About 16 years
ago, when I still lived in Harare, one of my favourite hangouts was The Book
Cafe, Harare - in Fife Avenue. I loved the vibe in the café - I watched
talented artists, the likes of the late Chiwoniso Maraire perform live; I
listened to “would be” authors launch
their first works - I sipped on many a
cup of coffee and made friends. I held very academic discussions with the like-
minded artists of Harare. Whilst I enjoyed the artistic work on display at Book
Café, I particularly liked going to the Book Café because most of these events were night events – It gave me a
sense of freedom, finally a grown woman, I could choose when I left my lodgings
and more importantly when I could return. So on many of these Book Café nights
I returned home well past my parents’ curfew time! Never mind the fact that my
parents lived in a different city and to make it worse it was a costly exercise – I had no car; And many a night had to hire a taxi home –
Save for a few nights when I would have a Mr Potential drop me off at Mai Munyoro’s
house – where I rented two rooms.
One night the Book Café hosted a
discussion around Women’s rights. It was a very engaging and enlightening discussion
with other liberated women – yet I felt
very hollow inside as I negotiated my way back to my two rooms after the
discussion. Something about the discussion bothered me – and finally it hit me
like a big AHA moment! I did not like
sitting around and discussing women’s rights with already “liberated women”.
The very fact that we could be in the Book Café at 21h00 seeping on brandy and
coke must surely mean we had our rights intact. The women that needed to hear
our conversations were not in the bar at this time of the night. They were stuck
somewhere in Chendambuya, nursing their 7th pregnancy in 10 years.
They were stuck somewhere in Filabusi, undergoing a beating from a drunken husband.
They were somewhere in Second Street, half naked – selling their soul to the
highest bidder. The woman that needed to participate in this conversation was
somewhere in Mabvuku – utterly hopeless, no O’ Level, trapped in poverty - And I made a vow – I would not be
participating in Book Café discussions again. I would dedicate, my evenings my
life, to rescuing one girl at a time.
Each one, Teach one! Good night Africa - Let us find the abducted Nigerian girls - one girl at a time. They are everywhere around us.
