In which the finest prose writer in the English language is mistaken for an Indian guy who cannot speak English

My dear readers know of my ambivalent relationship with Sir Vidia Naipaul, Nobel Laureate, titan and living legend. On the one hand, there is A House for Mr Biswas, a novel almost without compare in contemporary literature. Miguel Street. The Suffrage of Elvira. The Mimic Men. The Enigma of Arrival. And there are those fine, penetrating essays. On the other hand ... well, on the other hand there is the other hand. I was amused and delighted by this account of an encounter with Sir Vidia, written by the South African writer Gillian Schutte and published on BookZa. I particularly loved this moment when her perplexed son asked her why Sir Vidia was just looking at them and not saying a single word.

"The conversation seems to be going well. I refill wine glasses and go to prepare the food. I lay out the array of curries and stainless steel plates. I like stainless steel plates … especially when eating tumeric soaked curry. Will they feel insulted? Well fuckit. You cannot expect the finest china and home cooked food when given a couple of hours notice.

Kai comes through to say he is tired. I take him to his bedroom to tuck him in.

‘Mom does the Indian guy not speak English?’ he asks.

“Kai, he is the foremost English prose writer of the western world … he speaks English alright.’ He looks perplexed. ‘Oh, I thought he could not understand what you guys are saying because he just sits and watches and he doesn’t talk."

Kai darling, after Kush, Tapiwa, RufaroTheGruffalo, Tamuda and that poor kid John Last in A Handful of Dust, you are now my absolutely favourite kid. If your parents ever tire of you, you know where to go.

The TWAG Quote of the Week: President Mugabe on the Madhuku Strategy of Survival

Viewers, please do not adjust your sets. The fuzziness in this transmission is due to a technical fault at Pockets Hill. Any inconvenience caused is sincerely and deeply regretted, but not so sincerely or so deeply that we at ZBC are bothered to actually do anything other than issue this entirely meaningless apology.

Chenjerai Hove and Jonathan Shapiro aka Zapiro were among the members of a panel in Göteborg called "My Dictator and I." I was thoroughly amused by the title. In that great university of life, I have chosen to minor in dictator studies: I study dictators for fun. It is my mission to get to the bottom of what it is that makes our dictators so special to us even as they wreak havoc in our lives. After much study, I have distilled the appeal of the dictator to one quality: an essential cartoonishness, a zaniness fed by excess, a zaniness that very often springs from insanity.

Take our African Napoleon, Emperor Bokassa. His fondness for Berluti shoes. His title, Emperor of Central Africa. His declaration of himself as the 13th apostle of Jesus Christ. His more than 15 wives and busloads of children. Then there is the brotherly Leader -- my own Muammar, with his clothes and his Bedouin tent and his female bodyguards. And there is Jammeh of Gambia, placing healing hands on those with AIDS. I once spent an afternoon reading his website ... it was a fascinating glimpse into the mind of a deeply disturbed man who, by the way, just happens to run a country full of real people. Then there is Abacha taking debauchery and excess to such levels that his very death was coloured by talks of exotic Indian prostitutes. And of course, the last king of Scotland, Idi Amin Dada and his pet crocodiles.

From that perspective, the urbane and erudite President Mugabe is a deep disappointment. There is nothing essentially cartoonish about the man. Instead, you get a deep and fine intelligence and wit and boy, does he bring the funny. There was a report in the Guardian which began with the line"President Mugabe is not known for his sense of humour". Not known to the writer perhaps, but it is hard to listen to one of his speeches without cracking up.

No matter what your politics may be, the man is a riot.

He provides this week's TWAG Quote of the Week, this is an oldie, but it is so good that it is likely to win our end of year TWAG Quote of the Year. Here he is, having great fun with NCA Chairman Lovemore Madhuku. It may all be lost on you if you do not speak Shona. If you do, I am sure you will join me in this small moment of levity with my dictator and I.

And they all said, oh, well I never, was there ever, a sight so dazzling as the Africans in Gothenburg?

