Collen Kajokoto

The Freedom of Imagination

Kajokoto began writing poetry around 1998. Due to the restrictive political environment in Zimbabwe, he struggled to get his work published. But in 2000, Kajokoto’s poem, “Slain Farmer,” appeared in the Zimbabwean weekly Tribune (now in ZimEye). The poem garnered attention for its eloquent condemnation of the state-commissioned murder of white farmer, Martin Olds. The Zimbabwean government had also taken notice. Still, Kajokoto refused to be silenced by the threat of repercussions. He vehemently protested for artistic freedom of expression and continued to rail against then president Mugabe’s unjust rise to power—an event he publicly denounced as a “miscarriage of justice.”

In March 2002, Kajokoto was arrested and tortured. Although he temporarily fled to Botswana and sought asylum in South Africa, his application was rejected and any additional pleas for international protection went largely unnoticed. He was soon after deported back to Zimbabwe. There, Kajokoto was immediately arrested and charged with inciting public violence and denigrating the Office of the President; he was sentenced to seven years in prison without the possibility of parole. During his time in prison, Kajokoto was deliberately assigned to a cell with perpetrators of the most violent crimes—murderers, rapists. Furthermore, he entered prison shortly after becoming a father. So when his wife and mother were killed by the Zimbabwean regime in retaliation for his crimes, he exited as not only a widower, but also as the sole provider for his then young daughter. But amidst these attempts to break his will, Kajokoto remembers one of the cruelest injustices of incarceration to be a deceivingly simple tactic: denying him a pencil and paper.

Upon release from prison, Kajokoto continued to release more works of poetry. Since his seven-year imprisonment, Kajokoto has published more poems such as “Black Crocodile” and “God’s Secretary.” The latter of which caused him to be harassed, arrested again, and interrogated. In distress, Kajokoto felt determined to reach freedom through exile.

When asked how Kajokoto gathered the strength to continue speaking his mind in the face of state intimidation, he cites the place where his call to poetry began—his birth village of Domboshava (not far from the capital city of Harare). Born into a community of artists storytellers, Kajokoto spent his youth chewing sugarcane by the stalk and listening to his grandmother weave together epic tales. At the end of every fable, she’d ask, “You know what is the lesson of this story?” It is these sounds of his village (such as the Mbira, a traditional calabash played in Zimbabwe by the Shona people) that creates the rich soundscape of his poetry. However, it is the lessons of his grandmother and the guidance of his ancestors that fortifies each poem with a clear sense of moral righteousness despite government attempts to silence and obscure the truth.

Still, memories of Domboshava are bittersweet. It has been a long time since Kajokoto has seen his home. He misses the people. The community. The smell of cow dung. The fresh air. The mosquito bites. The language. Often, the things he misses about his homeland are spontaneous and nonsensical, but the pangs of homesickness are potent nonetheless. On his right toe, there is a nail missing. He sees it every time he bathes. “[In my village] there was a big stone when I was young,” Kajokoto begins, chuckling, “I hit the stone with my toe and the nail fell off. About a year later I hit the same stone on the same place, and the nail fell off and regrew. The third time, I hit the same spot and the toe said, ‘this is too much.’ The nail never came back.” Now, Kajokoto would give anything to hit his toe one more time. So long as it is on the same rock. So long as he can be in his village, again.

Today, Kajokoto lives in exile in Germany with his 16-year-old daughter, Ellen. They have been living there since November of 2022 under the Writers-in-Exile scholarship from the German PEN Center, funded by BKM (the German Federal Commissioner for culture and media). However, this year marks his last year under the fellowship, so Kajokoto is preparing to find another means of international refuge. However, as he knows all too well, applying for asylum can be a long, arduous, and often fruitless endeavor. Therefore, Kajokoto is placing all his faith in that which he knows—poetry.

This past March, Kajokoto released the poem “Polls In Flight: Whose Ghost Is This?” in preparation for his first collection of poetry. He is hoping to publish a few books before his fellowship ends and he is once again faced with a legal impasse. Afterall, Kajokoto knows the importance of popularity when it comes to artist protection. When reflecting on the process of finding international aid, Kajokoto highlighted the particular risk of being persecuted as an emerging artist. Lesser known artists must often endure a lack of visibility regarding their requests for assistance. Despite enduring the same violations of human rights that other popular artists face in Zimbabwe, Kojokoto says that without the safety net of public pressure and legal representation, “sometimes it’s very difficult. I feel like in my case, if I had representation… we could have been talking of a different story.”

That being said, Kajokoto does not like to indulge in fantasizing about a life without persecution. The distance from his friends, the deaths of the women in his life, and the guilt of putting his loved ones at risk feels too potent to be forgotten. Above all, though, he feels the responsibility to rectify the losses. Other poets around the world may have the luxury to write about “love and flowers” and to focus on the beauty of life. But he simply cannot. As an artist, Kajokoto recognizes that his words must be a reflection of his society—if society is ugly, then his art must be too. Maybe one day, Kajokoto will be able to write about roses. He imagines it will happen when he is back in his village, chewing sugarcane and listening to stories alongside his people. Until then, it is the duty of artists like himself to do what they can. To use their art to mold the idyllic world they imagine into reality.