Harare: Whither the Sunshine City
By Wiseman Nyika
For some of us who grew up in the rural areas, it has been always a pleasure beyond measure to find a chance to visit the capital city. The excitement was fanned by enchanting stories about Harare. Tales of this “Sunshine” city would make my imagination run to the limits.
When I finally managed to visit it, in real time, as a seventh grade student, I could not help but to fall in love with Harare. Wherever I looked there were immaculately paved roads, adorned by red shirted cleaners armed with their brooms to cleanse any dirt. If by any chance the streets were littered, they would move with the agility and zeal of scavengers to restore the glitter to our roads.
Here and there, I would be captivated by taller buildings than my 12 year old mind had ever believed possible. Roads that ran like rivers of steel abound with growling vehicles, expertly directed by traffic lights enthralled me. Cascading fountains of water works- especially those gushing out at Africa Unity Square, cemented my love for the city.
Indeed, it was love at first sight. Now that the wheels of measurable time have clogged on, ‘my Sunshine city’ has lost its lustre. As I walk through Copacabana, perhaps the most famous commuter rank, my sight is drawn to a stinking garbage mountain. Close by, there is a vending bay selling all forms of fruits.
Inches away, there is a squalid public toilet with urine streaming down, forcing pedestrians to invoke long forgotten rural skills of wading through a flooded river. As I negotiate my way past the terminus, I am blocked by a delusional sumo wrestler like ‘tout. He is rushing to collect ‘tithe’ from commuter bus operators with the zeal of a deacon of a mystical church!
This is despite the omnibus boasting of a genuine ranking disc from the municipal authority. Before the driver tries to protest this daylight robbery, he is cut short by a torrent of vulgar insults. The poor driver has nowhere to lodge an assault complaint as the tout boasts of political connections.
Fed up, I cast my eyes to the nearby Leopold Takawira/ Speke intersection to be confronted by a maze stream of private cars turned taxis. They are soliciting for passengers right under a traffic regulation banner prohibiting motorists to stop. Worse still, their ‘makeshift’ taxis are parked right in the road making it difficult for law abiding motorists to drive past.
Baton wielding police operatives hovering around seem over awed by the spectacle to help. As I dart through the sea of people around me, making sure not to trip on all forms of litter strewn on the streets, I see pavements full of vendors. This leaves me and my fellow pedestrians to wiggle our way through.
As we move we have to bear aggressive marketing antics of vendors, whining and cajoling us to buy their wares. Most of it being pirated discs full of obscene content. Moving up to the Harare gardens- a once park of choice for a photo session for newlyweds, I find it desecrated by vagrants and sexual perverts.
They have found a serene place to douse their voracious sexual desires. My heart bleeds for Harare. For how long will she lie to waste in distress in the midst of a nation boasting of civilised people? It’s time for every concerned soul to harness whatever available resource to restore the city to its former glory.
Corporates, why not join the party by securing partnerships with the city fathers to make Harare clean? Enough respect to Bank ABC for showing the way. For now we can only cry, “whither the Sunshine city.
