The Condition Part 2

Continued from … The Condition Part 1

“Hi, you have reached the voicemail of Judith, please leave a message and I will certainly get back to you”

“Ah sorry you said what? Judiiiithhh noooo I I I was meant to talk to my nephew Joseph. <beep> Since I’m here I might as well say “that’s the most sexiest voice universe has ever made. Since you didn’t say ‘Mrs’ I wouldn’t be faulted for leaving my number. 0772934811 please do cal.. <beep><beep>

“Oh I heard the beep in my phone my money, I have run out of airtime but I wouldn’t min….

The phone was off way earlier than anticipated and he was just going on and on by himself. He cursed. He was about to say his name and his mind. Could she have got the message. Would she phone. Was she a Miss or Mrs. It was worth trying. 

“For all those boarding flight UM232 from Vic Falls to Harare, please proceed to Gate 1 we are now boarding”. The instructions came from a cocky voice and the speakers’ dust matched the voice, just as everyone made a beeline to the plane. Whilst aboard she fastened her seatbelt and was ready to doze off when the flight attendant spoke. 

Thank you for choosing to fly Air Zimbabwe 🇿🇼… “choosing from what when it’s the sole airline servicing the route” she murmured and fell asleep way before the plane was airborne. 

As they touched on Harare International Airport she hurriedly collected her bags and led the way. Obviously the landing woke her up. She wasn’t surprised by the landing but rather annoyed at the repeat by the stewards of their well rehearsed statement. 

Thank you mame, we hope you enjoyed the flight and thank you for choosing to fly with us. Hope to see you soon” she frowned. Why do they keep saying thank you for choosing us, as though there is an alternative. After going through the revolving doors she switched on her cellphone and noted she had voicemail. 

She jotted the number down and did a dummy payment on the mobile application so that she gets the name before she cancels the dummy payment. She gathered her esteem and decided to return the call. After all, the unknown caller had praised her and she thought why not give it a try

Hi my name is Judith, how are you Mr Kusena“. She decided to go formal. She giggled all the way from airport to their Gunhill home. The guy wouldn’t stop talking and he dished quotes faster than anyone she has ever known. As she entered the house she promised to keep in touch. The funny part is Mr Prince charmer wasn’t on Watsapp, hmmm strange 🤔. But she thought some people wouldn’t want the app either. 

“Love makes you blink when you should hold a stare and smile when you shouldn’t care” ~ beauty’s daughter

As days go by she would call him in the morning lunch and evening on way home. She asked what he did for a living and he answered simply. “Just like anyone else, I’m a hustler and I’m vending for a living”. She laughed as she reminded him everyone is always vending and hustling. 

They finally settled for a lunch outing. But he chose First Street Chicken inn. He had the courtesy to say he will be waiting outside by the entrance. 

“It’s impossible,” said pride;
“It’s risky,” said experience;
“It’s pointless,” said reason; 
“Give it a try,” whispered the heart….

As she arrived a little before time, she sat in a corner with her back on the street for fear of being identified. She didn’t see anyone who resembled her Prince Charmer. 

She was served a juice and the clock struck 1pm. ‘Will he be on time or the guys never make it on time’. Typical of public places a man being led by a child walked in. From the setup of holding a white stick and the left hand on the child’s shoulder meant he was blind. A begging bowl in hand meant he needed help. 

The blind man went first to the table where Judith was sitting and the kid pulled a chair for his dad to sit. 

No no no sorry the chair is taken and I don’t have any money please try begging somewhere else“. She pointed with her left hand clearly showing the diamond ring on her finger. 

The blind man and child sat patiently and calmly waiting for her to finish. After a while he cleared his throat and said in a begging voice 

“I am the guest you waiting for. My name is Bernard I did our table reservation as per promise and I was waiting outside by the entrance. When you sat at this table my son told me that you are here. I couldn’t see you neither can I see time, as you can by now tell that I’m blind”



Life through the disability lens

NB: Based on a false story


The Ressurection 

Continued from part 1 Who do you tell when you love ❤️ someone

We all stood there and just the breathing could be heard. Nobody talked. In times like these even the niddle could be so loud if dropped on the floor. 

