Message to all women – a widow’s advice
Growing up we always have the fantasy where we get married to the most handsome guy… but life doesnt always turn out that way, does it?
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My dear Zambia – please forgive me
A smart aleck once said “if Africa was a bar, Zambia and Zimbabwe would be the two guys fighting over a white girl named Victoria.” (continued)
Fat does not define me
It’s taken me a whole three decades to come to the conclusion that fat, sidudla mafehlefehle are nothing but words. These words may describe the way I look but they do not define who I am.
Actress comes face to face with Zim’s collapsed hospitals
I was all alone, my baby lying on my lap, both of us seated outside on a bench at the clinic. The nurses had told me my daughter needs to see a doctor. The doctors are on strike…
Does Bulawayo discriminate against wheelchair users?
Forcing wheelchair users to have to constantly look for assistance from strangers perpetuates the dangerous and false stereotype that using a wheelchair renders a person incapable of taking care of themselves. The notion that wheelchair users are charity cases requiring assistance from the society is untrue and is far from the reality.
How a baby reminded me of my infinite abilities
The baby’s head had been trying to come out for quite some time, I was afraid we were going to lose the baby because the mother kept on squeezing the head. So I eventually told her to push and it was so freaking scary. l was crying the whole time (cont)
Zim immigrants united by the Greenbomber passport
So you can imagine my initial thoughts, on December 23rd, when I walked out of my gate and saw a man begging a white motorist for a few Rand. Immediately I noticed that his English had the Shona accent…
The death of a real hero
Up until 2008, Babamukuru was a very strong man. He would ride on his ‘black horse’ bicycle for often long distances. A great farmer, an accomplished builder, a stylish cobbler, and an outstanding iron-smith, he was a very innovative and practical man. Babamukuru was a jack of all trades.
Zimbabwe’s textbook coup.
What happened in the month of November was not a overall change in the winning coalition, it was merely an edit, a rejuvenation (how loosely we use the word for youth…Mnangagwa is 75), a restoration of a legacy as the coup executors called it. The coalition size has not expanded. Rather, it has moved in the opposite direction. The triumvirate consisting of the Zimbabwe Defence forces, their civilian reserves in the form of the war veterans, and the ruling party ZANU PF remain in power, only with the role of the party even less diminished. The gun now leads politics. The true power has emerged from behind the throne, and we are celebrating it like the proverbial idiot who claps for a witchhunter, even one who is out to catch his own mother. We have just witnessed the narrowing of the winning coalition, and the closing out of whatever democratic space remained in Zimbabwe.
A girl called Zimbabwe
The rims of her eyes looked swollen and red, like she had been crying. Her hair was chaotic, like she had just been out on a windy day. The multicoloured dress she wore – black, red, yellow, green, white – was speckled with what looked like soup stains. But beneath her harried exterior, I saw a beauty that overshadowed her evident predicament.