In an annual festival of art and design, women from several Zimbabwean communities, including Matopos, adorn rural houses using natural materials and classic patterns

Written and captured by Jonny Cohen

Peggy Masuku snuck out of her clay-brick house while a crescent moon hung high in the starry sky above Matopos hamlet in Zimbabwe and an eagle owl was hooting on the thatch roof.

There were two weeks before the tournament she had devoted every fiber of her existence to, and it was 4 am, the hour before dawn.

The goal of the initiative My Beautiful Home is to revive the age-old practice of adorning and embellishing rural homesteads using objects, colors, and pigments acquired from the soil. Shovels, rainwater tanks, three-legged iron pots, day-old chicks, and even a hive and beekeeping training are among the valuable and practical prizes offered to regional champions.

Jindi Mkhokha, another villager from Matopos taking part in the My Beautiful Home competition

Masuku, however, had a restless night as the judgement day drew near wondering about what to dress and if her personal appearance could equal the imaginative work she had put into her house. Then, according to her, a communication from the ancestors, or amadlozi, had come through clearly: "Peggy, go to the forest."

Competition entrant Atillia Moyo in Matopos

Masuku carefully entered the front door, taking care not to disturb her husband and kids who were sound asleep on their grass mats. She inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma of the mango blossoms, and then walked into the shadows.

Masuku was seeking for seeds from the tough African leaves known as the mopane tree as morning dawned over the craggy granite hills around her valley as she went with her eyes to the ground. And loads of them, to sew into a majestic dress that would make her the center of attention in the neighborhood.

Peggy Masuku’s house

Left: closeup of the decoration on Masuku’s house. Right: hand-crafted clay shelving in the interior of a house in Matopos village

“Everyone is an artist,” says Masuku. “We just need to learn how to see.”

Hundreds of women from all across this area start decorating every fall as the morning air becomes cooler and the last crop of grain and sorghum is stored in the rafters of the circular clay homes, known as rondavels. The interior and outside of a tiny house take around two to three months to construct using colours blended from various muds and a watery clay solution.

Clockwise from top left: detail of decorative art from Matopos; interior of a rondavel (a round clay house) in the village; the My Beautiful Home contest gets under way; a bicycle, the main form of transport in Matopos, rests against a decorated wall

The method has a long history that dates back thousands of years. Many art historians think that the geometric patterns, themes, and textures seen in ordinary African rites served as inspiration for the cubism movement. The linkages are evident right here in southern Zimbabwe's Matobo Hills.

A real example of the African principle of Ubuntu, which states: "I am because we are," the singing, cheering, and ululating during the village prizegiving show the fervent passion for this yearly art ritual.

The competition is all about community spirit, according to the local organiser Patience Sarif, who adds: "Art aside, each lady encourages and supports the next. It's evident in how they conduct their everyday lives. Life is challenging. They plow fields, clean and cook, collect water, and yet manage to find time to improve their houses and support one another. The happiness it generates is admirable. Seeing how many more young ladies are participating is also incredibly wonderful. Culture is once again in vogue.

Villagers in Matopos gather for a prize-giving ceremony and celebrations after the results of the contest are announced

And nature serves as both the inspiration and the conclusion for this artistic movement. The lovely themes and designs, a testament to labor and pride, are quickly destroyed by the summer rains that start to fall in early November.

“When that happens I sometimes stand in the rain watching my creation wash away, and I feel sad,” says Masuku. And then she looks up and smiles. “But then we start dreaming about what to do next year.”

Judith Madida inside her home in Matopos, wearing an outfit she made for the competition

Thanks to The Guardian whose reporting provided the original basis for this story.