The City in Spring

It’s spring in the Southern Hemisphere. While leaves are turning and falling in North America and Europe, flowers are blooming and the days are growing hotter in Zimbabwe. The two go together, the flowers taking the sting out of the September sun.

The rains won’t come for another month, but the days are growing hotter. This means temperatures regularly above 32 degrees Celsius (or hovering in the low nineties for those of you in the States who have yet to switch over to international standards). It is, in short, hot, and it doesn't help matters that power cuts regularly eliminate any hope of relief.

It’s nothing like the deserts of West Africa, where the sun hit the earth like a hammer striking an anvil, beating you into submission like a piece of pig iron, but then the Sahara doesn't have hundred of leafy jacarandas to shelter under to escape the heat.

The jacarandas aren't native. In fact, they are a vestige of colonialism, imported from Central and South America as ornamentals in an otherwise colorless landscape. They've been criticized by environmentalists and agronomists in the country, for some good reasons: they’re non-native, they require too much water, they squeeze out other indigenous vegetation.

No doubt that these are legitimate arguments, however the trees have become somewhat iconic to cities like Harare and Bulawayo. Their wide, leafy boughs shade many streets in the Harare’s upper class neighborhoods, and at the moment, their lilac-colored flowers have infused the city with beauty and whimsy. Jacarandas line Leopold Takawira Street, one of the main arteries from the city center into the northern suburbs. In a strong wind, thousands of delicate trumpet-shaped flowers stream like rain from their branches, littering the ground with a thick layer of violet-blue petals. They cover streets and sidewalks like a thin layer of snow, and you can’t help but smile at the beauty of it.

The trees have been around long enough that several local anecdotes regarding the jacaranda govern life here.

“We used to say in school that if you hadn't started studying for exams by the time the pods broke on the jacaranda tree, there was no hope. You were done for.”

“These trees have their own uniform, you see? We at school all have our own colors for the uniform, and so does the jacaranda. Green leaves, purple flowers, brown trunk, white roots.” When this mechanic was a kid, they used to say that if the jacaranda was wearing its uniform that the students didn't have to wear theirs. I assume it had to do with the timing of school holidays, but I couldn't quite understand his meaning.

The jacarandas aren't the only sign of spring, however. Pink, red, and violet bougainvillea creep over garden walls and climb up streetlights. Bold golden trumpet vines have exploded in parks and gardens all over the city, and in some private houses, red and white roses remind one of England’s imperial legacy. Despite thirty years of majority rule, proper British tea gardens with their quiet fountains, winding paths, and impressive blooms still remain in isolated pockets around the city and the country. Perhaps they hold out hope for the return of monarchy, lonely little outposts besieged on all sides by the encroaching African bush.

Seen from the air, Harare might exhibit a polka dot motif – purple, yellow, and red crushes of color against a green and brown background. From the street, the wealthier neighborhoods, with their irrigation systems and private gardeners, look like something out of Dr. Seuss. One wouldn't be surprised to meet the Lorax, begging people to leave his trees alone.

Ultimately, the trees may have to go. The Ministry of Environment recently pushed for the removal of the jacaranda, citing its intensive thirst for water and its alien status in the region’s ecosystem. For now, however, the tree will most likely remain, if not for its beauty than for its utility. “It’s a good shade tree,” a security guard told me, “and it grows fast. Even in the rural areas, they like this tree. It provides wood for the fire and for building.”

Personally, I can’t imagine this city without its stately jacarandas. In just a few days of spring, the trees have captured my imagination, reminding me of Washington DC’s cherry trees, a gift from the Japanese, or the London plane, itself a hybrid of American and Turkish origin. They may not be indigenous, but they've left their mark, and I hope they stay.