You are supposed to sing the title of this blog post to the tune of Mr Mistoffeles. The Book Fair is over, and I have a life time of memories. I will be writing a much longer post in the next few days. But first. My book shelf came to life in the lobby of the Gothia Towers Hotel. I have read everyone of these lunatics, and there they were, lunaticking around in Gothenburg. If you do not know any of them, you need to make their acquaintance, stat. I have indicated their books in brackets, and no, I won't lend you my copies, get your own! From right: Yaba Badoe (True Murder, African Love Stories), Chenjerai Hove (Bones, Ancestors, Shadows, Shebeen Tales, Blind Moon Rising), Tolu Ogunlesi (published in several journals and a Caine anthology), Monica Arac de Nyeko(published in two Caine anthologies and African Love Stories), Doreen Baingana (Tropical Fish, African Love Stories) and Sefi Atta (Swallow, Lawless, Everything Good Will Come).

Yesterday morning I was on this dazzling panel with Kopano Matlwa, Ondjaki, Tolu Ogunlesi, Irene Sabatini and Biyi Bandele. Biyi Bandele. I was on a panel with Biyi Bandele. I have a huge crush on Biyi Bandele, I cannot stop writing his name. Biyi Bandele. Biyi Bandele. Biyi Bandele.

And I had lunch with my new best friend, the stunning Maaza Mengiste, the girl with the coolest hair and boots in town. She is the author of the novel Beneath the Lion's Gaze, which has been hugely successful. I also caught her on a stellar panel with Chris Abani, Sefi Atta, Shailja Patel, Brian James and the scandalous Scandalusian Miguel Gullinder. Heh. Chris Abani is cerebral and brilliant and erudite and very very funny. Much to Shailja's dismay, I made him my household god, a position I had previously promised Shailja. I may have to demote a household god to make room: it is a toss up between the French cobblers Christian Louboutin and Robert Clegerie, who, I am sad to say, have not impressed me with their last two collections. I ended the evening with a dinner with Nadine Gordimer and many other glitterati litterati but that I will write about when I have recovered.

The Göteborg Book Fair in (some, not many) pictures

My gorgeous readers, I am in Eden, by way of Sweden, having a whale of a gas at the Göteborg Book fair. There are 70 writers from 36 African countries, joining a gazillion other Scandinavian writers. I have met the gang from Bonniers, my publisher. My publicist Anna is out of control, she has had me on my feet for two days straight. I have met the kindest man I have met in a long time, one of those people who shine goodness, the former Archbishop of Sweden, KG Hammar, with whom I had a wonderful talk yesterday. I met the lovely and talented Kopano Matlwa, Ngugi wa Thiong'o and Bjorn, yet another of his gorgeous sons (Mukoma, cough cough, is one hot hottie). Unity Dow is here, I met her first as a law student through the case of Unity Dow v. the Government of Botswana, then I met her again as the writer of the wonderful Screaming of the Innocents, and here she is in the flesh. Chenjerai Hove is here and is as wickedly mischievous as ever. Sefi Atta is tall and elegant and regal. Chris Abani is so incredibly funny. Helon Habila has the most amazing skin. Since I saw him last in Nairobi, Binyavanga's hair has become a rainbow of colour. Maissa Bey is ferocious in every good way. Irene Staunton from Weaver Press in Zim is here, but there are very few other publishers from Africa, I met the legendary Walter Bgoya from Tanzania and Firoze from Pambazuka, the gang from Codeseria, and got some beautiful books for Kush from Senegal. Veronique Tadjo is huge here, her brilliant Mammy Wata book is all over the show in Swedish. On Saturday, I will meet Nadine Gordimer and Nurrudin Farrar and Alexander McCall Smith. I am taking pictures like crazy, which means that you can enjoy a few of them while I recover:)

In which Mutasa, Chamisa and Mudenge compete for the "TWAG Quote of the Week"

This week has been a wonderfully quotefull week. It is hard to find a winner as we have three horses in this race, all in superb form. Coming in strongly from the left is Didymus Mutasa, always a good man for a quote. Speaking of the elections which are likely to be held next year, the Minister for Presidential Affairs said “Who is Tsvangirayi? He will never rule this country. Never ever! He will only do so over our dead bodies. If we go to the polls and he defeats Mugabe, Zanu PF and the people of Zimbabwe will never allow that.”

