Driving down Samora

Samora Machel Avenue has to be the longest road I’ve ever driven. It cuts through suburbs, the hustle and bustle of Harare’s central business district, branching off into its many little tributaries that run through the city. It is long, straight, rarely bends, and serves as an artery to the capital city’s daily pulse. Continue reading →


Pieces of Home: A View of the Sunshine City


Harare, nicknamed the Sunshine City, is a city whose beauty is often overlooked.  When you’re on the ground, you never get a full view of the city and its skyline.  Instead, you experience the pothole-riddled roads, the constant throb of noise and traffic, and ever-present malfunctioning traffic light.  Whilst this Harare has its own chaotic glory, it’s refreshing to see a side of the Sunshine City that is not always celebrated or represented.

A View from the Top


It was from the 12th floor of the Causeway Building that I had the chance to see the view.  Overlooking Simon Muzenda Street (previously Fourth Street), it was a harmonious union of an ocean of sky and cloud with man-made blocks.  From the Sacred Heart Cathedral and Dominican Convent High School, to the Mukwati Building and St. George’s College peeking out in the distance, it was a picture that I’d never seen before.


The CBD at Dusk


The city landscape changed as the sun gave way to night, its orange tinge still visible on the horizon.  Buildings and landmarks that I walked past without so much as an afterthought looked completely different to me in the dusk light.


It is not often that positive images of Harare and Zimbabwe in general are promoted.  There are beautiful pictures of jacarandas crowning Harare’s roads with a regal purple.  Images of Harare on the ground, the people and cars that populate the concrete space.  If you’re lucky, you stumble upon the odd photo of the Reserve Bank or some other well-known building.  Standing on the window ledge of Causeway Building’s 12th floor, it was a gratifying and humbling experience.

My city may be clogged with traffic, its road riddled with potholes, the streets full of pedestrian power, and the air tinged with the smell of smoke (a gift from the kombis), but I love Harare in all its perfect imperfection.  The Sunshine City is my home, forever and always.





Pieces of Home: Honde Valley

Silence.  That’s all you hear as you stand there, above the valley but not quite at the top of the mountain.  For the first few minutes,  it’s maddening.  No cars.  No music. No loud conversations.  Just you and the valley.

Honde Valley is a slither of land  near the Zimbabwe-Mozambique border.  Cloudless skies with a yellow sun illuminates the valley, and if you squint, you can see the border.  The mountains, already gargantuan in size, look even bigger, their sharp peaks grazing the endless the endless blue above.


Then the weather turns.  Fog crawls up from below, until the whole valley disappears under the mist.   The temperature drops, and when it starts to rain, the lush green Earth gets brown and soggy, making it a nightmare  for drivers trying to hillstart.  But even then, with the cold and the damp, the Valley is still beautiful.


Honde Valley wouldn’t be what it is without the mountains that encircle the community.  The mountains themselves are as diverse and interesting as the trees and shrubs that dot the valley in the summer.

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Honde Valley is a haven of peace and serenity.  From vast green forests, to small tea and coffee plantations, it’s not just a static valley of trees and rocks, but a bustling environment of animals, vegetation and people living and working with and for each other.  Now, it seems that it may very well become a bona fide tourism destination.  There are already a few resorts and B&Bs, with a clear view of Mtarazi Falls, Honde Valley’s claim to fame.



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The primary school at Honde Valley. It happens to be my mother's old school

The primary school at Honde Valley. It happens to be my mother’s old school

Honde Valley during the dry season

Honde Valley during the dry season

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The houses in the area also have their own story to tell, from the traditional huts with thatched roofs, the rundown shacks, to the modern homes equipped with TV, fridges, and electricity.  There are even ruins of an ancient storehouse, just behind my grandmother’s house.  It’s nothing more than a large trench lined with granite stones similar to the ones at Great Zimbabwe.  But those ruins are a piece of our history, a look, however tiny, into the life and times of Zimbabweans before the advent of colonialism and modern technology.