Basic Girl

1965 (Part II).

(Image from Pinterest: Rudo, Nyasha and Tendayi.)


” What do you mean you could not leave it there? You could have just walked away, LITERALLY!.” , Tunga shouted at Vongai as he pointed at the basket sitting on the sofa. Vongai had explained to him how she heard an unusual sound when she was walking home from work. Nurse Margaret had delayed her again, this time she had asked her to stay a while longer so she could go to the south wing which was a fifteen-minute walk both ways, to borrow a cigarette from the other nurses.

”Tungamirai, murume wangu, please hear me out”, Vongai knelt next to him as she pleaded with him. She had relayed the incident numerous times trying to convince Tunga how she could not just walk away.

She was halfway home, a few minutes from Bakayawa Grocery Store when she heard a strange noise near the big msasa tree which marked the entrance to the Mufakose township. She had thought little of it as she knew no robbers would be lurking close to where people would see them. She ignored the noise and kept walking, but as she walked towards the township, she heard it again, a loud wailing from where the tree was but she could not see anyone. She began to think it was Peggy, the infamous phantom that had been known to roam around Mufakose and luring drunk men and late travellers to their death and misfortune. She stopped in her tracks out of fear and began to think of how she was going to run if it were Peggy. Could she actually outrun a ghost? What if it was a dzangaradzimu, this could be worse because though they were known not to be violent, they used their height to scare you.

As she stood there deciding her fate, the wailing became louder and it began to sound like a baby. Vongai snapped herself out of her thoughts and paid attention to where the crying was coming from. She began to walk back listening attentively, to try to concentrate where exactly the noise was coming from. From the dim light supplied by the moon, Vongai was able to make out a huge basket underneath a big msasa tree. The noise appeared to be coming from the basket, as she came nearer to it, it sounded more like a new-born baby crying. She walked towards the basket and looked at it for a very long time before deciding on what to do. Was it truly a child or was she falling for a hoax? What if it was a tokoloshi or someone was trying to lure her and murder her on the spot? As she was trying to make sense of it, the crying began again and this time it sounded as if the baby was exhausted from crying. The cry sounded husky and low. Without thinking twice Vongai opened up the basket and beheld herself as she saw a baby, not more than three days partly swabbed in a white sheet with no clothes underneath.

“ Mwari wangu! ”, Vongai exclaimed as she picked the baby from the basket. The sheet had come undone and the baby’s tiny hands were out, with its fists in its mouth. Vongai could not help but notice the baby was very pale, she thought maybe someone had abandoned the baby because it was an albino and they did not want to be shunned. However, as she fully unwrapped the baby, trying to see if it had a napkin, she notices the blonde straight hair . She lifted the baby to her face to see clearly as she could not believe her eyes. A white baby dumped close to the township? Why and who would do such a thing? Were they hoping someone would find the baby or they just wanted to get rid of it? She instinctively began to rock the baby and wrapped “him” with her cardigan and stockings, removing the wet sheet. She did not have anything for him to eat, so she left him to his fists. He looked helpless and leaving him would be inhumane. What would Tunga say? She had made up her mind not to have kids and was adamant about it.

” What am I going to do”, she murmured to herself as she rocked the baby. He looked very peaceful and seemed to have fallen asleep.

“…I can not take you home. What will my husband say? I can not leave you here too, what if you d..”, as she was contemplating on what to do. She heard a ruffling in the bushes and heard a voice from where the pathway was. She carefully put the baby back in the basket and as she picked it to hide it in a tree hollow on the msasa tree, she was startled by someone poking her with something blunt on her back.

“You, kaiffar..w- what are y- you doing here?”, a male voice bellowed poking her back. Vongai froze and was terrified when she recognised the voice. It was Sergeant Burke, he was a villainous and crude UDI officer. He was known for arresting black people for absurd things and was feared by everyone in the township, except for Mr Tom who was his brother-in-law. Vongai slowly turned around to face him, praying he would not harass her but most of all, he could not ask her to open the basket which she still held in her hand. She saw the baton stick which was in his hand and which previously had been used to poke her, and her heart sank. She had never been a victim of police brutality all because of Tunga who had always made sure they avoided any encounters with the UDI police, but she had seen its sinister markings on her neighbours and family members.

“Answer me!”, he bawled at her as he staggered, struggling to stand still. Vongai was terrified, she thought of just pushing him out of her way and run for her life, but fear paralysed her.

“I-I was relieving m-myself, sir.”, she lied hoping he was going to be repulsed by her activity and leave her.

“Bloody hell, you people are disgusting! Animals!”, he bellowed as he stood in front of Vongai gawking at her. Vongai stood there scared for her life and hoping the baby not to make a sound.

“W- What do you have in there? O- open it, n-n..”, as he moved towards her, pointing at the basket.

Vongai moved back, trying to move away from him. He kept moving forward and closer to her until she was pressed against the msasa tree and could smell the stale odour of alcohol and sweat. Vongai was terrified, she wanted to cry but did not want to wake the baby. He held on to the basket tightly with one hand and held her chest with the other one. Sergeant Burke moved closer to her and stared at her for a few seconds without saying anything. He glared at her chest and then her face and smiled. Vongai began to sob, she knew what he was thinking and knew what was to follow. She thought of pushing him away but she was afraid he had seen her face and would recognise her when he was doing his patrol “rounds” in Mufakose. Sergeant Burke slowly put his head on her chest, with his arms hanging on both sides. Vongai stood there paralyzed, the baby was starting to whimper. She tried to sway the basket so the baby could not feel scared or alone but it did not make it better. The baby began to cry, loudly and very audible. She could not move because of the Sergeant’s upper body weight on her chest. She wondered why he had not moved in the few minutes he had rested his head, he was not moving or talking and the only sign of life was his breathing pattern. She realised he had fallen asleep on her chest. He was not snoring or wheezing as Tunga did whenever he came home drunk, but he was breathing as any non-snoring person would. To free herself and attend to the crying baby, she decided her own fate and pushed the Sergeant off her chest. He slumped on the ground with a thud and let out a groan, he let out a few runts then began to snore. As soon as Vongai detected he was still alive, she ran for her life.

” Ndamhanya, I did not even stop at Mai Kaitano’s shop for bread and milk for tomorrow.”, Vongai said as she explained to her husband still kneeling next to him. She added how when she arrived home, she took the baby out and washed it. She realised it was a boy and he had a big wound on his right leg. It made him wince every time she touched or moved his leg. Vongai had dressed it in some gauze and dressings she had managed to get from the hospital that one time when Tunga had been injured after the roof of one of the houses they were working on had collapsed whilst he was inside. She wrapped him in one of Tunga’s t-shirt’s and cut two holes into her shower cap to make a homemade waterproof.

“Adya? Has he eaten?”, Tunga asked as he leaned over to get a closer look at the baby. He felt sorry for him but he did not want to get attached either.

Ehe, I gave him the last of the fresh milk.”, Vongai said as she took the baby out of the basket who had begun to whimper. She began to rock him and trying to soothe him. She checked the shower cap to see if he was wet but it appeared dry. She was tired and could not think as to why the baby was crying.

” I just fed him, I do not know why he is still crying. Shhh shh, heehuwe chinyarara mwana. Heehuwe c-chi…”, Vongai began to cry. She was scared and the shock of what she had done was beginning to sink in.

” Nhai Mwari, what have I done!?”, she began to sob as the baby wailed in her arms. Tunga stood up and took the baby from Vongai. He did not want to say anything that would further upset her, even though he had a lot to say. Mxm, Vongai so? She would have just easily walked away and not tried to pry. Now she is crying over something that would have been avoided. Yaah, I guess this is for better or for worse. Tunga thought to himself as he rocked the baby in one hand and holding Vongai with the other.

 Enda unorara Vongai, you have work tomorrow. I will take care of him and think of a way forward.” , he suggested standing in the dining/kitchen rocking the baby who was turning red crying. He was trying to find a way to calm him before their nosy neighbour came knocking.

” I do not mind staying up Tunga, I-I brought him here so…I should take care of him”, Vongai replied standing next to him. She was trying to collect herself and take on the burden she had added on to their already hard life. She knew Tunga was already scheming on what to do next. He had always been the problem solver in the marriage and he was never one to point fingers, he unfailingly evinced how they were a team.

” No, chinorara. I will take care of him. Do not worry.”, he suggested as he walked to their kitchen unit which Tunga had fashioned. He did not look at Vongai or show any emotion. He tried to rock the baby who was now crying with a rasp. He precisely needed time to himself, and the baby, to figure out how they were going to go about. He was furious, but he knew overtly expressing it at the present moment, would not lead to any resolution.

” Ok, goodnight. If you need anything, please wake me. There is a bit of mil..”

“Vongai, please. Go to bed, I am a grown man and I can take care of a child. Wanzwa?!”, he blurted out as he faced the kitchen unit, trying to avoid Vongai. His outburst startled the baby who had stopped crying and he started whimpering again. Vongai sighed and quietly walked out of the room, she knew saying anything would make Tunga angrier. She did not get the chance to have a wash before bed or perform her night skin care routine. She trod into their bedroom which consisted of a 3/4 bed, a washing basket, a wooden shoe rack with their  two pairs of shoes each, a zambia that divided a quarter of the room to cover their clothes carefully arranged against the wall and a chest of drawers which was had a can of Macho spray, a tub of vaseline, a jar of Oil of Olay she had gotten from Nadia, a small bottle of Mum deodorant, a can of multipurpose Kiwi shoe polish, face powder and two shades of lipstick. She put on her nightdress and tied her hair, she stood in the middle of the room trying to hear if the baby was crying or if she could make up what Tunga was doing basing on the sounds he made.

