Yearning for a quiet sleep in high-density suburbs When we were growing up in Glen Norah, Harare, we sometimes got so worked up by the noise of a boy selling eggs just after dawn, disturbing our sleep
When we were growing up in Glen Norah, Harare, we sometimes got so worked up by the noise of a boy selling eggs just after dawn, disturbing our sleep

When we were growing up in Glen Norah, Harare, we sometimes got so worked up by the noise of a boy selling eggs just after dawn, disturbing our sleep

Dr Sekai Nzenza On Wednesday
“I MUST create time to myself,” said my cousin Reuben, the one who is back home after more than 10 years living in the Diaspora. Reuben looked really tired and unshaved. The night before, he had slept at our Uncle Babamunini Zekia’s two-roomed house in Highfield. It was not Reuben’s intention to

stay the night there. But he forgot to turn off his car lights and the battery ran out. By the time he was ready to go home, it was way past 11pm. There were no jumper leads or another car to help with jump starting the battery. Babamunini Zekia said Reuben should just stay the night rather than find a taxi to his new massive house in Borrowdale. They had a few more beers and retired to bed. But, according to Reuben, it was simply impossible to sleep. There was noise outside throughout the night.

“Saka, munofunga isu tinogara kurukisheni tinorara sei?” asked my cousin Piri, meaning, how do we people who live in high-density suburbs sleep at night.

In high-density places, you can get three or more families living in one house. There are too many people migrating from the villages to the city. For the majority of people, houses are scarce and very expensive. But, here in Harare, few people live in expensive affluent houses known as low-density suburbs.

There was a time, long before independence, when we did not know about these more affluent places like Borrowdale, Mt Pleasant, Chisipite, Highlands and other places. These areas were meant for Europeans only. Africans used to go and work there as maids, cooks or gardeners. They carried a pass or ID to show who they worked for. If found “loitering” in those places without a pass, you were arrested and thrown in jail.

In those days, we used to live in the village. We came to the city for the first time during the liberation war. I recall arriving at Mbare market and seeing so many people from all over Zimbabwe. My sisters and I had never seen so many people in one place.

In Glen Norah B, we lived in a two bedroomed flat. Charity, Paida and I slept in the lounge on the floor, while my brother Charles had a whole bedroom to himself. The other bedroom was rented out to a guy called Temba, the son of our village businessman, Mr Muzorori.

The city noise fascinated us, especially the sounds of music coming from many flats around our own. We learnt new songs from long play records or LP’s just by standing outside our neighbours’ doors. At that time, Thomas Mapfumo, Oliver Mtukudzi, Zexie Manatsa and others were very popular. My brother Charles played Otis Redding, Clarence Carter, Neil Diamond and Dolly Parton so loudly from his bedroom or from his radio cassette in his Ford Escort car.

We loved the urban noise, except in the early mornings when we wanted to enjoy sleeping in. Since there were no fields to work in, we looked forward to simply getting up, buying bread, milk, eggs and making sweet tea. Then we basked in the sun listening to music from people’s houses.

One day, just after dawn, we were woken up by a young boy’s voice selling eggs. “Mazai! Mazai!” the boy shouted. My sister Charity opened the window and told him to shut up because we still wanted to sleep. Then the boy stood right below our lounge window and shouted even louder, “Mazai akabikwa! Mazai asina kubikwa!” Cooked eggs and raw eggs! Charity said she would come down and give him a slap or two if he kept on disturbing our sleep.

The boy then shouted that village people not used to city noise should return to the village and listen to birds.

The city does not sleep, he said, as he hurriedly walked away, fearing that his eggs might be broken by Charity.

My sister Charity, was renowned to fight well and even defeat boys older than her in a fistfight.

I was not like that at all.

In fact, I was the religious one who used to find quiet places to pray and meditate. Long before they cut down the trees around Glen Norah, I used to sit under a tree and think about God.

But that was a long while ago. Since then, Africans have moved to any place they so wish to buy or build. You can choose to live in a quiet peaceful place where friends or relatives cannot come without being invited.

One such suburb is called Borrowdale Brooke. Once you are allowed to visit, the resident in Borrowdale Brooke gives you a number over the phone, or by text or WhatsApp. When you turn up at the gate, you must state your name and the number. The guard then checks the record book to see if you have been booked to visit. He then gives you a pass and the gate is opened for you. On the way out, you must present your pass and use the visitor’s lane. Without a pass, you will not be allowed out. This way, those in Borrowdale Brooke are able to enjoy peace and quiet without relatives or friends turning up at any time. There are similar gated communities all over the world.

We are no longer living in the village, where you could never tell who was coming to stay with you and even share your sleeping mat for a week or even a month. Times have changed. We move with the times. But such movement of time, takes away some of the privileges of being alone such as looking at the clouds, listening to the birds, quietly watching the rural sunset and enjoying a long good night sleep.

“How can anyone even dare to sleep and dream when there are people shouting outside, cars hooting, babies crying, people singing and even the odd rooster crowing in between the noises?” Reuben asked us, “I would rather live in the village, rather than sleep in a place surrounded by so much noise and chaos. You call this urbanisation? No thank you!”

Reuben stirred his third cup of coffee and I kept on smiling into my cappuccino. Piri giggled and added more jam to her muffin.

We were having coffee in this very nice fashionable cafe at Sam Levy’s Village in Borrowdale, Harare. I sprinkled some grains of sugar on my cappuccino and lazily gazed at the car park for a few seconds, watching a pretty young girl struggle to park a huge black Mercedes Benz.

“You would think you are not in Zimbabwe,” said Reuben. “Look, there is every single expensive latest type of car around here. And count how many Europeans are here? This place is simply amazing and if money would allow me, I would live and sleep here in these affluent suburbs all the time. Why not? Here, you get a good night’s sleep. Not in those so called high density suburbs! Or take me back to the village to sleep, any time.”

Reuben and I frequently visit the village where he has joined the community agriculture project. He says the village brings a lot of peace and sanity into his life. Here he finds time to walk, think and dream. Sometimes he goes hiking up the mountains, wearing his heavy boots, taking pictures and videos of animals, rocks and birds. He calls this time alone, his quality “me time”.

Piri thinks this business of “me time” behaviour is very selfish. “Why do you need to be alone? If you are alone for too long, you get depressed and lonely. We need each other all the time.” Reuben shakes his head, saying we must adjust to change.

Back in the village, our “me time” was not programmed. It just came. When we looked after cattle or goats, we often spent time alone. When guarding crops from baboons that was time spent alone. During long walks to and from school, we were often alone. Such times have gone. But we must find that “me time” space and create a mental or spiritual balance, in the middle of rapid change and urban migration.

  • Dr Sekai Nzenza is a writer and cultural critic.

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