We were all mind racing. I sat there but the truth is my mind was wondering up and down. My soul paced up and down and my heartbeat didn’t help matters either. 

The Police 👮 Constable seems to enjoy this. His eyes remained fixed on me. He must have carried this precision so many times that he even became used to scaring people with his direct stare. I was going to give him a nasty look, but he already had one. He cleared his throat like a judge who was about to deliver a verdict. 

He began to read the note that lay on his table. The same note that cancelled my wedding, the same note that I was the first to see as it dropped from the dead. Was she dead, I kept asking myself. I was hoping not. In such times, such prayers don’t get answered and you pray that the sky is congestion free, for you need your answers fast. 

Dear …. continued the officer as his eyes scanned through the note

If you are reading this please don’t be angry at me. I have decided to meet my marker. I have loved you since day one.
(The wife frowned) I have shielded all the girls who loved and or wanted you. I thought you were going to realize I never had a boyfriend all in the name of waiting for you. And this is how you repay me. Marrying someone under my watch. 

If it shall please you, please note I’m 4 months pregnant 🤰 

What? 😮. Me and the newly wedded wife managed to say in unison. “But… no it can’t be”. I said out aloud. But the loudness of my voice was interrupted by an even louder slap on my cheek from the wife. Even the Police officer frowned with envy that he too hasn’t slapped anyone with such mighty. I fell on the ground. What in boxing they call tko technical knockout. 

The doctor entered the Charge Office to give her side of the story, as she is the one who attended to T1. The friend of mine who shot herself at my wedding and we had to cut the wedding short. After all I was being arrested and charged on my wedding day. My wedding was what the British call a “dog’s breakfast”.

As she entered to deliver the news, she was shocked to see me lying on the floor. She didn’t know what to do. To deliver the news or attend to my bleeding mouth. I stood up in a clear sign of solidarity. I don’t mind dirty water but I do mind drowning.

“T1 is alive”. Said Mrs Devedzo, the doctor 

I leaped in air with that killer punch celebration.  I was celebrating my freedom for I won’t be charged for murder of T1. Even though I knew her survival might mean a whole lot more distraction as I’m now answerable to the wife. 

The officer said I was free to go. Just as I was about to walk out of the police station, I asked the officer if he could finish reading the note. 

Fast forward to today, 5 months later, in the dusty rural areas of Dotito, we are in a Roman Catholic Church for a funeral wake. T1 eventually passed away in her sleep due to complications at birth. She delivered a healthy baby girl who I named Tamiranashe but unfortunately she couldn’t make it. Doctors gave a laundry list of explanations none that I could believe. Father Raymond the local Priest was running late. The church was filled to capacity to pay the last respect to T1. 

Beautiful girls in mini skirts so short that left everyone to their imagining best sat on the front row. Even the married man shifted uneasily whilst their wives frowned, and the bachelors couldn’t stop peeping. As people sang waiting for the Priest to arrive I remember how as kids we used to interpret the drum beat and we coined a song “Fata murungu, Fata murungu” loosely translated to mean the Priest is a whiteman. 

The announcement came that Father Raymond wasn’t going to make it so Father Hebert would preside over the funeral. As he entered the church, by virtue of his name, everyone was stone cold to see and notice that Father Hebert was a blackman 😮. So why Hebert when he is black. Even the rural folklore whispered the rains would come late this year. Hazvisi zvega izvi. The last words I recall from the Priest was

“Life is pleasant 
Death is peaceful 
It’s the transition that’s troublesome” 

The ‘dust to dust’ hymn was the final song as her coffin was lowered into the grave. Wakabva kuivhu uchadzokera kuivhu. (Ashes to ashes)

There was a loud bang, popping sound that shattered the ears, those of nervous hearts fell down whilst some of us with military action took cover, only to realize it was a 3 man gun salute in honor of their departed comrade. Who was she really? 🤔

This was the resurrection that never was. The song faded away as I rubbed myself up, knees first for my only remaining suit. Last one standing after a nusty divorce. 

