium available: literature.

Tšepiso S. Mothibi

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Insight

Shining Like Stars: Part One

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Last week, in a piece titled “Hope Springs Eternal”, I wrote about the relative values of (leftist) political commitment and Christian faith in a world that is beset with violence, poverty and oppression. Now I’m offering a review of a book by Lindsay Brown titled Shining Like Stars: The power of the gospel in the world’s universities, which explores the work of evangelical students in propagating the Christian faith in some of the world’s most dangerous countries, such as Columbia, China, Russia, Sudan and the DRC. Countries where despair seems to be a pretty rational response to the lives that huge numbers of people are forced to lead. I shall concentrate on cases where that effort to spread the Christian faith is allied to a commitment to agitate for better political and social conditions.

As an aside, I begin by quoting Will Shoki, editor of the invaluable online opinion journal Africa is a Country. I know I’ve mentioned him at least once in previous weeks, but that is because they are so good. In a piece Shoki wrote for the edition of March 4th this year, he records the Marxist philosopher Slavoj Zizek’s reference to “the courage of hopelessness”, whereby “it is only when we despair and don’t know anymore what to do that change can be enacted.” Shoki adds: “I have never been quite sure what this means — in fact, I have never been quite sure what Zizek means about anything.” Which is to say, Zizek is a pretty difficult read, but his work is a nut it’s well worth cracking.

Be that as it may. Let us turn again to the question how, in a harsh world largely run by greedy, selfish, murderous brutes, a dedication to the message of the gospels and a commitment to political and social transformation can be a joint life-saver.

Lindsay Brown, the author of the book I’m reviewing, was for many years General Secretary of the International Fellowship of Evangelical Students (IFES). Towards the end of his book there is an Appendix in which he lists around 150 student organisations worldwide that are affiliated to IFES. Many countries where IFES-allied groups have a strong presence are only nominally Christian, many others (for example, China and the Gulf States) are hostile to the gospel. In Lesotho — where neither of these impediments holds — the relevant body is called the Scripture Union of Lesotho, Tertiary Ministry (SULTM); as Brown’s book doesn’t touch on Lesotho, I’d be very interested to hear from my readers about the activities of SULTM.

The first chapter of Shining Like Stars is titled “Never Underestimate What Students Can Do.” This begins by recounting the story of Daniel and his three fellow captives in Babylon under the tyrant Nebuchadnezzar, the story that ends with three of the young Jews being saved by their faith when they are cast into the burning fiery furnace. Then there are reminders of the long history of evangelism in western Europe, followed by the observation: “world mission is less and less about westerners going elsewhere to serve Christ, but about believers from everywhere going everywhere . . . for example, during the twenty years of civil war in Chad its displaced students, sent by the government to study in other countries, founded IFES movements in Niger, Mali, Côte d’Ivoire, Senegal and Burkina Faso.”

One of the first of many testimonies the book contains is, however, from a female British student of Russian, identified simply as Elizabeth, who travelled as an evangelist to one of the -stan countries, former Soviet republics of Central Asia (which of the former -stans this was isn’t specified). It was a perilous but highly successful mission. Elizabeth records: “My birthday was fun. I had five cakes and three parties. They really know how to make cakes here!” Not much peril involved in that, you might say. But then Lindsay Brown notes that many sensitive words in Elizabeth’s testimony have the letter “x” inserted in them and explains that this was to escape electronic surveillance.

And so it seems being an IFES evangelist can be a bit like being James Bond, except more graceful. The second chapter in Brown’s book is titled “Our Sovereign God and Human Courage” and that’s where I’ll pick up the story next week, as well as detailing the activities IFES evangelists organize to attract students to the gospel. And then — after all, the chief focus of this piece — how they strategise evangelical work in relation to the advocacy of political and social transformation.

To be concluded

Chris Dunton

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Insight

Hope springs eternal

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Given the abysmal state of the world today, what is it that keeps one going? I mean, just look at the mess we’re in. The cowardice of world leaders faced with the challenge of climate change —world leaders most of whom are, of course, in thrall to capitalism (for when it comes to our mismanagement, that’s what really rules the roost). The appalling violence in Ukraine and the Middle East. The apparently endless misgovernance of countries as diverse as Lesotho and Nigeria. How does one not give into despair?