She checked the time on her wristwatch as she put it on the chest of drawer. It was a little past midnight and she would be up in four hours. She got into the covers and fluffed her pillow which was stuffed with old clothes and dried lavender. She held the blanket to her chin and tried to force herself to sleep.

” Mwari, thank you for Tunga and for giving me the courage to save this baby. However, I do not know what to do now. Hear me, Lord, what will I do? May this not backfire and may it not break my marriage, please. Please God, ndapota. It is the only good thing in my life.”, Vongai inaudibly prayed as tears rolled down her face, drifting off to sleep.

Tunga put on the Primus stove and placed the kettle on the plate, holding the baby in the other hand. The baby was sucking his fists and he was wide awake. Tunga tried to put him back in the basket but he began to cry as soon as he put him down. He picked him up and he stopped crying. He put him down again and as soon as he put him down, he began to cry again.

” Hezvo, is there something biting you in that basket?”, Tunga questioned as he surveyed the basket but could not find anything. He could not understand why the baby was crying, he put him on the sofa. As soon as he laid him down, he began to wail very loudly. Tunga quickly picked him up and he immediately stopped crying. He began to laugh realising the baby did not want to be put down. It also dawned on him that he was feeling lonely and was scared to be left alone. Tunga moved him closer to the lamp and looked at him. The light pierced through his blue eyes and he was concentrated on his fists.

” What shall we do with you, huh?. You are clueless of how much trouble we are in, and it is not your fault.”, he whispered to the baby who was oblivious of what was going on. The kettle began to hiss on the Primus stove and quickly rushed to it turn off, with the baby in his arms.

He could not find anything conducive to use as a bottle for the baby, so he put the milk in a tumbler and placed the milk in a dish with hot water to warm the milk. He thought of how best he would feed him and realised they had an unused syringe which Vongai had brought from the hospital. He searched all the drawers in the kitchen and later found it with the cutlery. He was not sure if the baby would take the milk or like it, so he added a bit of sugar.

” After the day you have had, you deserve something sweet.”, Tunga said as he sat down with the tumbler of milk, a syringe and the baby. He tested the temperature of the milk on his arm and was satisfied that it was the optimum temperature. As soon as he put it on the baby’s lips, he began to suck on it frantically. He pushed the syringe slowly so as not to choke him.

” What shall we do with you now?”, he sighed deeply giving the baby the milk.

Tunga looked at him whilst he suckled on the syringe. What was he going to do now? He could not leave it entirely to Vongai, he had known her good heart would put them in uncomfortable situations. It was one of the many attributes that attracted him to her. She was always selfless and kind but firm at the same time. However this time around, it was Tunga who has to be the selfless and kind one. He was still in the infancy stages of these qualities, but he also knew he had to protect his family, which was composed of Vongai and that was all he needed.

On realising that the baby had fallen asleep, Tunga carefully put him back in the basket. He stood and looked at the baby peacefully sleeping, contemplating on the plan he had quietly hatched whilst he was feeding the baby. He shook his head and walked towards the door. It was already dawn, the birds were singing their morning chorus and he could hear Dudzai their neighbour preparing her floor polish and soft brooms for her first round. She always started shouting from her yard and this would alert Vongai that it was time to wake up. Tunga braced himself for his wife to come into the dining room. He decided he was just going to tell her what he had come up with and it was the only way they would all be safe.

Hapana zvimwe zvatingaite.”, he whispered to himself and he stood by the door. He took out a cigarette and rolled it between his fingers, he shrugged and put it against his lips and lit it.

” That is the only way.”, he said thinking out loud, blowing the cigarette smoke towards Dudzai’s house, as she coincidentally started her marketing slogan.

” Cooooobraaaaa! Coooobraaaa! Cobra yered, black neeeye white! Coooooobraaa! Miiiiitsvairooo!”, she shouted as she walked down the road, oblivious to what had been happening next door.

Tom rolled over and looked at Natsai who laid on he stomach fast asleep facing him. He studied her face, which he never got tired of looking at. He pondered on how he was going to provide her with the life she deserved. He had promised her the best life when they got married. A house in the suburbs, with a swimming pool, an electric stove and a brand new Singer sewing machine. He would build a bar in Arcadia where there was a wider clientele for his business. He would hire someone to work with him at the bar who would close up whilst he would go home early and help Natsai put buttons on her orders and spend time with his family. It broke his heart that he was not able to fully provide for his family and gave them what they deserved. He thought of his children Nyasha, Rudo and Tendayi, they did not deserve to be treated differently because of their mother and also because of him. He knew other things were beyond his control, but he was determined to provide the best for his family regardless.

Ba T, are you staring at me?”, Natsai muffles with her mouth covered with the pillow. Her eyes were still closed and she was still lying on her stomach. It was a rhetorical question but she enjoyed the different reason he gave for staring at her. This time, he did not reply. He sighed heavily and put his hand on her back. ” Kwakanaka?“, she questioned him, opening her eyes to look at her husband’s face.

” I have been thinking.”, he confessed looking at their asbestos roof which had a hole that he had covered by glueing a piece of wood.

” Well, that is a bad idea. You thinking?”, Natsai joked with her husband but he did not laugh. She realised his face grew serious and he did not turn to face her or tickle her as he always did when she said something witty.

” Natsai, are you happy? Honestly, are you happy with this?” he said moving his hand around the room to gesture what he meant. He sighed deeply again and kept quiet, thinking of how he was going to get them out of this. He had been content living in Mufakose all along, amongst people who had different perspectives on why he was amongst them. He was fully aware of it but he could not leave his family, he could take the misunderstandings but ever since Allan came to visit a few nights ago, he was now having a change of heart.

” Are you truly happy? Taura chokwadi hako,” he asked her again, turning to face her.

” I am comfortable, we have talked about this. We can not change the leaders of this country but we can enjoy what we can whilst we still have the chance.”, Natsai replied she sat up on the bed fastening her bonnet.

” Mai T, remember what I promised you when we got married? Ndinoone sekunge ndafoira semurume. None of what I promised you has come to pass. I promised to make sure your sewing business would be successful and you would get a contract under my name from Power Sale or even Woolworth. I have failed you.”, he scoffed with tears in his eyes. Natsai knew and understood what he meant, she had tried to segue the topic each time Tom said something along the lines of it. She knew it would bring her to talk about her hopes and dreams of being a teacher that were thwarted because of love. How she wished they would escape and just be a family without worrying about what people thought of their union. Friends and family had abandoned her for her decision and she had been bitter about it. It hurt her to have to think of how her children would never have grandparents or ever be fully accepted or how her neighbours called her a traitor for marrying the enemy. He would never be ready for such a conversation, she had made her peace knowing she would never be fully or truly happy but she was comfortable, and that was good enough.

” Ba T please, achiri makuseni. Are we not a family? Do we not have a roof over our head and do we not have healthy children who are loved? Chii chimwe chatingade?”, she questioned him getting up from bed a bit frustrated.

” Mai T, you and the children deserve better. I want you to be happy, to experience happiness. To have that new Singer sewing machine that you have dreamt of. For the children to go to a good school where they do not have to share a book with ten other people at the same time. I can not do this anymore. We can not die like this. Kwete.” he vowed as he stood and walked towards his wife who was gathering her toiletries to prepare for a wash before they had to wake the kids for school.

Saka wafunga kuita sei? Do you have a plan or you are just dreaming out loud makuseni ano? Huh? Tell me, what is your plan for us to escape this?” she exclaimed gesturing with her hand as he had before. She did not want to face him, her eyes were burning with tears. She had killed all hope of ever leaving Mufakose and she had wrapped herself in that bubble. She had stopped herself from dreaming or thinking otherwise, Tom’s “hope” was slowly dismantling her wall but unlike Tom, she did not have the luxury to “hope”.

” Handina parizvino.”, he replied feeling defeated but determined, he tried to hold her but he knew his answer had thwarted an ounce of optimism in her. He heard her sneer at his response, he knew he had hit a nerve and knowing his wife, she believed in action more than words.

Bva ngatinyarare nezvazvo. What is the point of us having hope when there is literally no way forward?”, she turned around and looked at him, her eyebrows furrowed and turf of her escaping from her bonnet. Tom walked towards his wife but he stopped when she reached for her zambia which she quickly wrapped around her waist, leaving the room without saying anything.

For the past 4 days, Tunga and Vongai had gotten the hang of their routine to keep the baby safe and a secret. Vongai would wake up around 4 am, as usual, prepare the baby’s food and put out clean clothes she had managed to buy from Natsai. She had told her they were for her sister Mazvita, who had just had a baby. Natsai had not wanted to ask too many questions because they were not the closest of friends, and also because Mazvita was about the same age as Nyasha, her firstborn who was only 10 years.

Vongai would get herself ready for work and alert Tunga that she was leaving for work. Tunga who started work at 8 am and would only walk 30 minutes to go to work, would wake up around 6:30, which was also the time the baby usually woke up. He would wash him, change him and give him his bottle whilst he got ready for work. They had realised he immediately fell asleep after being fed and burped. Tunga would rock him whilst on the lookout for Tamuka and Gumi who came to get him on their way to work. By the time they arrived, he would have placed the baby in the basket but he would leave it open with a mosquito net on top of it. He would prepare a bottle for when Vongai would come on her morning break which was around 10 am. He would also leave a glove with soaked rice on the baby’s stomach. Not too heavy but light enough to make it feel like a hand on his stomach. It was an idea Vongai had come up with to have the baby believe he was not alone. Tunga had thought it to be ridiculous but it had seemed to be working.