‘Fata murungu, Fata murungu Fata murungu’ I hummed 


NB. Based on a false story

Who do you tell when you love someone

Those eyes that stare at you and you end up changing your opening line. As short as she was, she wasn’t short of superlatives to describe her.

She was the guy’s woman. Every guy would dream of dating her, many even tried their luck but failed. As beautiful as the words might describe her, she never dated, wasn’t dating and showed no sign of dating. Strange but who cared, we were the best of friends, she was my financial advisor. Used to wonder where the acumen sat in that small round head of hers.

Going out was fun, she would giggle and showed that she enjoyed her comfort. We would walk hand in hand to the braii stands and she called me darling, every gal nowadays says that. Nothing strange there. She used to say “I speak my mind. I never mind what I speak“.

She was born accurate, everything was inch perfect 👌. She would ask what you wearing so as to match your clothing. She had the nerve to tell you that you improperly dressed and would drive you back and select clothes for you. She despised us wearing coloured clothes like a crèche durawall.

Born slightly after independence in the 80s her big behind contradicted her small round baby face. The kind of woman who made other women jealousy. She was a true African, a traditional believer who never wore any trousers. Her Shona name was Tione but we christened her T1.

Her intelligence was amazing so was her structure, and eye for quality. We called her our FBI (Finance and Business Intelligence) and rumor was that her intelligence was infact from the Federals.

In one of our Nyanga business trips, the Eastern highlands of the country, where it was now obviously our get away place to refresh, she pointed out that a certain lady who was a neighbor was eyeing me for some time. I didn’t notice neither did I care. I was there to refresh my mind.

As we went to bed, we kissed goodbye (as has become the custom) and went to our different rooms. It amazed quite a lot of people as we seemed a couple, always together, arm in arm but slept different bedrooms. The worst was Victoria Falls, Ilala Lodge. We shared the same bed as it was fully booked, but we were friends so what’s the fuss.

Back on the Nyanga trip, nature’s call gripped me. I slipped into my pyjamas and went to look for what would quench my desire. I knocked firmly on one of the neighboring doors. No details needs to be said on what transpired later on that night.

All I remember was being told 2 months later that you are going to be a father. T1 remained calm to my surprise. But she was often like that and took things seriously and professionally.

Being African I was swift to marry before everyone noticed that there was a bun in the oven. A wedding followed 2 months  later.

There was something weird and something was wrong. The atmosphere was tense. But what could possibly go wrong. On a day like this, “This is the day the Lord has made and I will rejoice in it“, I comforted myself.

The Priest said a mouthful of things from behavior to sex, and I’m thinking “Why should we take advice on sex from the Priest? If he knows anything about it, he shouldn’t!”  He continued his sermon, “Care is to Express, Not to Impress; When Care is expressed truly, people get impressed naturally…, With the powers vested in me I do hereby pronounce you … there was a scream so loud to ignore. Someone yelled “call 911“.

But what would 911 and me have in common, so common to disturb my wedding. Just as I turned to face the Pastor so as to proceed with my wedding someone said it’s T1 who need an ambulance.

I didn’t think. I rushed to the car park only to see her body lying in a pool of blood. She had a pistol in her hand. But where did she get the gun. ‘Maybe she was the real FBI after all’, I thought to myself. She took her life. But why.

It was the note that lay beside her addressed to me that made me numb.



*Based on a false story

Story of my life Part 2

Care to read Part 1 here

Continued …

It was exactly 2 years after the tragic death of my son, some unruly over-speeding guy who knocked off my son and he died on the spot. The police blamed me for negligence. I blamed the council for not putting speed humps on the road and more directly the driver for a speed too much in a residential area. 

As I came out of the shops I saw kids laughing and pointing to a corner. Curiosity got the best of me. I went there only to discover that there was a child being mocked and bullied. People shouted at her. Moreso nobody wanted to touch him. I asked for the parents and was directed to a house in the middle of the neighborhood. 

The mother of the child was in a temper. Step mom to be exact. She didn’t want to hear anything to do with the kid. I offered to take care of the kid for her, after narrating my odeal. She looked stern then smiled. A deal was sealed. 

