Zukiswa Wanner

Following my blogpost of a while ago – It’s Still the Marketing Stupid – , a bunch of South African writers (more than 40 in number) agreed that the time had come that we actively do something about the state of reading  in South Africa of South African works by South Africa. And the ReadSA campaign was born. The energy and enthusiasm from the writers has been stupendous. The support from BookSA and one or two international organisations have been humbling.  Promises of support from the corporate world, seems, well, promising. While the silence from government bureaucrats has been expected – this is one campaign that I, and I know many a South African writer, refuse to let them be lazy on. Let me explain.

The objective of the campaign is to get the nation aware of South African writing while hopefully getting more people to read (we figure part of getting South Africans to read is to get them to know that works are available that they can identify with). With only 18 percent of South African matriculants making it to university, and not all of those graduating, it is quite obvious that there is a need to improve the reading culture in the country. It is my contention that a student who does not read while in high school (or primary at that) will find it difficult to read and do research when at a tertiary institution (IF they make it to tertiary) and I write this from experience. I was a tertiary lecturer last year teaching English Writing. My first exercise with my students was for them to write that oh-so-loved essay by Grade 3 teachers entitled ‘Myself’. I did this so that I could assess the quality of my students’ writing and of course the truth is, no matter how old one is, this essay topic can always be made interesting. The results were appalling. From 30 students, I found only ten percent of the essays worth reading. That’s right. THREE. The students had no idea on how to conjugate a verb – I am not sure whether some of them even knew what a verb was to be honest –and they could not string two sentences together.  All in all a horrible state of affairs for children who are supposed to have passed high school. I also found that few of them had read and only one person in class knew who Can Themba was (the only South African writer they knew). I concluded that there was no reading happening. So I gave them an exercise where every week they had to read something and on coming to class, summarise to the rest of the class what they read. They also had to find ten new words weekly, learn their meanings, and use them in sentences. And you know what? Five months later at the end of the semester, I was reading essays (and fictional pieces) that were vastly improved.

In order to get the ball rolling on the campaign, South African writers decided they would like to make South African reading known and sexy to the public (and that’s the reason I am sending a Facebook message to Gerry Elsdon today with a list of light South African reading after she was quoted in City Pulse yesterday saying she is reading Daniel Silva’s Death in Vienna because ‘I read too many serious novels so this book has allowed me to escape from my everyday kind of reading.’).  To this end, we have decided that the poster idea to advertise SA literature is a good way to go in addition to our online presence. But instead of preaching top-down, we think it best that South African high school students enter a competition where they design a poster on what it means to Read SA. Because we are writers, running parallel to this would be an essay writing competition, ‘Why I Read’ both of which would run for about a month. The winning poster in each province will be the one used for the campaign while the winning school and student in each province will get a donation of books for their library (we are still working on sweetening the deal for a cash prize). The winning essays will be published in online magazine Storytime as well as earn the school and writers some books (and hopefully a cash prize too).  The managers of schools in the deferent provinces have been contacted. Now we await to hear from them on the best way to let the schools know about the campaign. In due course and with more funding, we also hope to do some television adverts pushing the campaign. Ideas for television adverts are already coming in. Last week at the Jenny Crys-Williams book club, Angela Makholwa offered to don a Marilyn dress and stand in a windy street reading. When the dress goes up she modestly covers her face with the book. Or was that Fiona Snyckers?

Since starting the campaign three weeks ago, the greatest challenge had been finding a venue to work from. We contacted various party cadres for the different parties – also known as parliamentarians- in the Education and Arts and Culture portfolios to get them to support this cause. They have been quiet. We also contacted the various MECs of Arts and Culture and Education in each province hoping for a base of operation without any response (see what I mean about lack of government buy-in?). Today that all changed. Thanks to Dr. Pam Nicholls of University of Witswatersrand, ReadSA will be hosted by the Wits Writing centre until December 2010. With a base of operations, this should make it a little easier to fundraise for the campaign and let schools and the general public who may be interested in taking part in the campaign know where to find us.