He would stand by the window in clear view of the sandline from which Tamuka and Gumi would emerge from with their picks and shovels. He would quickly place the baby in the basket and made sure he was safe and nothing would trouble his breathing. He made sure to close the windows except for the one in their bedroom which he opened slightly for fresh air. He would go to the back of the house where the bedroom was and survey the premises before leaving.

Ko mudhara, can I spend a penny? I left the house in a hurry because of Gumi..”, Tamuka asked as he walked past Tunga and going straight to the back of the house where the toilet was outside. Gumi shook his head as he looked on drawing on the stab of cigarette he had in his hand.

Ah shaa, we are late. You can hold it in.”, Tunga responded holding his arm. Tamuka did not make anything of it and proceeded to walk towards the back.

Tamuka! Shaa ndati we are late! We do not have time.”, Tunga said as he grabbed Tamuka by the arm and pulled him towards the road.

Aah mudhara, how far? I will not b..”, Tamuka tried explaining but Tunga did not seem to be interested. Gumi began to walk towards the road, he was not interested in being the voice of reason, so he made a run for it before they consulted him.

Hande, you can go behind the big msasa tree on our way.”, Tunga suggested, walking behind Tamuka who seemed more annoyed than anything.

” Ah but mudhara Tunga, you do not have to treat me like a child.”, he sneered, ” I see you won’t have any trouble raising kids. You are already equipped ka. Too strict nezvis…”, Tamuka muttered as he brisked up his pace to catch up with Gumi. Tunga was not paying attention to his friend but was listening attentively to any sound coming from the house. After being certain of no crying or whimpering, he ran after his friends certain Vongai would make it back before he woke up.

PART 3: Here

Relationships and all the other adulting stuff.

Hey there.. How are you today? Oh me, I am highly favoured, thanks.

This might seem as an odd way to respond, but I am learning to speak positively upon my life. Which is something that did not come naturally, I had to learn it. Actually, I am still learning and it is safe to say I am almost past the cringe moments, when I question if I really am favoured. As usual, the Holy Spirit is working overtime to show me I am worth dying for and God has a plan for me, a good one. Which does not involve me stressing,doubting or overthinking- as I usually do. He wants joy for me, peace, a house in Maui, hope and relationships. GOD WANTS A RELATIONSHIP FOR ME.

Now, before you think I am taking about a significant other- to an extant, yes but not really. I mean God specifically wants godly friendships for us. He wants us to have friends who encourage us and push us to be better. Who are truthful and tell it to us upfront but with love. Who teach us to be hopeful and who teach you new ways of thinking. Like one of my best friends, every time I text to ask how she is, she never says I am good or alright. She always, I mean always says ,I am blessed, thanks.You?. ALWAYS. At first, being the dark-cloud-over-my-head-always-second-best thinking person I was, I always found it odd. It was foreign to me, it did not immediately register to me that she was/still is speaking and claiming blessings upon her life. And boy is she blessed! She is one of the most blessed people I know and I am grateful that God brought her into my life. Mind you, I prayed for Godly friends ever since I came here a few years ago. I realised the same way we pray for our future baes and wait patiently, is the same way we should pray for godly friendships. And choose wisely, do not just take people at face value. Ask God if they are meant to be in your life or you are just thirsty for a friend at that point. Trust me, I know!

He wants the same for you too, you might have found them already and thats good- but never stop praying for that relationship. It is very important and just like any relationships, it has its challenging times. There will be fall outs, misunderstanding and silent treatments. Which isn’t good but it happens. Pray with your friends, celebrate with them and do not compare their lives with yours. Just because you are godly friends does not mean you have to imprint on each other and have the same things happen at the same time. You might feel disheartened when it seems they are getting ahead and you are just lagging behind. Or they seem to have it all together and for you, the only thing that is stable is your breathing pattern. Please, do not compare yourself. It is an easy and comforting thing to do but very deadly! Talk to God and your friends too. The devil comes to kill, steal and destroy and friendships are not excluded.

As I am approaching my birthday (04/04) just incase you are curious, so many people have been telling me I am now “ripe” to be a wife. I know, you should see the look on my face as I am writing this. Anyway, whilst I have nothing against marriage, I am not sure if I am for it- as yet. Now before you gasp in horror and holding on to your seat because of this bomb I have just dropped- let me try to explain myself. First of all, I love love ok. My name literally means love, i am in love with love. I mean cry-in-the-theater-googly-eyed-aaaw-thats-so-cute-love loving person. I wear my heart on my sleeve and the primal receivers of this love are my siblings, friends, puppies and babies. So there, I am not Medusa or the Wicked Witch from the West who has a vendetta against love.

However, I do not see it happening anytime soon. This I have realised, is due to so many factors I was not aware of, to which 3 I shall share with you. The first being fear. I am not afraid because I was heartbroken and can not trust again- nope, not at all. I am afraid of marriage because of the examples I grew up around and the relationships I am seeing now. I fear I am going to be another statistic, a single mother before my baby is even a year old. A bitter divorcee who preaches all men are trash. The church mother who preaches men are just being men when they cheat. The girlfriend who casually slides in how she caught her boyfriend with another girl- AGAIN but she will forgive him because she feels its her fault.

Whilst some divorces are due to serious issues such as abuse on both sides. I fail to understand when and how people wake up and turn against each other? Mind you, I am not naive to how people are different and how bills, families and all take a toll on people but what happened to for better and for worse? What happened to, I love you and I will not hurt you? What happens to, you are the love of my life? What in the heavens happens to, its you, me and God in this?

I have so many questions which are always met with- you will see when you get married! Its life, thats how it is. As women, it is our job to take care of our men and stand by them when they mess up. Ah, ungarambe munhu nekuti aita small house? ( You are breaking up because he had another girlfriend?).

These answers force me to go back to my relationship drawing board and rethink this marriage thing. It consumes me so much I push back what God has told me, because the negative examples are louder than God’s voice when He tells me to write to my future husband. People are settling for less and still being dumped yet God keeps raising my standards, and I think, what chance do I have? It is a lot to process and it does not help being from a generation that does not solely believe in marriage. Come on, do not act as if you are not aware millennials will settle to be forever girlfriends than die alone. Its sad but true, and I wrestle with this. And dying alone is a very viable option for me.

The other thing is, I feel like my life has to be in order for me to start dating. Yeah, I know. Hilarious! Like who ever has their life together? Seriously, who can boldly stand there and say they have everything figured out? Everything!? From your mommy/daddy issues, finances, emotional wellbeing, healthy lifestyle, God’s right hand man, skin popping no ance, I woke up like Jesus on the third day glowing to I drink water and mind my business? If you are one of these people, I salute you and I lowkey envy you.

I am that kind of person who has to plan things ahead and strategise certain things to get the best result. Which however, is the complete opposite of God. Man, if I tell you how God has been interrupting my plans and making me question my entire life, you will not believe it. You might not see it because its more internal than anything but all I can say is WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW! He has been teaching me to leave everything to Him and trust Him. That He has my back and will not leave me, He will not abandon me. He. Will. Not. Abandon. Me.

Abandonment is another factor that has scared me off marriage. I am afraid of being left. Too many people have left me, friends included. Just iced me out, no explanation or goodbye-you-wont-see-me-ever-again card. Now, before I play the victim, it could have been they prayed for godly friends and I did not make the cut- ouch!! Nonetheless, there are people who just left me, high and dry. It might not be physically but emotionally- people who just thought I wasnt good enough to hang out with. It hurts, it really does and it still hurts. I realised I still carry this mentality with me, which is toxic, because I push people away before they even try to make any contact. I feel safer closing myself off than allowing someone in. Believe me, its safer and if I miss an opportunity at least I would have let me down, not anyone else. I can stand letting me down, I mean, I cry it out and regret it and it only pushes me to a mild depression but I will be A ok after a few weeks. See! I am goooood!

Ok, FINE! I am lying. Of course I am not ok! How can I be? I am literally blocking my blessings, slowly but surely. How can I say, I am blessed thanks and you in this state? I am a mess, a hot, piping one and I know that, I will acknowledge and expose it but I am not going to claim it anymore. I am going to be hopeful, expectant (one of my resolutions) and claim my blessings. And I must say, talking about this has made me realise I legit need therapy.

Sharing all this has made me realise that adulting is a scam. You deal with a lot and you are just suppose to suck it up and deal with it like the rest of the world. You have to deal with your emotions and spiritual life, family feuds, bills and tax! Do not make me talk about tax! Gooooosh, its the worst. Its like paying for being born, I did not ask for this. I am also a victim. And as a black person, on top of tax, you have black tax too. You have to take care of the whole clan, by clan I do mean the whole clan. I miss the times I took sleep for granted, now I just want to sleep. Anywhere and everywhere is a bed, I just want to stay at home and binge on Netflix and repeat Shrek for the umpteenth time.

Adulting is scary, weird and stressful, and the fact that there is no adulting manual makes it harder. I think I will write one and I think, I THINK I will title it: Oh, so you think you are grown now? Ok, watch life knock you out and God revive you. I do not know about you, but that pretty much sums up my life. That was a joke, or way it?

Anyway, I hope you have a blessed day and you are highly favoured. Please, let us all learn from my friend and claim our blessings. Even if it sounds weird, claim it. Its yours. God wants us to know and believe it and to step out of fear into favour. It will not be easy but it is possible, I will be your example.


Discovering and getting to know myself has allowed me to take different views and perceptions about life. It has matured and pushed me to think differently, broadly and challenge my thought processes regularly. I have come to realise that I love movies and books which are based on true events. I have mentioned my love of biographies in my previous posts. The ones I truly love are the ones which provoke the world’s monotonous view on certain issues such as race, companionship and privilege. I will name a couple of books with movies that have challenged my world view and have encouraged me not to lose hope in humanity, even when the future looks bleak and dire.