The rumor mill began circulating again. How on earth could I adopt a child. Everyone called me cursed. Moreso with the condition of the child, everyone felt it was taboo to have such a child. It was unheard off. An abomination in this part of the world. If only they knew better. Muhammad Ali once said “Hating people because of their color is wrong. And it doesn’t matter which color does the hating. It’s just plain wrong.”

I took great care of my newly adopted son like he was my own. He was now my own. His relatives had denied him. They had cast him away. My teachings tells me that “Our true nationality is mankind”

Enrolling him into school was a nightmare. The headmaster only agreed after reaching an agreement that he would sit on his own desk. 

If I thought raising a child out of wedlock was a nightmare then try raising a child who has been condemned by the society. It didn’t help matters as I too, was condemned by the same society for promiscuity, giving birth at 17 to what I still boldly declare was out of love than anything else. 

My begging routine increased. I did all the work that was available to cloth this boy. To feed him and to educate him. He is one boy who had a hobo of nicknames. When he came home one day looking pale, I was worried. After he had told me that he fancied a girl and proposed to her but was rejected because of his condition I felt a lump on my throat. I was angry. 

He never did sports at school. I remember too well that when he was a soccer team goalkeeper the other schools boycotted the match altogether unless if he was removed from the team. His only ability that no one could dispute was his intelligence. He always excelled in school and thus earned him a few friends. Friends at school only, all because he had left for Harvard where he graduated with a degree in Medicine. 

It was only 8 years later when he came back treating an outbreak disease. The disease had wiped out homes and continued to do so. After a lengthy telephone conversation he had sort donations from #CDC and #WHO, he led the team of doctors to eradicate the disease. He chose his home area first since it was marginalized. 

As people waited in the hall for the Doctors from America to arrive and cure their kids, people were chatting noisily and some trying to out do others in speaking. The first 5 doctors walked in and people applauded, then he walked in last and there was stone silence. Everyone couldn’t believe their eyes, others mouth opened, others half smiling and some frozen half way when they clapped. 

“But he is an Albino”, the elderly gentleman pointed to him with his cane. “Our society does not allow Albinos, that’s why we have too much rains. It’s taboo. It’s a tell tale sign”

Sensing tension the Health minister said “I present to you one of the best doctors the country has ever produced, your own kinsman and the leader of the team. Please let’s not be racist and give him a round of applause”

His opening remark was simple but loaded with message. “Mindsets play strange tricks on us,” he said. “We see things the way our minds have instructed our eyes to see…

At the corner of the Hall I just thought to myself “It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences.”

No human race is superior; no religious faith is inferior. All collective judgments are wrong. Only racists make them


NB. Written in solidarity with Albinos world over who are subjected by their society. 

*Based on a false story. 

Story of my life 

Having met Shadreck mid high school, a wealthy businessman’s son, life was rosy. He spoiled me with all that I wanted. I was the only girl in my rural area who could wear designer sporting attire. All thanks to him. As fate would have it,we did it, yes, for fear of losing him to other girls. 

Competition was stiff on him, so I was told. They advised me to give him all so as to contain him. I wasn’t amenable, infact I was iconoclastic. I resisted but later on submitted. Just like the deadly sniper, it was just that one shot and enough to bear a child Brandon. I had to drop from Tenth grade (Form 3) to nurse our son with the promise that once he has finished his Advanced Level we were going to marry. 

Fast forward to today, he doesn’t want anything to do with the child. Let alone me. He tells me in no printable words that I was a whore and how would I open my legs when I was only 16. Where had I seen that before. It’s all my fault now. What about the promise?. He asks me for where he signed this ( mou ) memorandum of understanding as evidence. What a highbrow. 

Things that education can do to people. I just sob in my sincerity. I never thought he would change. Was it because of education or the lights of the big city. Was it because I was not educated like him or because I never wore any trousers, perfumes, mini skirts that resembled more of a belt than a skirt. I wonder. 🤔

Now, in the society, I’m a disdain . In church people nolonger want to sit next to me. I’m the good example for wrong reasons. All verses seem to point to promiscuity. All he preaching tells people to be morally uptight. Even when the Preacher said “if you don’t meet the devil in your life it means you are hearding in the same direction“. Everyone looked at me

In communities, the women shout so loud to each other about their daughters having passed with high flying colors at university. Is it because I never saw the front of a university let alone finish my ordinary level. 