These people of Zimbabwe who will never allow Tsvangirai to rule them are presumably not the same people of Zimbabwe who will have voted for him. Nice bit of logic there, Minister. Pressed by a journalist to explain further, Minister Mutasa said, “If you continue asking me about this issue, I will beat you up.”

Also out like a shot from the starting blocks is blog favourite Nelson Chamisa, this time with a brilliant riposte to Mutasa: “Who can trust this man who removed his shoes and almost removed his clothes for diesel to come out of rocks?”

Zing! And double ouch!

He is of course referring to this blog’s favourite person of all time, Rotina Mavhunga, the diesel n’anga before whom Mutasa and the cabinet knelt and clapped in 2007 in the belief that she could magic diesel out of a rock.

But look who it is, coming in at the canter. It is Stan Mudenge, Minister of Tertiary Education, the dark horse in this race. He addressed reports that students are being prevented from sitting exams at colleges and universities and said “Such a claim is playing fandango dance with the facts. It is based on a farrago of confusion which has created a phantasmagoria of images of dreamland on the minds of the public.”

So who will take this week's trophy? Will it be Mutasa or Chamisa or Mudenge? Chamisa takes an early lead but oh I don’t believe it! He takes a spill at the fourth bend and we are left now with Mutasa and Mudenge! Mutasa is going for it but it is Stan who seems the stronger, he is champing at the bit. The heavyweights are something else out here at Borrowdale Park. The crowds are on their feet. It looks like we are heading for a photo-finish. No we are not! Yes we are! No we are not. It’s Stan! Its Stan! Stan Mudenge takes it by a head!

In which I travel to Gothenberg, Geneva, Nairobi, London, Stockholm, Uppsala and Wroclaw

The next four weeks are going to be incredibly busy. I will be one of the featured writers at the Gothenburg Book Fair in Sweden. I very much look forward to meeting my Swedish readers … Easterly has been a big hit in Sweden, and I can’t wait to meet my Swedish publishers, translator and readers. As always, I look forward to seeing all of Mugabe’s scattered orphans, so if you are a Zimbo in Sweden, or indeed in any of the places I mention here, do drop by.

After Sweden I will go to Geneva for two days, then to Nairobi for the second Hay Storymoja festival. I was at the first one last year - it was a smashing success. I look forward to going there again this year to support my friend Muthoni Garland, the force behind Storymoja. I will be in conversation with Michela Wrong. I will also get meet the brilliant and funny Jane Bussman among many others, and hang out with my girls Andrea, Shailja, Dayo and Doreen.

After Nairobi, I return to Zimbabwe for a week, then I am off to London where I will be in conversation with Peter Godwin on his book, The Fear: The Last Days of Robert Mugabe. Peter is, of course, the writer of the memoir Mukiwa, which I loved, and When the Crocodile Eats the Sun, which I did not like as much, so I am very much looking forward to meeting him and talking about his new book. If you caught Peter’s essay on Zim in Vanity Fair last year, you will have got a taste of The Fear.

After London I return to Sweden, this time to Stockholm, where I will read from The Book of Memory at the Literature House. I will also go to the Nordic Institute at Uppsala. I am extremely fond of the Nordic Institute as it has been a huge fan and supporter of Zimbabwean Literature.

After that, I am off to Poland, to a short story festival in Wroclaw. It is run by Milka Jankowska, whom I met this time last year at the Frank O’Connor festival. She was one of the judges of the Frank O’Connor award, and though I did not win it, I made many friends, including Milka, and I now am visiting a country that I have longed to visit. So that is my schedule. If you happen to be in Gothenberg, Geneva, Nairobi, London, Stockholm, Uppsala or Wroclaw, look out for me, and I will look out for you.

Kirby, Kirby, Kirby! And once more Kirby! Kirby Chipembere rocks! And rolls!