On an equally positive note, every writer has been keen to work on this with many not just coming up with ideas but getting their hands dirty. Special mention to Damaria Senne who set up the blogspot and Facebook page (please look for it and be a fan), Ivor Hartmann who did the brilliant logo and has offered Storytime to publish the winning essays, Megan Voysey who has been tirelessly sending emails to all and sundry to support the campaign from far away Germany (I doubt it would be possible for her to put in more work if she were in the country), and Thando Mgqolozana who compiled all the lists of the different MECs, Registrars and Parliamentarians contacts. But writers are expected to support this anyway. That great friend of South African writers, Ben Williams of BookSA has reminded us yet again (in case anyone had forgotten) why we love him with tangible support of administrative fees for the campaign, co-hosting of the blogspot, and whatever help we need when we need it. Ditto Frederic Jagu of the Cultural Portfolio at the French Institute.

Now why don’t you come on board and ReadSA? You will love it. For the JDL, while our very own Ndumiso Ngcobo becomes the co-hosting voice of the breakfast show on KayaFM on Wednesday 21^st, at 6pm the same evening, Margie Orford launches her next thriller, Daddy’s Girl at Exclusive Sandton. There will be wine, there will be writers, but more importantly you get an autographed copy of Margie’s book which will be priceless in a few years to come (And you get the bragging rights to your friends to say you met and read one of the best of SA of course!). See you there and bring some cash to buy a copy or two of Daddy’s Girl.

PS – does anyone know where PASA is?

Regular readers of this blog will be whining about my constant excuses for not updating. What can I say? I am a creature of habit and I loyally make excuses. But I do have two valid excuses this time around. One is that I have (with about 30 South African writers) been ferociously working on the ReadSA campaign (http://readsa.blogspot.com) since I got back in the country on Monday 28^th September. The second excuse is that a friend brought me a really good bottle of single malt, and well…you know how that goes.  Enny wey, back to my travels. I was back in Bob’s Own Country. Yup. South Africa’s northern neighbour known to the rest of the world as Zimbabwe.

I went there with some German friends who had never been to Zim and it was an interesting adventure from start to finish. Our driver was a hilarious guy called Funny Mbanje (I kid you not. For those not familiar with Shona lingo the last name means weed/zol/marijuana)./ You can see how his name alone was brilliant material for this sole writer. We got to the Zimbabwean side of the border at around 11 am and the immigration official decided I looked suspicious, ‘like a writer’ he said. ‘You look like Dambudzo Marechera’.  Never mind that Dambudzo had locks and was male and I have a chiskop (bald head) and am female. Additionally Dambudzo was a brilliant writer and I, I just pretend to write, so you see, I was flippin flattered. I’ve never been happier to lose an entrance permit to any country. In the end though, I was allowed in. The immigrant official’s totem was Mhofu which is the same totem as my Zimbabwean mother’s and as every Zimbo knows, muzukuru mukadzi so I smiled and joked accordingly, and got my pass.

From Beit Bridge Border Post, we made our way to Masvingo. My artistic German cousin (a cousin because her surname is ‘Waner’ –or something very similar- and mine is Wanner) was horrified when she entered the toilets in  Masvingo and some male attendant opened the door while she was pissing.  She swore that she was not going to a public toilet in Zimbabwe ever again (yeah right!).  Next we made our way to Great Zimbabwe, the historical site that the country is named after (for those not in the know Zimbabwe means ‘house of stone – zimba remahwe’ . The Great Zimbabwe kingdom existed from the 12^th to the 16^th Century).At US$5 for tourists, I had to use my Zim skills and pretend to be a local in order to get in. Funny and I became the two locals therefore while our three German mates became the foreigners (to be honest this is not the first time I have used my colour as a badge. Nine months ago, Nakuru Game Reserve tried to charge me some ridiculous US$ amount. With the help of a Kenyan friend I pretended to be a disabled Kenyan. I know, not cool. But I am from a developing African nation as well, I can’t understand why I should have to deal with tourist rates I can’t afford). Great Zimbabwe was phenomenal.