Me, I have an interim resource and a vastly more profound one. The former is my commitment to left-wing socialism, a conviction that life on earth can be vastly improved by following the principles of Marxist-Leninism (not — an important qualification — the corrupt form of those principles that moulded dictatorships such as the Soviet Union). The second resource is faith in the message of the Gospels, the embracing of our Lord Jesus Christ. For with this, the ills of the world pale into insignificance. Which is not — I absolutely insist — to refuse the responsibility of political commitment to ease the suffering of millions on earth, a duty we have while we’re still stuck on the bloody place.

Of those two resources, one allows a limited, constrained kind of hope, the other a hope that is boundless.

To expand on the notion of hope, recently in these pages Bishop David Ramela quoted the great Czech author and political leader Vaclav Havel, who became President of his country after resisting Soviet oppression in acts of dissidence for which he was imprisoned. Havel, as quoted by Bishop Ramela, wrote: “I am not an optimist, because I am not sure that everything ends well. Nor am I a pessimist, because I am not sure that everything ends badly. I just carry hope in my heart . . . I am thankful to God for this gift. It is as big as life itself.”

Hope as distinct from optimism? Well, a couple of references here. First, the great Italian Marxist Antonio Gramsci (like Havel, imprisoned for his beliefs, in his case by Mussolini’s Fascists) wrote of the need to maintain “pessimism of the intellect, optimism of the will.” In other words, any reasonably intelligent person knows that things are going to screw up, but must act as if this were not the case. And another Marxist, the British critical theorist Terry Eagleton (the mentor of your columnist, incidentally, when he was an undergraduate — and ever since) has written a fine book, Hope Without Optimism. I shan’t go into that here, but shall review it in this column in a few weeks’ time.

Turning to the relationship between political commitment and the Christian faith, the evangelist preacher Robert Sheehan once commented: “Many Christians put more weight on political programmes and economic packages than on the power of the gospel in the nation. Do you?” The answer, I would hope, is “no”, but “quite a lot of weight all the same.” And I’m going to sign off this week with a lengthy quotation from the New Testament—namely, Ephesians 2: 14-22—which has to do with the relationship, in the time of Paul’s evangelism, between Jews and Gentiles. It is a passage — to refer to my piece some weeks ago on the Gaza crisis — that one would like to read to the Hamas leaders in Palestine and to Israeli leader Binyamin Netanyahu before banging their heads together.

“For He Himself is our peace, who has made both one, and has broken down the middle wall of separation, having abolished in his flesh the enmity, that is, the law of commandments contained in ordnances, so as to create in Himself one new man from the two, thus making peace. And that he might reconcile them both to God in one body, through the cross, thereby putting to death the enmity. And He came and preached peace to you who were afar off and to those who were near. For through Him we both have access by one Spirit to the Father. Now, therefore, you are no longer strangers and foreigners, but fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, having been built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ Himself being the chief cornerstone, in whom the whole building, being fitted together, grows into a holy temple in the Lord, in whom you are also being built together for a dwelling place in God in the Spirit.”

Joining, harmony, hope.

Chris Dunton

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Insight

Reading and emotion

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What does a good piece of writing do? How does a piece of writing evoke emotions in you? Well, reading is a good art that can stimulate and sharpen our sensibilities. In this instalment we focus on the emotional journey triggered and enabled by good literature. While other books may educate us and sharpen our cognitive abilities, that is the abilities to think and solve problems, reading literature of fiction does more; it stirs our emotions and sharpens our affective capacities.

By affective capabilities, we refer to the abilities to feel and tune in to our emotions and sensibilities. Life, after all, is not only about heart facts and reason. Life is about feeling and experiencing and the ability to put ourselves into other people’s shoes. Reading literature is so liberating and humanistic! Reading art in all its many genres grounds us in the varieties of human experiences and engenders in us tolerance, understanding and empathy.


Stories have a way of taking us on journeys real and imagined which stories transform us from the inside. These stories allow us to visit far-flung places and meet new people and feel their environment. Art has a way of mending bridges because through stories we come to understand people who may seem different from us. And at times we may have felt hatred and dislike for them and their way of doing things. But through reading about them, we hear their stories. We experience that which they are experiencing. We begin to see them from the inside out, and we get to know what lies underneath their skin, so to speak. That’s why they say that we can only begin to make sense of the world once we have reduced the whole world to stories. Let’s write a small story together and ascertain how it would move us. Let’s go.