The father of my son has since married and went for a pencil slim girl. She has long hair that almost reach her bums. Long nails and trims her eyebrows. Yet I’m short or chubby much closer to the ground, round face and the so called hard Mashona type of hair. (Kinky hair). They say history is for the victors and some will be remembered whilst others are forgotten, but facts can never be changed.

I have to do part time work to feed my son. Wherever I go they ask for educational certificates which I don’t have. Even as a maid they tell me I might be bad influence to their kids. If I did it how would I stop their children from doing it. Even those that have toddlers they tell me they would rather have someone without a kid. For they fear their food might fast disappear as I feed mine too from their pantry. Maybe they are right for “Sanity is not statistical” and “The consequences of every act are included in the act itself.”

As I sit by the road side with my baby at my back. Too tired to continue with the water bucket that I have to carry on my head from the water well. Maybe too tired because it’s been days since I ate a proper meal. Too tired after long nights trying to join pieces of cloth together to make clothes for my son. Too tired of thinking the if and buts or whys. 

With my palm around my right cheek, my head tilted and being supported by the hand, I see scholars in their uniforms coming from high school. Done with their day’s business. Among them I see pairs or boys and girls arm in arm. Love in the air. Some with their hands on their lovers waist. Obviously the hands for boys being a little lower than the waist. 

Tears rolled down my cheek. 

I was taken back to the real world by a loud scream and a sudden screeching of brakes. Dust rose so rapidly and I was choking. This is when reality struck….

To be continued

                                         – oOo

*Based on a false story 

Societal values

“I’m feeling bored, what are you up to”, she asked him, as she always does.

“Nothing much, just whiling up time feeding the animals”, he responded casually. “Let’s go out”.

To those who have an urban setup going out means a lot, considering the various options available.

In their case it was hearding to the river, sitting on a stone on the river bank and enjoying the crimson sunset.  This was their usual place. A secret spot. Looking down the river and at times peeping to those taking a bath in the river.

But not on this particular day. It started to drizzle, the ‘raining cats and dogs‘ type and the warmth of their bodies could be felt as they cuddled.

The heat arising from the stone as it evaporated in exchange of the coldness descending gave them comfort. In their comfort of happiness, the joys of their hearts , they both fell asleep. Hopefully dreaming of each other as they lay cuddled. It has always been his pleasure, cuddling her from behind.

It was late when they woke up and like all people in love they were inconsiderate of time and saw no need to rush. They began their journey back to the homestead. Short as she was, she always led and with the tall grass surrounding them, they couldn’t see far until they got to a clearing, the clearing being the pole and dagga welcome feature (what the modern now call durawall) of their homes.

They entered the compound arm in arm, swinging, (she had forgotten to remove the trousers and lipstick, a taboo in their village) only to be met by a dozen eyes staring at them, some ready to blow a gasket, some struck dump, some jaw dropped, some in amazement and some in straight forward faces that could have been the best caption for a national ID foto. A no smile, serious business type of face.

A search team had already been called for by the headman. People had gathered up from the village with their dogs, torches and anything that resembled a helping tool in the search of a rescue mission.

A kangaroo court was immediately setup to determine the fate of these two lovebirds. The headman sat on an elevated wooden log, wooden rod in his right hand, a big sun hat even though it was way after dusk. Their sitting arrangements resembled a cow horn formation with all village men on his right and women on his left. The accused sat in the middle and the verdict was unanimous.


This is how they ended up husband and wife. They didn’t plan for it. The society did.


She was responding to her grandchildren who had asked how she got married and why she was happy in their marriage as they celebrated their 48th anniversary

Joy is not in the clothes or location…. joy comes from God”

Disclaimer: Fiction. Not based on a true story but a dedication to those in true love.

The Condition

He picked up the Horizon magazine, browsed through it as he waited for his final Literature lesson. Days were flying and only a few weeks before he sits for his A’level exams. 

