What inspires you to write?

I suppose life itself inspires writing. On one hand, I always feel that the events surrounding me must be documented, either for posterity or as a form of protest and or therapy. Art (all forms of it) is useful in that way -- it provides a space for both activism and escape. On the other hand, I sometimes have a feeling that I didn’t choose words, they chose me and the desire to write is so ingrained in me now that I can’t quite track how it began.

 Do you think there is a difference between a writer and an author?

Well, someone (Joan Meterlekemp) once said that an author has authority when they write so I suppose authors are a subset of writers who have authority on one subject or the other. Additionally, I think the word ‘writer’ is a broader term today than it was a hundred years ago. I imagine at that time, writers were either scholars, novelists, or journalists but now that term has expanded to include bloggers, screenwriters and our friends who post random chapters and on-dits on social media.

What is it about the diaspora experience that made you want to contribute to this anthology?

I feel the diaspora experience is fraught with a lot of tension (at least my diaspora experience) and there are several moments that have made me want to stop and reflect. I think living (on and off) in South Africa, a country that has seen three different waves of xenophobic violence (2008, 2015, 2019) and a whole #PutSouthAfricansFirst campaign has forced me to stop and think about nationhood and migration more often than I’d want to and I feel keenly the need for such stories to be told.

How do you think your works in this anthology contribute to the history and future of the Zimbabwean dispersion? 

I think it is difficult to tell now as the history of now is still being written and the impact of today’s events will be clearer in the future. For now, I’ll say they probably offer differing views of the migrant. My three stories deal with different aspects of migration – the first is about a man returning to Zimbabwe after many years in South Africa, the second is a speculative imagining of xenophobia carried out to the nth degree and third is a more realistic snapshot of a woman negotiating the emotional toll of witnessing xenophobia without necessarily being in direct danger of it. I think the world needs to understand that the migrant experience is multifaceted and that a person’s experience of it will always depend on many factors including gender and socioeconomic background.

Briefly describe your writing journey, from how you started to where you are today.

My writing journey stated when I was in Grade 3 and won a prize for Composition. I wanted to be a writer then but I didn’t really know what that entailed so I’d casually scribble a few stories and such. Then when I was about sixteen, I was reading African works that had a greater sociopolitical bent and I started writing poems about my own experiences of being Black and being a woman. When I went to university, my love for poetry kept growing as I discovered more contemporary artists. From there, I studied creative writing and I remembered that my love for writing wasn’t just an affinity for poetry but also prose and I started seriously investing more time and energy into the craft of writing and I started writing more short stories and getting them published in various anthologies and journals.

How do you want your work to be remembered?

I want my writing to be remembered as work that played with language subverted forms and (occasionally) called the world out on its BS. 

Would you like to share anything about yourself to help your readers connect with you?

I can’t think of anything.

 Who is your favourite writer and why?

As a confirmed bibliophile, I can never answer this question. I have many favourite authors but if I had to pick one, I’d say James Baldwin (for his eloquence), Lesley Nneka Arimah (for her inventiveness) and Karen Lord (for her style). Yes, all of them, and even this list is likely to evolve at any moment.

 What are your future writing aspirations?

I have many but the superstitious side of me has trouble sharing them. For instance, I’ve been telling people that I’m working on a short story collection for the past six years and I imagine that it’s starting to get old now so I’ll keep a lid on my other plans until they materialise.

 What is your biggest dream?

To start a writing academy similar to Clarion West in Zimbabwe.

***

BRILLIANCE OF HOPE

Editors' note on Tariro's 3 stories

Stasis, a brilliant narrative depicting the plight of foreign black women in a dystopian future South Africa. Chiedza valiantly faces the trials of adulthood - feeling under pressure to progress swiftly, comply with black tax whilst putting on a brave face. Racism, sexism and harassment in the workplace are amongst her tribulations. The imagery and humour employed by the author make the distressing themes in the story more palatable. Chiedza’s enlightenment at the end of the story is a breath of fresh air. 

La Duma 32/12, a well presented allegory exploring the dissonance resulting from the quandary of living in South Africa as a foreigner. The death of a friend exacerbates the narrator’s numbness - everything happening around her makes her feel conflicted about where she belongs. The piece is presented in unique form, like a dictionary in draft format, attempting to define what dissonance is for a Zimbabwean living in South Africa. Multiple "voices" are at play - the events on the ground, news headlines, social media posts, the author’s own views - all are duly considered, to deliver a clear message - South Africa is an unsafe place to live. It ends with quite a miserable choice to have to make for the narrator – to stay in South Africa and risk death, or to go back to Zimbabwe and risk poverty.

Abishai tells an ingenious, perceptible tale of an expectant family whose father figure leaves the country for better opportunities, only for the deadbeat man to get lured into a long-term extramarital affair and return home with nothing but the clothes on his back. Not everyone is strong or committed enough to fulfil the purpose of dispersion, and we see that in Abishai when he sinks to the lowest depths. The man cannot even remember the name of his own daughter when he returns. We witness a stoic mother’s fight for survival for her children through tough times. The story is expertly narrated and seasoned with just the right amount of humour to lighten the heavy subject matter addressed.