Victoria and Abdul is based on the friendship of Empress of India, Queen Victoria and an Indian servant Abdul Karim, in 1889 when India was under the British rule. Abdul had come to England as “a gift” for the Queen with the intention of being a translator for the Indian princes at her 50th Jubilee.

Her unlikely friendship with an Indian, who was deemed to be inferior and uncouth, was not met with good merry. The Queen was deemed delusional and was at some point, “forced” to abdicate as she was seen as unfit to rule a nation.

Her unusual close friendship with Abdul went on for 14 years and during that time, he became the Queen’s munshi (teacher) and taught her Urdu, introduced her mango and Indian curries. She gave him gifts, titles and honours, which did not sit well with the members of the royal family.

When the she died in 1901, Abdul was forcibly deported and all his letters and mementos were burnt by the queen’s children. His story however, lived on thanks to his journals and oral history.


The Loving story is one of my all time favourites, it reminds me of Ruth and Seretse Khama’s story. It is about how two people from difference races fell in love and literally fought to be together. In 1967, they fought the State of Virginia and took it to Supreme Court where they won the case.

Richard and Mildred Loving got married in 1958 and 5 weeks into their wedding, they were arrested in their bedroom early hours of the morning. Interracial marriages were illegal and were punishable. They late on pled guilty to violating the state’s Racial Integrity Act with a judge telling them if God had wanted blacks and whites to be together, he would have put them on one continent.

The judge allowed them to flee the stare of face prison. For the next five years, they lived in exile and had three children. In 1967, Mildred sort the help of Robert F Kennedy, who referred her to the American Civil Liberties Union which agreed go take their case. The judges unanimously ruled in the couple’s favour and interracial marriages were legalised. Eight years after their win, Richard was killed by a drunk driver in an accident. Mildred never remarried and died in 2008.


Lion is a story about an Indian boy Saroo (meaning Lion) who got lost when he fell asleep on a train whilst waiting for his brother who was scrounging for money and food to take home to his mother. He was only 5 years old and would spend several weeks hungry, scared and confused in the streets of Calcutta before being placed in an orphanage.

He was later on adopted by an Australian couple who welcomed him and did not treat him differently. He settled well with his new family but he always felt lost and could not stop thinking about his mother, brother and sister. When he discovered google maps, he saw it as an opportunity to trace and find his Indian family. For five years he became obsessive and searched the radius of all the railway lines leading to Kolkatta. In 2012, after more than 20 years, Saroo went to India were he met his biological mother and sister. His mother said she always had hope he was alive.


The Upside is based on a movie (The Untouchables) which is based on a true story and memoirs about 2 men whose friendship seemed unlikely but deferred all odds. It is based on the lives of Phillipe Pozzo di Borgo a French aristocrat and Abel Sellou an Algerian ex-con who migrated to France and later on became Phillipe’s life auxiliary. There friendship crossed a lot of social boundaries such as race, classism and giving a second chance to those who are deemed to be least deserving.

After Phillipe had a paragliding accident which left him a quadriplegic, he had to look for someone to help him with his day to day activities. After interviewing over 90 people, of which most were professionals, Phillipe chose Abel. He said he chose him because of his character, he did not feel sorry for him but acknowledged and overlooked his disability. Abel on the other hand, had only gone for the interview so he could keep on claiming his income support.The two men have an everlasting bond and are still friends to this day.


This has been one of my favourite since I was a little girl. It is based on Michael Oher, a homeless teen who had drifted in and out of school and had no one to permanently look after him. He was later taken in by the Touhy family who ended up adopting him into their family.

His tremendous size and protective instinct, secured him a place in the football world. His personality won the Touhy’s over and they accepted him as their son. It is an uplifting story that will have you hope in humanity again.

Tripping But Still Trusting God.

Have you ever had moments when you know God has promised you or put something on your heart, but because it has not happened yet, you start doubting? Yep, that is pretty much how I feel 360 days of the year. There are certain things in my life God has told me (through the Holy Spirit) that will happen and He even reassures me by giving me a peace of mind. I will ask Him if He really told me that or I just thought He did and yet it was my idea.

I believe I have missed some, if not most of my blessing because of my doubting. It is something I struggle with on a daily basis. I even have anxiety because I even start questioning my faith and if I am suppose to be expectant of that, or if I am not expectant enough. Be it liking someone but not wanting to admit it because I am a strong woman of God and having a crush is a taboo. Its ok, I laugh at myself too at times. It is natural to like someone and to have a crush, and I have realised that trying to hide it and bury it will only make it worst. It is not a sin to be attracted to someone, but what you do with the feelings might lead you to sin.

I have doubted that I will actually meet someone who will not be afraid of my candour and “passionate” nature. Someone who is not intimidated by my outspokenness on things that matter and my stubbornness when my opinion is not valued whilst it makes sense. It is unreal for me to even think there are men who can actually accept all this and not want to shrink my personality. However, I still think of the letters I have been writing since 2016, letters to my future husband and I see women with strong personalities or who have been deemed unsuitable for marriage like Serena Williams and my hope is revived again. I do not believe God would just put it on my heart for me to write letters then not have anyone to give them too. It could be possible though, for example, I could died any second from now hence I would have written them because I thought God told me but it was probably a spur of the moment I made out to be God. See, I am doing it again.

(Image from Pinterest)

This does not only happen when it comes to relationships, but my aspirations too. If you have read or followed my blog, I am sure you have come to realise, I LOVE WORDS. I love writing and making up characters in my head, they help me cope with my everyday life and I believe all of the characters I have made up have an element of my personality somehow. Writing is my way of facing reality but escaping it at the same time. I find joy in writing, and you know that feeling you get when you like or love someone? The butterflies in your stomach, heart beating fast, smiling and beaming when you think of that one person? That is the exact feeling I have when I have a storyline, when a character comes to life that I can almost put a face onto them. It is the same feeling that pushes me to keep writing even if friends and family put me down and tell me its not good enough. Or when I feel I am not being supported enough.

My take is, it is God who gives me these ideas and equips me with enough knowledge to create characters I have never known about or thought to exist. I also think it is God who pushes me to write because I believe one day, my stories will be shared around the world and will help black or Zimbabwean girls and boys to know that where they come from does not determine what the future holds. And then there are days I believe its only the hype of seeing other people succeed, that it will never happen for me because come on, who am I that I deserve a good life with hopes and dreams that will actually come to pass? What do I offer to the world to be recognised as a sound voice amongst the youth and a prominent writer in future. At times without realising or on purpose, my friends drill it in me how not good I am. I know I am not a published or accomplished writer, but one good word might lift my spirits. Even saying nice font or nice spacing, I will take it.

I start tripping again, and doubting my ability and gift in using words. I beat my spirit up until I just believe its a hobby that will not get me anywhere. That I will never be recognised because people like me (always feeling like second best) do not get picked or chosen. Then I remember that there is no way I can come up with these amazing ideas and think they are just that – amazing ideas which do not yield good content. And I also have an amazing sister who takes time to hype me up and tell me how my stories are amazing and overlooking that they are not as perfect yet. She takes the time to tell me she is proud of my writing and she sees the same vision that I have, without thwarting it or overriding it with hers. She allows me to tell her about them even if I keep repeating myself because she knows how much it means to me.

Sometimes, God sends other people to believe in what you have. To help you see what you overlook because you have gotten used to yourself, you forget. There are also other times when no one believes in you or envisions what you see to be possible. Times when no one believes you will make it or you are good enough, and even though it hurts, it shows that at times you need to do what God says even when no one is there for you or to help you. It is uncomfortable and you will be crippled with doubt and fear at times (tripping) but be obedient and trust in what God has trusted you to carry. It is ok if it does not make sense now, sometimes the things of God do not make sense, but that is because we can not fully comprehend His thoughts and His power.

Yes, you can have moments where you will be tripping and popping off, and that is ok. However, do not dwell much into it that you forget Who created you and what He has told you to do. Keep on keeping on and know you are not alone in this. I have days I wake up afraid to do or say what He has put on my heart because it might offend or not make sense, but the things of God are always meant for our good. To pray and believe what we ask for is in alliance with His will.

So from a Christian trying to find her way and choose God on a daily basis to another, let 2019 be our year of fully trusting God even when doubt is banging at the front door of our minds.

New Year,same old gnawing questions and views.

Happy New Year to you all, I know its well over a week into the new year however, this is my first post and better late than never. On this post (which is quiet short and serious, you can tell because there is no picture) ,I have more questions than facts or opinions because the topic is quite heavy and sensitive – domestic abuse.

I had a conversation with my mother today about a Zimbabwean man who killed his wife and children recently in London. I was quite curious as to what her views were regarding the topic and serious issue at hand; and her perspective was, most Zimbabwean (African) men do not like the idea of an empowered woman. They feel emasculated and challenged if a woman gets more money than them and is independent (does not ask for money from her husband to buy certain things or anything at all) and that when they move to Western countries,they feel outlawed and are not given the proper respect and honour a man deserves. These are all valid points and I do agree with her, some men have this kind of mentality and that has crippled the system and has misinterpreted the word “submission”  to mean control.