“He trudged on thinking how he would approach Mwandionesa. Her warm and coy smile flashed before his eye.


Slowly mustering up a morsel of self-belief, Themba trudged along the battered, winding road in the heart of a thicket of musasa trees in the Musirizwi enclaves in Chipinge, south-eastern Zimbabwe. Like a heavy burden, a gnawing sense of failure nibbled at his conscience and a sense of uselessness clung on the air with unrelenting defiance. The stain of failure, the feeling that his people and he were inconsequential had taken lodging in his entire being. That is why he found a sense of solace only from isolating himself in his flimsy cocoon of loneliness like the proverbial ostrich which buried its head in the sand. He would have an occasional home-brewed beer called chikeke and thereafter lock himself within the labyrinth and sordid visceral being.


A gaunt bird flew overhead and he heard its flapping feathers amidst the thickening doom and darkness. “Bird”, he retorted to its presence, “what would you do if you were ever crushed by the label of failure.” A soft, warm tear tricked down the rugged terrain of his face. “Makauyo went to Egoli and returned without a name to himself, Khuyumani, too, lies buried in the bowels of the soil with nothing to show” he said as if he were speaking to the bird.


As he touched the cold handle of the door to his heart clutching a small, whimpering puppy in a cardboard box, he could hear the breathing of Mwandionesa and her stabbing, moist eyes asking him without a word where he has been for the last three days. He stood for a moment which seemed like an eternity. With false bravado, he mustered a not-so-convincing, frail knock. Mwandionesa, heavy with child, slowly made for the door and slid it open. Themba did not know what to do. He loved her but he did not know how to express it, like a person bereft of a language. Mwandionesa rummaged her pots on the dying embers of a hearth and gave him respectfully a plate with sadza and a small portion of chicken. A tear escaped-one, two, and another! She broke down, a downpour of tears streaming down her lips. “Themba, ngendaa yei weidaro mwamuna wangu? Indaa yei ndiripe Dube? Indaa yei weiita mukuba wekunzerereka kungaitei imbudzi irikumakaba isina unousha?” (Themba, why do you treat me in a manner? Why do you behave as if you are a stray goat without a shepherd? If I have wronged you I am prepared to appease you”).


“Look at me, Themba,” she demanded as a visibly pregnant and swollen stomach bulged through her threadbare blouse. The puppy whimpered plaintively. With hesitation Themba went to where Mwandionesa stood. With his furrowed labour-weary hands he touched her waist and led her to their mat of reeds made of “umhlanga” as she was fond of referring to reeds. She did not protest. A glow, a faint glow burnt in her eyes as she eased comfortably on his lanky chest. She fumbled for his hand and shepherded it to the lower regions of her belly and said, “He was kicking all these days you were away.” Themba was engulfed in a flurry of emotions; guilt as well as pride. With deliberateness, Mwandionesa said, “this boy will be called Thando. Yes Thando. He will build this homestead and more should you feel that you don’t have a home.” Themba nodded in agreement.
Themba began to feel the warmth of her presence as her succulent breasts pressed against his lanky chest and slowly closed his eyes…”

What a gripping tapestry which evokes a lot of emotions! It’s a story that stirs a lot of emotions; from empathy, sadness and an inner glow in the heart at the end. As the story begins, we feel Temba’s struggles, fear and hopelessness. He seems to be carrying a huge emotional burden and a crushing sense of defeat. I hope you have also seen Temba’s bid to reassert his sense of being and purpose through his desire of caring for a puppy – we could actually feel it whimpering. And the new hope ignited at the end of the story and affirmations of hope and new beginnings! The birth of a child always brings with it new beginnings – hope springs eternal!
So here we are! Stories are so humanising. Learning to read art in all its genres evokes emotions in us. It sharpens our affective side and warms our hearts.

Vuso Mhlanga teaches at the University of Zimbabwe. For almost a decade and half he taught English language and Literature in English at high school. Send your comments and questions to: mhlangavuso85@gmail.com

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