I have just come from watching the amazing Kirby Chipembere as Joseph in the new version of Tim Rice and Andrew Lloyd Weber's "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat" currently showing at REPS Theatre. I am not at all ashamed to admit that I am a sucker for a musical, Joseph (and Cats too) being my favourites. So it was really fun to go to an all singing, all dancing, all Zimbabwean Joseph. Kirby was incredible. The Pharoah was totally hot. The brothers were a riot. There was this one dude who could do this thing where he walked and slid backwards on his lands, like a super fast human-sized snake with bendy arms. You have to see it to understand this! There were a few hiccups, a wardrobe malfunction here and there, a screeching sound system and dancers of whom you could say had eaten more than their fair share of Christmases. The whole thing though was fun and good-spirited. My favourite moment came when Joseph was hauled off to Egypt by the Ishmaelites, who drove him away in an Emergency Taxi labelled "Canaan Egypt Jerusalem Highfiled". Heh heh. That produced the biggest laugh of the night, Canaan, Egypt and Jerusalem are all sections of Highfield township here in Harare. I had a lot of fun with these names in one of my stories, The Maid from Lalapanzi. All in all, my one son and his three cousins, his one friend, my one sister and one brother-in-law, my two parents and our one friend all enjoyed ourselves immensely. Yes, I take a squad everywhere I go in Harare. What can I say, I am a daughter of the Karanga people, we travel in packs:) If you are in Harare, take your squad along, support Reps and marvel at the amazing Kirby. It ends with a gala night on 25 september, so hurry along now.

Launching the all new “TWAG Quote of the week” is Nelson Chamisa on half-time oranges

I am introducing a new feature to this blog: the TWAG Quote of the Week. My inspiring and beloved countrymen, and especially my countrymen of the journalistic and political tendency, are gifted in coming up with memorable lines. First among equals is The Patriarch. On the day of his sister Sabina’s funeral in August, he amused me when he said his sister “was always a weakling” who had lost two-thirds of a her brain but still stood for parliament on a Zanu PF ticket. Heh. Also good for quotes is the MDC spokesman, Nelson Chamisa, who has the honour to inaugurate this new feature. Explaining why the MDC was looking beyond the unity government, Mr. Chamisa said “We should not be celebrating over the half-time oranges when there is still a trophy to be won.” Heh.

Image: Spudooli.com

On the dismaying addictiveness of Zanu PF’s jingles

The publicists tasked with the uphill task of winning hearts and minds for Zanu PF are extremely fond of what they call “jingles” – histrionically patriotic songs about the wonders of Robert Mugabe and his party, with lots of dancing and fist-waving. The most annoying thing about the jingles is not that they are, as the MDC puts it, entirely partisan and therefore in flagrant violation of the global political agreement. It is not that they are praise songs for a man, and a party, that has destroyed a country. No, it is simply that the best of them are catchy and highly addictive.

In 2003, having returned from a visit to Zim, I found myself on the number 8 bus to work, humming the land reform jingle "Dai kuri kwedu machembere aipururudza mupururu. Zvino tawana ivhu, totopururudza mupururu." The latest jingles, about the necessity of Zanu PF rule, are pretty pedestrian. There is one particularly addictive football-themed jingle though, the video of which features the most unlikely figure ever to grace a football field, a big-bottomed woman with thighs of thunder and stretch marks from here to Chirundu, dressed in what looks to be her ten-year old son's ZimWarriors football kit, dancing as though she is auditioning to be the prolific Ignatius Chombo’s next wife. “Timu timu,” she sings, “Ndakusetera timu. Mombotongai makadaro, mombotongai makadaro.” Her gyrations are interspersed with pictures of Mugabe, John Nkomo and Joyce Mujuru.

In English, the song means something like “We have set the best team to run the country, just keep on ruling, team, just hang in there.” The singers of the latest jingles are from the Mbare Chimurenga Choir. Mbare is Harare’s oldest township, and possibly the most chaotic, with streets going without electricity for weeks, burst sewage, no water and other pleasant surprises. But according to these all singing, all dancing residents of Mbare, Mugabe and Co did such a brilliant job for them in the past that they want more of the same for all time. Because who needs clean water, functioning toilets and electricity. Mombotongai makadaro, chimbotongai makadaro. Huzzah!

Zimbabwe's police see red over the colour red

There has been, in the last week, an intriguing advertising campaign in NewsDay. It encourages people to wear red today, the 10th of September. If you wear red, the ads promise, you may win spot prizes of $20 or be invited to "the most exclusive party in town". Turns out it is a campaign by Africom, a communications company. Now red is the colour of the MDC, the Movement for Democratic Change. The MDC turns eleven on Sunday. The adverts did not say who had placed them, making for a more intriguing campaign.