Whilst she was informing and explaining her views, I recognised how this has been one of the major reasons why most women are being abused and killed by husbands/boyfriends and we have fought to be heard and pleaded with men to stop beating their spouses. The way I see it (you can take this with a grain of salt), I believe pleading with men to stop and marching against domestic violence, is similar to removing the top of a weed without getting rid of the roots. We might combat ourselves against men, hate them and trash talk them as much we can but I think until we look at the real cause or rather, the root,we will keep hearing stories of women being murdered by their partners. I believe the root on this issue is men’s mental health, yes I know I have said before and gave elaborate points as to why it should be taken seriously but I think we need to openly talk about it. As a Zimbabwean, I was conditioned to believe certain things about men which dehumanized them and I was biased for a long time.

I now view every human being to have the same emotions and have the right to express them. I believe men need to be allowed to freely express themselves without being judged and “emasculated”. To cry, yes, I said it, CRY without being told to man up or be laughed at. Goodness, men go through a lot than we think. They are pressurised to have a car, a house,a family, a million dollars, a connecting beard and whatever society throws at them to be deemed manly or good enough. They are rarely given room for growth or failure and when they do, they can not or rarely have people to confide in who will pick them up and console them. Most men do not have “besties”,mentors or brothers they can freely talk to and not feel ashamed. They just go on with life and I believe that is an unhealthy way of living. One becomes depressed, stressed and because they can not cry or talk it out, most will project it out on others especially those close to them. Some have never had positive examples of men in their lives (that is not an excuses though), others were abused by women and have had a negative perception of the opposite sex ever since or others are just horrible human beings.

Culture and society is quick to question what the woman did to anger the man but we do not ask what caused the man to do it? Some men are asked but because of deep-rooted issues or not being able to express themselves,they blame lapse of controlled anger or the woman for being “talkative”. It is usually blame rather than admission to error; apology rather than repentance and the cycle goes on. I believe we need to normalise men expressing themselves and therapy too. And by any chance if you laughed at my suggestion of therapy, you might also need it. Men need as much support as women, there should not be fear but mutual respect. We should take care of each other; cater to one another and  help each other. I would hate to be in a world where we hate each other over something that can be corrected and improved.

As women, we need to play a part in helping men – our sons,brothers,fathers and partners etc .I do not mean to be their fixers but to be supportive and have positive words to encurage them. We also need to refrain from phrases such as “man up” and “trash” when addressing to them. Think of them as your brothers, because they are. I strongly believe if we include men’s mental health onto the movements, marches and campaigns, it will have more impact and literally improve quality of life. It will impact the divorce rate, suicide rates, murders amongst partners and a positive environment. We have a long way to go but I believe if YOU start by being a friend or confidant to someone; you could be saving a life or lives.

P.S:By any chance if the message you got from this post is women are not important or their mental health is not as important, that is the complete opposite of what I am trying to point out.Women, we have more room and allowance to express ourselves and 97% of us have someone to confide in compared to men. I am not saying women are less important or men are more important – I am saying we are all important at the same time.

From the year of “at least you tried” to the year of “i am remaining expectant even if..”.



For my closing post for this year, I thought I should share one of my resolutions for next year. Just like 89% of the world’s population, as the year draws to an end; I tend to reminisce and think of all my accomplishments and failures. I attempt creating and setting standards for myself; which I fail at most of the times. I know for some its quite cliche to make “resolutions” but for a person as the year draws to an end; I tend to reminisce and think of all my accomplishments and failures. I attempt creating and setting standards for myself; which I fail at most of the times. I know for some its quite cliche to make “resolutions” but for a person who makes appointments and meet-ups months I completely forgot all of them and misplaced the paper. For next year, I decided to set only four resolutions of which one I will share with you.

At the beginning of this year, I had set a target of reading fifty books and improving my vocabulary. I was very adamant on reading more books than I read in 2017 and boy did AMAZON make money with me this year? I bought so many books I am surprised I have quite an awesome collection. And if I am being honest,60% of my money goes towards books (and shoes come on, I am not an animal) which is why I RARELY share my books. I love the feel and smell of a book; the anticipation of a new character brought to life and the infinity excitement of learning new worlds. However, I realised it is not about quantity but quality; which is why I decide to only read twelve books next year. Which will be a challenge for me because I tend to read two books at the same time (a day book and a night book) but for the sake of discipline and actually knowing and understanding the content of the literature, I will stick to it.

2017 was around the time I dedicated myself to reading more and being intentional, I was still trying to find a genre I preferred and as you can judge from 2018; I think biographies are my favourite. I am intrigued by prominent figures and tracing their journeys helps to understand my own to an extent. And just to put it out there, my books for the year is Malcolm X: The Autobiography. I was and still am intrigued by his mind and his tenacity-even though I do not fully agree with him. Which gave me the chance to actually dissect his character and being; learning and unlearning certain things about myself; learning to think for myself and ask questions.

Anyway, my collection for next year is as follows (and I hope I will stick to the order) and please excuse my poor attempt at taking mind-blowing pictures, I lack the skill;

JANUARY: The Narrative Of Frederick Douglas


To ease my mind, I will start with a bit of light reading which requires research and deeper understanding. It was highly recommended around the time I was reading Barack Obama’s Dreams for my father.

FEBRUARY: The House Of Hunger


I realised I have only read (willingly and intentionally) two books by Zimbabwean authors; Nervous Conditions and Pashena. It only makes sense if I want to be a good writer to learn from those who walked so I could run. And I heard that this guy was super intelligent,so duh, of course, I am going to indulge myself.

MARCH:Frida Kahlo


I do not know why or how I am drawn to this amazing woman, but I am. She seems like she was fearless and vulnerable at the same time. I love how her art spoke in a way words could not express.

APRIL:Born To Love;Cursed To Feel


Because I love poetry/spoken word; though it does not love me back. I will and I shall read this book!

MAY:Year Of Yes


HELLO! ITS SHONDA RHIMES .Of course I am going to read it!

JUNE:Assata Shakur


FBI’s most wanted woman? Say no more!

JULY:M.K Gandhi


I was just told he was a great man,but have never known why.I think it is time he explains himself to me.I mean through the book,obviously.

AUGUST:Why I No Longer Talk To White People About Race


I will let you know “why” when I finish,but can’t wait.And do  not judge a book by its cover,LITERALLY.

SEPTEMBER:I Hope This Reaches Her I Time


More poetry/spoken word and R.H Sin is good.He is one of the few men I know who bares it all.

OCTOBER:Slay In Your Lane


The slay part I can not relate,but the “staying in my lane” part is something I aspire to accomplish.So,why not!?



Fell in love with his poetry and how he encourages woman;and advises men.I think it is time I read it fully.It is more of spoken work.

DECEMBER:One Day In December


I received this today as a Christmas present from my friend.She said she images this story portrays how she thinks I will fall in love.I have no idea what happens or how it made her think of me;but I will save it for last because it means a lot.

I hope I follow through and the main reason I cut down on my reading was so I can intentionally make time for Bible study.I have been slacking this year but now (with the help of the Holy Spirit) I pray to accomplish this “resolution”.And that I always remember it is about quality,not quantity.

And thank you very much for reading my blog,it means so much to me knowing someone actually cares about what I talk about.I am so ever grateful for you,yes you,you encourage me to keep going even when I feel or think only my family read my blog;after pestering them of course.Stay tuned because next year,I will be writing more stories with better grammar now (I am going to a Writer’s Circle now for criticism,yeeey!).

I hope you have a wonderful Christmas and an amazing new year filled with hope and joy.Enter with the mentality that it will only get better and you matter.Lots of love and see you next year!Oh and yes,my mantra for 2018 was “at least you tried” and for 2019 it is,”i am remaining expectant even if..”,TRUE STORY!img_1378-1

Reintroducing myself

I thought it wise to reintroduce myself (honestly, it is because I have writer’s block- I know it is said to be a myth but my creative bulb is out at the moment) as I have noticed my “About Me” page barely has anything about me and I saw it suitable for those who read and follow my blog, to get to a sense of who I am and who I am becoming. First and foremost, of course, Hello and how are you today? My name is Rudo Diana Mazvita Manyere, quite a mouth full but you can call me Rudo which literally translates to Love in English. I am a Zimbabwean, born and raised- I am of the born-free generation; those born after the liberation struggle. We are characterised as entitled and “disrespectful” when we question the system but that is a conversation for another day.

I am the middle child and I come with most of the characteristics “bestowed” upon a child who is not a mistake (I joke with my siblings about this, do not try it with yours). I am learning to show affection and build friendships with my siblings, I understand for some this might seem odd, but as I am maturing I see a pattern where siblings do not even see eye to eye. This is due to differences and misunderstands or something I might not understand but I have committed to being there and being present as much as I can (or circumstances allow me) for them. They are my first best friends and my original day ones-LITERALLY. I pray God strengthens our bond and we love, rejoice, fellowship and be patient with each other, without reproach (same with my parents). Just in case you are wondering what my siblings look like, they all look like me but we range from whitish chocolate, caramel and dark chocolate- me, of course, being the chocolate.

For as long I can remember, I have always loved school- the learning part but not the waking up at 5:30 am part. The idea of learning and knowing amuses me. I am slightly intrigued by how people think and dialogues-its sounds strange but I enjoy seeing people engage in conversation (though I rarely partake unless invited), what they say and how they say it. I think this is why I am drawn to writing, I love the idea of creating something in my head with different characters, different ideologies and different discourses. Writing is my escape, my happy place where I do not have to follow a certain structure or any rules. It is not always good nor is it always bad but I enjoy the growth and the reassurance of knowing I can improve.

My relationship with God is very essential. I slack ALL of the time- I mean daily. I struggle with building and being strong in my faith. It is a daily process which I do not always enjoy but need-the pruning being the excruciating part. I struggle with my spiritual life on a daily basis but I am forever grateful for God’s grace. He saw it fit to send His Son to die and love me unconditionally without failing me. I fail to understand how God is patient with me when I run from Him, how He still loves me even when I disobey Him. He is the best part of my life and I am made in His image. This revelation has helped me fathom that my identity is not what I have or what I achieve-but it is in Who created me.