He smiled. Something caught his eye. He thought of trying it. What’s there to lose. Despite him being bright he had never had friends let alone a girlfriend. Some conditions let you be the laggard in everything. Some conditions doesn’t allow. Some conditions are conditional. He wished if they were seasonal than perennial or is it eternal. 

The advert came when he was doing his lower 6. He was tired of waiting. He had given up. Never cared more or less.              

I am a young man aged 18 looking for female friends aged between 16 and 18 who share a common vision regardless of condition(s). I promise to reply all letters. If interested please write to PO Box 11 Mutorashanga.

He smiled again. He was no longer 18. A year older now. A week later letters began to pour in and he ferociously replied to each and every one of them. Before long he was interested in Pelagia. She was short, curvy, round faced and dimpled. Beauty at its best, as always been the norm with short people.   The friendship was cemented and they started exchanging more photos. 

Can you find a soulmate through pen pals advert? Well to her he was handsome ‘according to the half photo she was holding’. His artistic way of writing letters just blew her mind away. He was different to the guys she had dated. To him she was simple. She said ‘I love you‘ too often and he believed it instantly. After all it’s been the first ‘I love you‘ he had answered. Correctly put its the first ‘I love you‘ he had been given. 

Upon completion of his high school, he passed with flying colours and won a scholarship to the United States. He went on to study medicine and graduated top of his class. He wrote every week for the 7 years he was in America. From hard copy letters till technology revolutionised Africa to emails then WhatsApp. 

From phoning via call boxes (telephone booth) to receiving calls at her neighbour’s landline till the coming of cellphones, from Skype videos to IMO video calls. Even Pelagia’s parents began to appreciate him as he sent money (ever increasing small rise), for her Olevels till college. It was a match made in heaven. All from a pen pals advert. 

During their Skype video calls he was so much in love that he proposed. She accepted and as norm people in love never think twice. It never clicked to them that they have never met. It was just photos of him always seated and she never saw anything unusual. She sent photos to him too. At first in longer dresses and with time the dresses became shorter revealing her drumsticks. I’m sexy and I know it type. 

When he finally landed at Harare International Airport it was 3am and she couldn’t be there to welcome him. He understood as he always does. Via Watsapp messaging they decided to meet at the local hotel where he was supposed to give a speech. Even the organisers of the event had come to know Pelagia and she was part of consultations. 

Someone had hinted to her that his man wanted to propose to her on the very night to make it official. He had sent money for her to be elegant. She was stunning in that black dress that shaped her so well that even the ladies afforded to look back when she walked past them. 

She came right on time but slightly late according to him.She was directed to his table. He was already sitted. A sly glance at him, her heart shouted ‘thank you Lord‘. Had there been dim lights she would have kissed him. His perfume did the trick. His attire resembled Mr Right. 

 As his name was announced, time for him to deliver his speech, the Doctor from United States , everyone stood to give a big applause 👏 

Pelagia stood too, trying to outdo everyone in clapping. Broad smile, she bent and gave him a kiss on his cheek. It was more of marking her territory kind of kiss. The applause was long. 

As everyone stood, He didn’t,  instead he wheeled towards the podium for the speech. Upon realisation Pelagia gave a wild screaming that was so louder than the cheering of 500 guests before she fainted. 


The real question is ‘Will she marry the man now that she has found he is disabled. Was it the reason why he always sent photos seated. Was it the condition he had spelled out in his advert that she clearly didn’t understand what it meant. Was her love conditional? With all the monies he had sent since high school till she graduated and now an accountant what will she do? The condition is real. 

Can you drop someone because he or she is disabled. 

Life through the disability lens

NB. Based on a false story. 

The love of …

“….easy like Sunday morning 🎶… ” I finished the song with a whistle as I entered Pizza Slice 🍕 food outlet in town. 

Yes it was Sunday mid morning and clad in my 3/4 shorts, they were looking at my hairy legs. But who cares, it’s a Sunday morning. Taking it easy just like the song. On a Sunday morning. I whistled again. 