This has given our fine men and women in brown the jitters. According to today's Herald: "Police are on high alert today as they are suspicious of advertisements in the local media by a company, urging people to wear any red colour Said police spokesperson Superintendent Andrew Phiri yesterday: "While there are conflicting reports on the intentions of the advertisers, it is advised that members of the public be on their guard and should report to the nearest police station any suspicious or anti-social developments," he said.

MDC Home Affairs minister Theresa Makoni said recently that the police are doing a fine upstanding professional job. Yes, Minister.

Overheard at a Harare café: ‘I am the only person in Africa who does this.’

At a Harare café the other day, I was intrigued to hear an extremely well-toned and well-groomed blonde woman say, with all the confidence of the only one in Africa who does this, ‘I am the only person in Africa who does this.’ She and her companion moved away before I could find out what this was, leaving me in great suspense. I must confess that I have been obsessing over this this a little. Africa is so big, so vast, so incredibly ginormous. And yet this lady is the only one in the whole continent who does this. What is this? Is she the only person in Africa who gives French pedicures to African poodles? The only person in Africa who eats her peas with honey, who has done it all her life, it makes the peas taste funny but it keeps them on the knife? The only person in Africa who does sudoku in a bath of vanilla milk and rose petals? The only person in Africa who eats her meals backwards, starting with dinner in the morning and ending with a nice continental breakfast in the evening? The only person in Africa who makes small scarves for bats? The possibilities, they are endless, and myself, I am curious.

Of stress and popping eyes, the Buddhist Centre in Harare and the most gorgeous man this side of Senegal

I have been in Harare for three incident-packed days. Zim is maddeningly slow in many ways, but incredibly efficient in others - I have managed to see an ophtamologist, open a bank account and an account with an internet service provider. I have also seen my son off to school for his first couple of days, I have shaken my head at the highly-sexualized gyrations of the Mbare Chimurenga Choir, praising their president while dancing to the beat of their own oppression, and I caught a glimpse of Akon at the Meikles. He is just about the most gorgeous man this side of Senegal.

In the week of worry and stress that preceded my move, I had a recurring nightmare where my left eye popped out and plopped into my hand or onto the floor. I have been under enormous stress in the last month or so, moving and writing and trying to get things in place etc. I have been experiencing floaters and clouded vision in one eye. The less I slept, and the more I fretted, the worse it got. I had to ignore it as I had no time at all to consult a doctor. Then my friend David freaked me out by telling me that I was describing classic symptoms of the retina disconnecting from the eye. I looked up retina disengagement, and it is considered a medical emergency and can only be fixed through laser surgery.

Dreading my impending blindness, I arrived in Zim at 12am on Wednesday, and by 2pm I was in the consulting rooms of one of Zim’s leading eye specialists. He was not there, but I was reassured to learn that he could do laser surgery should it become necessary. His kind assistants referred me to another specialist, who looked into my eye, found all was as it should be, and recommended that I sleep more and worry less. And that I consider playing golf. Heh.

So now I am trying to do all the things I have to do without getting too run down. Most importantly, I am trying to get at least 6 hours sleep straight. And I plan to return to yoga. My friend Cheryl told me about two yoga places, one in Ballantyne Park, and another at the Buddhist Centre. When I was in high school, I became a Buddhist for all of three months ... it got terribly lonely after a while -- as my headmaster put it when I told him about my sudden conversion, 'You do realise, don't you Peteeenaaa, that you are probably the only Buddhist in Zimbabwe?' Heh. But how wrong you were, Father Berridge, how wrong. There is a Buddhist Centre in Harare!

I have come to understand that what I love about Zim, and what makes it such a fascinating place to live in and write about are its myriad contradictions. This, of course, is unappealing to those who have fixed ideas about 'Mugabe's Zimbabwe'. But if you are interested in Zim and its many contradictions, stick with me, I will be writing more in the coming months. In the meantime, thank you for stopping by, and if you are in Harare, drop me a line.