Then we made our way to Harare. My German friends ended up camping in that haven of Bulawayo prostitutes in Harare – Oasis Hotel. I swear I did not know about its reputation as a pick-up point until I went to Bulawayo a couple of days later.

The second day saw me hanging out with my fabulous personal designer and childhood friend, the ZimDanish Alice Knuth (yes. I did say personal designer. She designs my clothes so anytime you feel I look wack you know who to blame).  In  the early evening I had dinner and drinks with one of my favourite all-time writers  Shimmer Chinodya (he of the Harvest of Thorns and Strife fame) and later on, a Catholic priest I shall not name in case I get him in trouble with the Pope.  We were at Book Café so yeah, in spite of the bookshop being closed, Book Café Harare still rocks y’all. There was a girl on stage who sounded very much like a Chiwoniso Maraire clone. I sadly forget her name. I do remember jamming madly to her when she did one of the Marshall Munhumumwe cover tracks though.

Then we were off to Bulawayo. Literally translated from the Nguni  as ‘place of killing’,  but widely known in Zimbabwe as the City of Kings because it was founded by Mzilikazi ka Khumalo, one of Shaka’s generals during umfecane and his immediate heir, Lobengula ka Mzilikazi, was the last reigning  Zimbabwean monarch, Bulawayo is a city of wide roads and friendly people. I always seem to forget how much I love the city of Bulawayo until I get there and when I do get there, I remember how friendly its people are. How I can walk in the city without some males verbally harassing me like I find in Harare (think:  ‘sista ndeipi’ and when I ignore, ‘futi wakashata. Hure.’) and more importantly as an artist, how Bulawayo is the one place that I know that writers, musicians, painters and all other sort of artists will have full houses and an audience that genuinely engages them on their art unlike Joburg where when I  ask, ‘any questions?’,  I have to rely on the one friend I have asked to come to the function to ask the question.  It is here where my German friends left me because the US$ policy in Zim had left them cash strapped and they had to make their way back to South Africa (for the uninitiated, make sure when you go to Zim you have sufficient cash as ATMs will not accept non-Zimbabwean cards).

First night in Bulawayo saw me meeting Zimbabwean writer and Jozi resident  Ivor Hartmann and his (and now my) mate Jules in a bar at the Rainbow Hotel. The two guys, who were to become my partners in crime for the length of the festival,  accompanied me to the opening night.

The opening night of the festival was testament to what I am talking about with regards to Bulawayo. In a week when MDC Minister of Diversity (whatever that means), Sekai Holland had said divisive comments about the Ndebeles being cattle rustlers and thieves (and this as a member of a government of national unity nogal, wonder why that was never reported in international press as much as the Grace Nestle debacle?), the Bulawayo group, Black Umfolosi had everyone at the opening ceremony of the Intwasa Arts Festival holding hands and singing their signature song, ‘Unity’. Their lyrics resonated with the crowd and had many getting emotional in a country that’s trying to reinvent itself, ‘ No black, No white, No Shona, No Ndebele.’ For a solid forty minutes, the people of Bulawayo who were in City Hall held hands and danced together. It was the one time I was driven to tears in my mother’s land. You see, I had just finished reading the Catholic Commission’s Justice & Peace and Fr. Auret’s Gukurahundi , a testament of the 20 thousand deaths that occurred during the Matebele atrocities, and I could not understand how a city could be so forgiving. I certainly would not have been . I must admit, I have never had more respect for the people and the city of Bulawayo than I did two weeks ago. I love Accra and being Junior Agogo’s sister, but henceforth, I cannot walk tall without respecting the humanity of the people of Bulawayo.

Siyabonga Bulawayo. Your ubuntu, your spirit of forgiveness, your appreciation of the arts,  and your welcoming attention to visitors is a testament that you are truly, the ‘City of Kings’.