I ordered my pizza. The new chicken flavored, is my favorite. Order number 82. I wondered if they had sold 81 pizzas in that morning or it was a carry over figure from yesterday. 

I decided to sit in a corner  where I could notice everyone. Psychological right. My definition of a psychologist is a guy who looks at people’s faces and reactions when a beautiful girl enters a room

It didn’t take me long to see this short lady sitting a couple of tables away.  She was well built and those are the types I would say … ok never mind me I’m here for pizza. 

She kept looking to her side. I followed her eyes and landed on this guy who was on the phone. Keys on the table. I presumed he drives an Altezza. Who cares I’m here for pizza. 

Order number 79“, the lady shouts. I counted my fingers. How many more to my order, number 82. Anyway back to the lady. I watched her as she smilingly kept looking towards this Altezza guy. As he lift his head or looks at the direction of the lady,she would look aside shyly. 

Ok, I was begging to enjoy this. Like in a tennis match I would look left and look right. Look left, look right. What’s only missing was clapping hands when one hits an ace. But there was no ace here. 

Order number 80.

Look left, look right, I continued to enjoy my match,affording to smile intermittently. Then I decided to go for an ace.  Pulled out my pen wrote a note on the back of the only paper on table. Swiftly moved towards the lady, note in hand nicely folded once. 

Order number 81

I approached her, whispered in her ear and gave her the note. I pointed to the direction of the Altezza guy. I headed for the exit with a smile on my face. I had scored an ace. As I was near the doorway I looked back and the lady was beside theAltezza  guy pointing at me. 

 Order number 82.

 👀  oops 🙊 I wrote that note at the back of the order slip. Oh dear. There is nowhere I’m going back there. I pinched myself. 

Would the lady collect my pizza after realizing what I did. Maybe she left the note on the table of the guy. Maybe he did collect it on my behalf. Or maybe I should be a gentleman enough to go back and face the guy and ask for my order number. 

Maybe I can do explain to the sales lady over the counter that the pizza do belong to me but I somehow lost my order number slip. Not so easy on a Sunday morning, right!

What a match. I ended up the loser
                            –  oOo  –         


NB: To the Harare Pizza Slice Management. Now that I have done a free marketing for you, may I please have my pizza 🍕 back. 😉 

The Catalyst 

In the African setup when someone has been very ill for long they are transferred to the rural areas. The living will have surrendered you and they prepare for your funeral. 

They are cutting costs as compared to transporting the dead. 

If the City is the place for all medications surely the rate of survival once you are transferred to the rural areas is next to nothing. Majority are pronounced dead on arrival. Those who made decisions to transfer you are said and viewed as the master planners. The internal for seers. The kind of genius who could tell that life is next to it’s end. 

Have you ever chauffeur driven your family to a distance of more than 200km. Majority sleep along the way. What more going to kumusha/ekhaya (rural areas).  

Ask them why they fell asleep 😴 they will tell you it’s tiresome to just sit there and watch trees going the opposite direction. 

It’s tiresome to be made to shake by the bumpy roads as you keep composure. What more someone who is sick. Someone who you are transferring to the rural areas. If the healthy arrive asleep then the sick will definitely “reach dead”. 

Picture this. When your kid is crying you put her on your back. Take a towel and secure her firmly to your back. Then you start doing those dances to no song like a mad man. Dancing to a tune only you can understand. Without the baby 👶 on your back everyone will call you mad 😡 or insane. 

The baby definitely sleeps due to this rhythmic shaking. The lullaby. That patting continuously on its butt. This has become the trend eventually. If you want the baby to sleep. By the same token transferring the ailing has become trend. 

Now unlike the baby ,the jumps and bumps of the gravel road does the patting on the whole body of the sick. More so how many people get transferred to rural   arrears on a bed, comfortable bed in this case. Is it a coincidence that ambulances have beds and belts to secure you. 

Our African setup you are either at the back seat alone or at the back of the truck. Either way you aren’t secured so those dances forced upon you by the truck will make you go to sleep. 