I have struggled with low self-esteem from a young age and I have always thought my identity is in how people think of me. It took me a while to step out of that mentality, to accept myself for who I am. It is a daily process getting to love myself in my natural state but I challenge myself to face the reality of who I truly am not who I want to be seen as. It has been a challenge loving myself with short hair and without thinking I look like a boy or ugly. I still have days I do feel that way, but I am reminded whose image I am made of. I do not like taking pictures because I always feel I look awkward and my posing skills are way off, its so sad. I am a dark-skinned, head-strong (often confused with stubborn but there is a fine line between the two), beautiful, witty and smart (let’s not argue about this). I am getting to know my own strengths and submitting my weaknesses to God-which include control and fear of the unknown. I LOVE to read-I have started a book collection which comprises of different genres; and in the meantime, I am reading Becoming by Michelle Obama (my day book) and Rich People Problems by Kevin Kwan, which is the last book of the Crazy Rich Asians trilogy (my night book). I aspire to be a screenwriter/writer and I pray about it every day. It is not a career path that is accepted nor recognised as a “job” in the African community-so I am actually a disappointment to some of my elderly family members.

I am quite outspoken about certain issues that affect my day to day life, for example; racism, inequality, discrimination, etc. I subscribe to the notion that people are the same (you do not need to be Einstein to know this), and if you feel you are superior based on the colour of your skin or bank account; then I seriously recommend a MasterClass on How To Be A Human Being With Common Sense. I have been told I am uptight (which I might be depending on your point of view, for example, I do not believe in any form of physical contact before marriage), stubborn and all the name calling that comes with not abiding by everyone’s rules. I think I am a pretty funny person though,I also love giving people gifts (which once got me in trouble with my father),I am fond of babies and toddlers but only if I can give them back to their parents, amused by animations (my favourite movie genre),I love the idea of travelling (its an idea because my bank account will not allow me to be great), I am a pretty good friend-I commit to my friendships and I try to put in work as in any relationship and I love sorbets (I do not have a sweet tooth).

I hope this helps you to get to know me a little better and you might also tell my energy and views from my posts. Someone told me some of my posts sound angry- of which they do because I do get angry at how people are treated and how I am “advised” not to “act” angry because I do not want to be labelled an angry black woman. When the shoe fits, I happily strut in it but I won’t kick you though- maybe nudge but not kick (I cannot fight).

I do not really know how to close off this post, so till I post again.BYE!

Generation Z

Generation Z (the mid-1990s to early 2000) is the generation after the Millennials (1980-2000). It is the generation of no limitations and ultimate risk takers-be it lifestyle or business wise. By the year 2019, it is estimated generation Z will account for 32% of the global population. Despite being defined as “millennials on steroids”, having a lower attention span due to social media and spoiled, we can not deny that some of the most extraordinary beings are from this generation. They are the generation of early starters, individuality, they are justice-minded, independent and they do not always follow the outlined course of life structured by the generations prior. They practice thinking outside the box from a very early age, to the age is literally just a number and believe even the sky is not the limit. Today’s post focuses on the few of the many who are living their lives fully, with passion and purpose-inspiring me to do the same.

This list is in no particular order.

 1.Yara Sayeh Shahidi

img_3533(Image from Google)

Yara Sayeh Shahidi (born February 10, 2000) mostly known as Yara Shahidi is an Iranian-American actress, model and activist. She is best known as Zoey Johnson on the sitcom Black-ish and its spin-off, Grown-ish. Yara started her career at the age of 6 years and appeared in adverts for McDonald’s, Ralph Lauren, Disney, GapKids, Guess Kids and Children’s Palace. She made her cinematic debut in the movie, Imagine That (2009), starring Eddie Murphy, which then led her to win the Youngest Artist Award nomination for the best performance in a featured category.

She is well known among her generation as an activist and is the founder of Eighteen x 18 with the American social news publisher NowThis, which is a platform to encourage her peers to vote for the very first time in upcoming American elections. Her other organisations include Yara’s Club which is a partnership with Young Women’s Leadership Network of New York, which provides online guidance in hopes to end poverty through education. She has been admitted at Harvard University and made the Times Magazine list for Most Influential Teens in 2017.

2.Donel Mangena

img_3534(Image from Google)

Donel Mangena (16 years old) is a Zimbabwean-British pop-star who was a finalist of The Voice UK. He is also a writer and penned some of the lyrics to his debut single, Bang Like A Drum. Whilst coaching him on The Voice UK, likened Donel to the late Michael Jackson stating, “Donel could be the biggest artist on earth, the way he is in the studio, how attentive he is, mentally, spiritually, his excitement and dedication. That’s what Michael was like”.

Donel has won hearts all across the nation with his incredible performances, he was personally invited by Prince Harry who is a fan, to the Queen’s 92nd Birthday concert earlier this year. Prince Harry introduced him on stage as: “one to watch, a star of the future”.

3.Adult Akech

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Adut Akech Bior (born December 25, 1999) is a Sudanese-Australian model, who made her fashion runway debut as an exclusive in the Saint Laurent S/S 17 show and went on to close both the Fashion Week 2017 and S/S 18 shows as an exclusive. Adut was introduced to the fashion industry by her family and despite being scouted at 13/14 years, she began her career at 16 years. Within the fashion industry, she preferred her birth name, Adut and signed with Chadwick Models in Sydney, Australia.

Adut’s first runway debut was in a local show put together by her aunt, she went on modelling at the Melbourne Fashion Week and she has been unstoppable and has walked for Kenzo, Tom Ford, Prada, Givenchy, Miu Miu, Zara, Bottega Veneta, Burberry and Versace. She has done editorials for American Vogue, British Vogue, Vogue Italia, Vogue Parish, WSJ and Vogue Australia to name a few. She made history by being the second Black Woman to close a Chanel Haute Couture.

4.Caesar Sant

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Caesar Sant (born August 1st,2008) is an American young violin prodigy who was born with a form of chronic anaemia called sickle cell anaemia. At the age of 2, he started playing the violin and at age 4 he was playing Vivaldi. He has had 3 strokes in a span of 2 years, however despite all these obstacles, he has shown stupendous courage and resilience.

In 2016, he played for the most prestigious violinists of the world and his idol, Mr Itzhak Perlman. By the age of 5, he was already fluent in 6 languages and when he was 22 months, he conducted a Beethoven 5th Symphony.

5.Malala Yousafzai

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Malala Yousafzai (12 July 1997-) is a Pakistani activist for female education ad the Youngest Nobel Prize laureate. She is known for human rights advocacy, especially the education of women and children in her native Pakistan, where the local Taliban had at times banned girls to go to school.

In 2009 when she was around 11-12 years old, Malala wrote a blog under pseudonym BBC Urdu detailing her life during the Taliban occupation of Swat. The following Summer, a journalist from America, made a documentary about her life and she rose in prominence-which made her a target of the Taliban.

October 9, 2012 while on a bus after taking an exam, Malala and two other girls were shot by a Taliban gunman in an assassination attempt in retaliation with her activism. Having been hit by a bullet in the head, Malala was in a critical condition ad remained unconscious. She survived, relocated to the UK and is currently studying for a Bachelor’s degree in Philosophy, Politics and Economics at Lady Margaret Hall, Oxford.

In her first speech following the attack, she addressed an international Youth Assembly at U.N Headquarters: Let us pick up our books and pens. They are our most powerful weapons. One child, one teacher, one pen and one book can change the world. Education is the only solution.”

6.Triplets Ghetto Kids

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Formed of 9 members-Ada, Patricia, Ashley, Nyangoma, Fred, Kokoda, Ronnie, Isaac and ManKing, Triplets Ghetto Kids is a Ugandan dance group that has swelled and touched hearts all over the world. The group has members which range from 6-17 years old and even though they were all homeless, orphaned and impoverished-dancing brought them purpose and hope.

Having been dancing for many years, their big break came when they were featured in French Montana and Swae Lee’s Unforgettable video. Their fame skyrocketed and they have become popular all over the interwebs. Previously known as Sitya Loss Kids by the media as it was seen as suitable and would make them stand out, they chose to be called Triplets Ghetto Kids because to them ghetto is not an insult or fashion but it is their identity and a way to embrace their roots.

After the feature on French Montana’s video, they appeared on the Jimmy Fallon show and performed at the 2017 BET’s with French Montana. They currently have an album called Ghetto Dreams which has sold many copies.

7.Maya Penn

Penn (born February 10, 2000) is an American entrepreneur, philanthropist, animator, artist and the CEO of her eco-friendly fashion company Maya’s world. She started her company when he was 8 years old and spoken at TEDWomen and has 2 official TedTalk.

She is the creator of an animation series, The Pollinators which emphasises on the importance of bees and other pollinators. In 2011, she founded her own nonprofit organisation Maya’s Ideas For The Planet and was amongst the people chosen by Oprah on SuperSoul 100 list of visionaries and influential leaders in 2016.

8.Kylian Mbappe Lottin

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Kylian Mbappe Lottin (born December 20, 1998) is a French professional football player who plays as a forward for Ligue 1 club Paris Sain-Germain and the France national team. At the age of 19, he was named the best young player in the world and has been projected as the future best player in the world. He made his debut into the football world at the age of 16 in Monaco and quickly made his way to the top as a goalscorer for the first team in the 2016-17 seasons.

He made his senior debut for France in 2017 and at the 2018 FIFA World Cup, he became the youngest French player to score at a World Cup. He became the second-highest goalscorer as France won the World Cup ad he received the accolade for Best Young Player Award for his performance.

