Finding Myself in Other’s Stories

This is a motivation for an ongoing photo story.

Chantelle Jonhera (22) hand washes her family’s laundry at least once a week and there are at least 20 households on her street doing the same in Harare, Zimbabwe, November 15, 2024. The grey water, filled with detergents, flows into the wetland, degrading it over time. As the wetland’s vegetation is cut off to make way for more construction activities, the wetland is losing its ability to purify water and make it safe for other species. Photo by Charmaine Chitate for The VII Foundation

During my parents’ separation, and later divorce, I moved to Dzivarasekwa 3, a high-density suburb on the outskirts of Harare. When my pregnant mother, sister, and I moved in, the only structure available at the stand was a single long room built from precast walls.

We managed to stuff all of our belongings and furniture into the room. As you walked into the room, to the left, you’d find our kitchen unit and a paraffin stove on the concrete slab floor. Two steps in, you’ve entered our lounge, complete with maroon Kensington-style sofas. behind the sofas was a piece of cloth hung over a string of wool — our room divider. Beyond that curtain, was our sleeping area, a bedroom per se, a double bed, and two single beds — barely a human foot apart. Each rainy season, we watched as the room flooded. We watched as my mother’s favourite sofas floated in muddy water. We sat on the beds each time it rained and hoped the water would not reach the mattresses. When the rains stopped, we took buckets to scoop the water out.

The first year was tough. We all cried. The following years were easier as my mother welcomed her third child. The excitement of having a baby in the house bubbled over during the rainy season and we looked forward to marking the level the water reached each year. As the years passed, the furniture became worn out. The memories we had placed in photo albums became warped and others had a rainbow effect. We lived in the pre-cast room for many years. Many, many years.

These are memories I share with my sisters. Memories I choose to forget — though they are memories that made me who I am today.

Looking back at my life experiences, I realise that there are many stories that I need to tell — but I never do. I took up photography and storytelling to help ‘other’ people share their stories. To hide my ‘self’. Today, I realise they are tools I use to present shared and lived experiences I have with those I document. Our ‘house’ was not built on a wetland. It was just a stellar example of poor workmanship.

It is this experience that drew me to wanting to understand the communities living on the wetlands better. To identify with their challenges and the temporary solutions they’ve found.