9.Tanya Muzinda

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Tanya Muzinda (13 years old) is a Zimbabwean Motocross athlete who at 6 years old became the first Zimbabwean female motocross champion in history. Earlier this year, she ended up pulling out of the 2018 FIM Africa Motocross of African Nations Championships in Zambia, because there was no class for her to ride in at the big continental event. Tanya rides the 85cc (big wheel) and the only class that was available for females was 125cc.

At a young age, Tanya’s love for the sport encouraged her father to reach out to Motocross legend Stefy Bau. Stefy travelled to Zimbabwe in 2013 and trained her for 2 weeks and afterwards, Tanya dominated a second overall in the very competitive division of the 65B class. Her dream is to be the first African women to reach international success. She is currently in between the UK and the USA to be coached and has enrolled at the Coventry Motocross Junior Club, an opportunity which will open more doors for her.#TeamTanya is a project that was formed to help Tanya conquer in the male-dominated sport and for her dreams to come true.

10.Sheila Sheldon Charles

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Sheila Sheldon Charles (Generation Z) is a 9-year-old Kenyan artist who has caught the attention of many people including the President of Kenya himself, Uhuru Muigai Kenyatta. Not only is she an artist but she is also a model, vlogger, dancer and is in Class Four in Mombasa. Having started at the age of 6 untrained, Sheila’s artistic talent is incomparable to her age-mate.

When asked what inspires her to draw on an interview with BBC Africa, she stated that she does not know why she draws but it is God-given and it is something in her. She likes to draw cartoons as they are her favourite things. She encourages young children with talents never to give up and to have intelligence and character-and to always thrive to be there best selves.



Sequel to Zadzisai.

LOCATION: England, Manchester, 20:45.

Tapfumaneyi looked at the black velvet box and he put it back in his pocket, as he sat back in the restaurant chair and checked his phone. It was now ten minutes past the time he was supposed to have met up with Gamuchirai. He peeped out the window of the restaurant, hoping to see her arrive at the restaurant. It was a snowy January evening, the streets were caked with snow and all one could see were the streets lights and lights which illuminated the restaurant entrances. He checked the time on his wristwatch and realised he would not mind her being late as he needed more time to brace himself for what was to be one of the most important decisions or mistake of his life. He stared out the window again, his body suddenly rigid, skimming through the unfamiliar faces outside, trying to calm himself.

“Excuse me, Sir, are you ready to order?”,  the waitress asked, towering over him. She looked right at him waiting for a response but he just shook his head forcing a smile. The waitress walks away leaving him to his thoughts. He took out his phone to see if Gamu had contacted him but he could not get past the wallpaper of him and Gamuchirai. He could not help but notice how happy she looked on the picture. It was from their last holiday in Tenerife, which she had demanded to go to for her birthday. She was all made up, the skin was sun-kissed, spirit free and he thought, as often as he did, what a beautiful woman she was. She wore a yellow summer dress which complimented her complexion as she sat on his lap.

You are lucky my guy, a woman like that is hard to come about. Educated, smart, ambitious and puts you first. What more can you ask for? She loves you, man, if I were you I would marry her before another mandem steps in.”, Takunda always reminded him every time they met up. He had come to understand that Takunda actually liked Gamu, the way he always insisted on them meeting up at his house rather than anywhere else, knowing fully well that Gamu usually worked from home. He would sacrifice driving from Swindon to London for every match of the Premier League, to watch it at his house. He would always say it was because his TV was bigger and Gamu always made snacks. He was right however, Gamu was the woman of every sensible man’s dream. She cooked for him every night, drew him a bath with special bath bombs she bought from Lush when he had had a bad day at work and most nights she would stay up just to have her dinner with him. She knelt down when she greeted her elders, his Aunt had commented on her manners when he went with her to Zimbabwe. She ticked all the boxes of the ideal woman. It made him feel pompous amongst another man, he had what every other man was scouring for at the bottom of every barrel on dating sites, bars and church. He understood this and he was aware that she loved him, but he did not feel the same way. Over the last year they had courted, he had tried all he could to inflict this feeling of infatuation that left you breathless but not wants to be rescued. To him “soulmate” was more of a myth or a once in a blue moon event which only happened once in a lifetime, if not at all. He had taken all the recommended steps of a gentleman in love, asking her to move in with him and had even started saving money for their children to show and prove to himself that he loved her, at least enough to see a future with her. He knew he was being unfair to her, she had given him everything he wanted and needed, but still, she would never be enough to completely give his heart to.

Tapfuma looked at his wristwatch again and began to get annoyed. He thought about how hard it was for people to keep time when all one had to do was be on time and be time conscious. One memory kept rewinding in his mind, he tried to eliminate it but the words “time conscious” had triggered his memory box.

“Aaah Tapfu, you are too time conscious. I am not even that late shaa”, Zadzisai would always say each time she made him wait. He always had a menacing look on his face and it annoyed him how she was never on time.

“Aaah no Zadzisai, I always tell you kuti being early is being on time and being on time is being late. It is not that late kuita sei kwacho? It’s about principle”. He would rant about and refused to even look at her, but she always had a way to make him come around.

“Sorry Shewe, I am very sorry. I promise to try and be principled like you. You are a very principled man huuuh. Please teach me how to be like you, kurongeka kwakadai.?”.

He enjoyed her sarcasm but he mostly loved how easily she would change his mood, he vowed never to tell her. He always ended up shaking his head with a chuckle, kissing her forehead and saying,

“What can you not get away with?”. He caught himself smiling at himself but he quickly dismissed the memory from his head and talked himself back to reality. He took a deep breath, sat back and looked around the restaurant and was met with unfamiliar faces, except for the waitress.

It was an Indian restaurant that Takunda had recommended, it also came with good reviews too and was named the most amorous and idyllic restaurant in Oxford Street. It was dimly cool, the atmosphere was laced with the aroma of rich spices and conversation. He signalled the waitress and asked for a glass of water.

She must be very special to have you wait for over an hour”, the waitress said to Tapfumaneyi when she brought the water.

“Excuse me?” he said confused by her statement.

You have been sitting here for over an hour, obviously waiting for someone because you keep looking at your watch.”, she said smiling at him. He had not realised he had been sitting there for over an hour now, and Gamu had sent him a text eighteen minutes ago informing him about the snow storm. He smiled and nodded at the waitress hoping for her to leave him to his thoughts. As soon as she left him, his mind wandered again. He began to question if marrying Gamu was right for him. He felt he was ready for marriage and a family at 26 years old. He knew what was expected of him at his age and reassured himself he was content and fulfilled by Gamu. Soon he would be promoted to Sergeant from a Police Officer, he was financially stable, he had investments and he was paying up his mortgage on his 3 bedroomed house with 1 and a half bathrooms. This time he felt he was ready and it was different from his first attempt to marry. Then, he was young and a student when he had to bring himself to plan for a future with a wife and child. He distinctively remembered the day Zadzisai came running to his house with tears in her eyes, terrified. The look on her face narrated everything and without question, he knew he wanted to be with her.

  “Zadzisai, what happened? Is someone dead?”,he said as he stood from the tattered leather chair he sat on and walked towards the bed in his room.

“Tapfuma, what are we going to do? I told you to be careful, now hona?”, Zadzisai began to wail louder. Tapfuma walked towards the door to check if anyone was in close proximity to hear their conversation. Mainini Rumbie had gone to kumagrosa with Tanaka, his cousin. He closed the door and began to console Zadzisai who now had her face in her palm, crying.

Tapfumaneyi, ndine nhumbu.I am pregnant and I have no idea how I am going to tell my parents. You told me you were being careful. What are we going to do because handiskuda kuregedza kuchikoro? I can not stop going to school because of this. I told you to be careful and you agreed,” she said as she walked towards him and tried to punch him. He blocked her hands and pulled her close to hug her, she began to sob again and he held on to her.

Zee, it’s ok. I am here, I am here”. He towered over her and held her tightly, he leads her to his chair and went out of the room.

Tapfumeyi came back with a glass of water and gave it to Zadzisai. At 21 years Tapfumaneyi was mature for his age, he had taken a year off school to work so he could support his Aunt and cousin. After his parents had died when he was in primary school, Mainini Rumbie had taken him as her own son. She made sure he did not feel like an orphan and after Babamudiki Ngoni left, he became the man of the house. Mainini Rumbie unfailingly reiterated that there was nothing he could not do or solve, even his future she believed was his to build.

Zadzie took a few sips then looked at him, searching his face for any sign of anger or remorse but Tapfumaneyi looked at her and smiled. Zadzisai was confused and it angered her, she sneered and as she stood up to bolt out of the room, Tapfumaneyi stood in front of her.

Iwe Tapfumaneyi Mhodzi, you are smiling? It’s not a laughing matter. My life is over and it hasn’t even started. I can not keep it, where will I put it and in whose house? And in whose house, you know my father! Maihwee zvangu, my father! What am I goi…”, she began to cry again as it dawned on her that she had to inform her parents. Her war-vet of a father who still wore a red beret to commemorate his lost friends and right arm which he lost in the Chimurenga . Tapfumaneyi looked at her with hurt eyes, he sat searched for her eyes.

“Zadzie, we will make this work. I am so sorry this has happened but please, let us think it through. I am smiling because I am happy the woman I love is carrying my child. I will take care of you both, I do not know how but I will”.

The next morning Tapfumaneyi woke up to go Zadzisai’s house by himself. It was a warm Saturday morning in September and even though it was 9 am in the morning, it felt like 12 pm in the afternoon. He had told Aunt Rumbie the night before, she had not taken it very well but he had explained himself and had promised to take care of Zadzisai and the baby. She had wanted to go with him but he had told her it was better if he had gone by himself. He did not want her to be burdened by his situation and he knew he had disappointed her.

No Tapfuma, you can not go alone! Hazvina hunhu, do not act as if you come from an ill-mannered household. You already disrespected them by defiling their daughter, now you want to show up at their house by yourself like a grown man? If you do not want to go with me, go with Baba Netsai. You can not go alone, no!”. Baba Netsai was their neighbour who was the only father figure Tapfumaneyi had since his father passed away. As it was a Saturday, Tapfumanei went and told him everything and after what seemed like a couple of hours, Baba Netsai talked briefly with Mainini Rumbie and they were off to Zadzisai’s house.

“Babe, oh my gosh babe, I am so sorry. It’s like people become dumb when driving in snow.”, Gamu said as she walked towards Tapfuma and kissed him on his lips. He had not seen her as he was lost in his own thoughts and had to conjure his mind to the present moment. She stood opposite him with a wide grin on her face, searching his face for a response.

“It’s ok,”, he said as he stood up to pull the chair for her,”…I was just lost in my own thoughts. I…how are you? You look amazing..beautiful.., you look great.”, he said as he sat opposite her, trying to compose himself. It dawned on him that he had not even rehearsed his proposal and had been reminiscing about Zadzie and the baby he was told was stillborn.  

“Thank you, baby, you do not look alright. We can go home and I will make you something and draw you a bath. Oh and we might watch The Help ag…”.   

“Will you marry me?”, Tapfuma blurted it out without realising it. He had been caught up on his past, the thought of not having Zadzisai or no one at all scared him. He was as shocked as she was by what he had said. She looked at him with tears in her eyes and began to cry and laugh at the same time. Tapfuma wished he had not said it, he tried to take it back by trying to explain but Gamu was already saying yes repeatedly catching the attention of the other diners. 

“What I meant to say was, I am grateful and glad you are part of my life bu..”, before he could end his explanation, he was interrupted by the waiting staff who came with a dessert plate written congratulations in chocolate, champagne and the waitress who had served him earlier began to sing a harmonised rendition of Marry me by Bruno Mars.

Gamu was still crying tears of joy and she stood in front of him with her hand stretched out in front of him. He was very bemused he did not even think of the black velvet box in his pocket.

“The ring, man. Show her you mean it.”. A man from the table behind him shouted as the waitress was singing. Everything was happening so fast, he was caught unaware when a bottle of champagne was popped and the waiter poured into the glasses on their table.

“Come on man, do not keep your lady waiting. Ask the question again..with a ring this time”.

Seeing how he had no way out and Gamu was the best thing he had since moving to England, he knelt before her, took the ring from the box and proposed. She said yes again, his time without tears but glee on her face. As he stood up, Gamu hugged him tightly and he retorted by hugging her tighter. Assuring himself that this was the best decision, he was to be promoted and he was in a comfortable place. He kissed her deeply as their audience cheered them on. 

“This is beginning of a new life and tomorrow is a new day, what could go wrong?”, Tapfuma said to himself as he raised his glass and gulped it down together with his doubts and his past.

LOCATION: Great Manchester Police,09:25

Tapfumaneyi sat at his desk and looked at the file. He picked it up then put it down again and put his head in his hands. Phones were ringing on every desk, the smell of coffee filled the office. He shuffled in his chair and picked up the phone but he put it down again. He picked up the file again and as he was about to browse through it again for the 12th time. Sergeant Major Finley came to his desk, he was a hefty man who took pride in his job. He was more of a legacy as his father and grandfather had all been part of British law enforcement. He always finished every sentence with “love“. For a brawny man, he was very soft and he always words of wisdom for everyone he saw at the office. Even when the criminals came in for questioning, he took a few minutes to sit down with them and talk to them about Jesus. Many convicts had complained about it, he ended up being given a higher rank where he would have minimum contact with any of the criminals.

Taps, did you get a chance to look at that file with the kidnapped child. I have Officer Bailey on the case with you and he is doing more research and has gone to the airport to find out when and how she made it back. Gosh, I can not believe someone would travel all the way from here to Africa just to kidnap a kid and come back. And you know those immigration officers actually held her at the airport but it was for her passport, not the kids. Poor little love, hope she is alright.” he said as he sat down opposite Tapfuma with a file in his hands.

Tapfumaneyi still looking at the file mouthed the child’s name then looked at Sergeant Finley. He looked at the picture of the little girl in the pink tutu who had been reported missing 5 days ago in Zimbabwe, he could not explain how or why he was drawn to her, but he was. She was kidnapped by a young woman who was supposed to have been her nanny and supposedly, her biological mother the file stated.

“You know Taps, if I did not know any better I would have thought that was your child. Look at those eyes! I do not want to come off ignorant thinking all black people look the same but ..”, he said opening his eyes wider gesturing for him to look at the picture again.

“If I had a child, I think I would have known. And I m not that type of bloke, I am old fashioned like that”, he said as he swung in his chair, trying to get his mind off the little girl.

“Oh yeah, you are old fashioned like that. Congrats mate, Taku told me the good news last night when he came on his night shift. Gamu is a good one, my Anne said the same when you came over with her last Easter”.

“Thank you, Sir, she really is special”, he said. “Alright then, make it quick with the investigation mate, we have to make the arrest today. The parents of the girl contacted Interpol, so the case was given to us. Problem is, the parents of the little girl did not have a lot of info on the kidnapper. The mother was heart-rendered she could hardly remember much only the name Zazie. Are you familiar with that name? It is a Zimbabwean name.”,he said to Tapfuma. Tapfuma shook his head, he tried to ponder on the name. He presumed it could be a Venda or Nyanja name or another different tribe within Zimbabwe.

“No Sir, I am not familiar with the name,” he said.

“Well, for all we know it could be a fake name. We got a number though but it was registered to someone called …Dhadhirai Moyo. Not sure if that name rings a bell, though I feel I am saying it wrong.”, he said handing Tapfuma the file he had. He scanned through the file and recognised the name, Dadirai Moyo.

“Oh yes, that is a Shona name.”, he said putting the file down.

Well, better get it moving we do not have much time. Those Southern buggers could not take it because they are swamped with similar cases. Better call your young bride to tell her you will be late because it is going to be a long day”. 

An officer came and called Sergeant Major Finley to the holding cell, there was a young man who had been arrested for selling marijuana and was asking if he could give his life to Jesus. He gestured to the officer that he was on his way. 

“I do not know if it is the reefer talking or not, but I shall continue to pray for the young man. I hope it is not a scam to be let down easy”, he said walking towards the door. Tapfuma looked at the picture again and weighed up on why he felt drawn to her and could not stop repeating her name.

A few moments later, Officer Bailey came in delirious and almost out of breathing and told Tapfuma they have found the woman’s address and name.

“What is her name?”,he asked almost falling out of his chair.

File is in the car mate, we need to go now. She is a flight risk.”. They both ran out of the office and headed for the police car. On the way, Tapfuma browsed through the files, ruffling through the pages to find the name of the kidnapper. And there it was highlighted in green: Zadzisai Justine Mwoyo. Tapfuma could hear his heartbeat loud in his ears. He was completely oblivious that they had been driving for over two hours. His mind ran through the course of his courtship with Zadzie, how old the little girl was and how she resembled him. There was white noise in his eyes and he could hardly hear Officer Bailey informing him they had arrived or the sirens of the other two police cars which also parked in front of the house.

“Sir, let us go. She might not be here.”, Officer Bailey said as he stepped out of the car drawing his gun. Tapfuma got out of the car and knocked on the door with four officers behind him with their guns pointing at the door.

After knocking twice, the door slowly open and there was Zadzisai with tears in her eyes. She looked past Tapfuma without recognising him and focused on the officers who had their guns pointed at her.

“Zee…Zadzie..”, Tapfuma whispered to himself but he could not bring himself to his emotions, he had to be professional.

Are you Zadzisai Justine Mwoyo? he said with his head down staring at the file. She nodded then looked at the person asking her the question.

Tapfu, is that you? Oh my goodness, it’s me. Tapfu it’s our ba…”, she said opening the door wider for him to see Angelica who was standing behind her.

“Ma’am, you do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something…”, he began to read her rights. Before he finished reading her rights, two officers stepped forward and handcuffed her, walking her to the police car. She began to cry saying it was a misunderstanding, she screamed Tapfumaneyi’s name until they put her in the car and drove off.

“Sir, do you know her?”,Officer Bailey said as he stood next to Tapfuma, who was on one knee peeping inside the house. He looked up at Bailey and told him, he used to know her but not anymore. He opened the door wider and he saw Angelica, holding an Elmo puppet, eyes teary and scared. She stared at both of them and stood still.

“I will go and call the Social Services and inform Sergeant Bailey.”, he said as he walked away.

“Hey sweetheart, are you ok?”, he said smiling at her. Angelina looked at him and asked where they had taken her “auntie”. Can I go with her? I am scared”, she whimpered as tears trickled down her tears. Tapfuma walked towards her and picked her up, wiping her tears. 

“Sweetie, you are safe with me ok. Someone will come and get you, they will take care of you. She stared right at him confused. Why can you not take me, you said I am safe with you.”.

Tapfuma simply smiled and walked out of the door with Angelica in his arms. Officer Bailey was on the phone and some of the neighbours were standing by the yard.

“I miss Auntie Zazie.”, Angelica said as she played with her Elmo puppet in Tapfuma’s arms.

“Me too”, he whispered to himself and kissed her on the forehead.