In this case, sleeping forever


NB: In the event I get sick and you transfer me to my rural area, if I recover, please run 🏃 for cover 😂

Pick it up

Pick it up

For I know cleanliness is next to Godliness. Be it a bible verse or a mere statement, this I abide to. 
So may times I have wondered why we pride ourselves in being dirty. The ubuntu in us is very much questionable nowadays. Why litter. Let’s keep the environment clean. 

Driving behind someone who throws litter is a real pain. I wish like overtaking and stopping right in front of him/her to urge him to go back and pick their litter. It’s so frustrating. 

Why can’t we all exercise cleanliness. Keep the environment clean. Surely throwing your pizza boxes to maintain cleanliness in your car thereby polluting the environment isn’t cleanliness. 

Visiting high density suburbs and the rate of land pollution is alarming. The ability to reason is at its all time low. How do we live with ourselves when we are the champions of littering. Stiffer penalties should be applied. 

The smell that comes from these dumping sites affects you and me. The relatives that suffer are both ours. 

Driving from Ndola or from Kasumbalesa, Kazungula, Chirundu ,Selebi to Ramokgwebana, Plumtree or Mutare to the border there is always a trend of pollution that you see. There should be stiffer penalties especially between the border and border-towns. 

Right in the City center areas where airtime is sold, fizzy drinks and food courts are the most polluted. Now with the cash crisis bank areas has joined the queue. In as much as people might say cleaning the City is a right for the City fathers, there should be strong campaign to penalize people who throw cabbage. 

There should be signs everywhere for a campaign against littering. Even though I know a human is of a problem by nature, even whilst holding a pet bottle that has a do not litter written in bold, someone still goes to throw it away wherever they feel like. 

The above image really showed how our mindset works. We are quick to complain about dirt yet we are the pioneers of pollution. Environmental pollution is an incurable disease. It can only be prevented. 

The flood of money that gushes into politics today if only it was used for environmental and health related issues, we all shouldn’t worry. Whilst we are busy looking at the economy may a few sensible people please look at pollution. 

With the rains around the corner this becomes a health hazard. There will be diseases that even affect the few that don’t litter. 
Before we know it we see campaigns for typhoid, diarrhoea ,cholera and dysentery  etc. How come we not bothered to campaign for the root cause. Why fire fight a disease that goes epidemic when it was easy to eradicate it through awareness campaigns. 

We need to rewrite the books of evolution again. Man should be responsible for the environment they live in. try to leave the earth 🌏 a better place than when you arrived. Land pollution is a bad solution. 

 Let’s make this world a better place for our children. A better environment a better tomorrow. We did not inherit this world from our ancestors but we borrowed it from our children. 

“The only way forward, if we are going to improve the quality of the environment, is to get everybody involved”- Richard Rogers

NB. Why is the do not litter sign always depicting a man. Maybe they are the chief  culprits. Or since everyone now wears trousers, well… 🏃

Of see-thru dresses, mini skirts & men’s reaction 

Have you ever met someone, whatever they are wearing, you look at the clothes then look at the face.You look at the face again and you shake your head. At times you smile. Sometimes you forced to look back.

The title to this blog post is very misleading. It was just a way to draw your attention. Now that you are here let’s get on with it. Fashion is today’s special.

Most fashion magazines focus on ladies. Most fashion conscious people are women. The rate at which men lack fashion sense is appalling. They are good examples of fashion disasters. That’s cogent.

Most guys who have the so called tech minds are the worst dressed in the company hierarchy. Just look at any guy near you or your IT guy and see if he is fashion  conscious or elegant. All they say is “so long i know my stuff, that’s all that matters. What’s in dressing?

Being perfectly well-dressed gives one a tranquility that no religion can bestow.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

It’s quite rare to have a programmer who wears a suit. An IT guy in a suit. A Cisco technician in a suit. Even though they support their clumsy dressing by claiming they go into ceilings and pull cables etc, truth be told, those are historical ways of working. Technology has evolved,ubiquiti and wireless has taken over. After all its not everyday you get into ceilings.

Ok..let’s cut them some slack. Yes their jobs require too much manual labour. Does that also warranty that one can not put a good deodorant or cologne. Since it needs more of “physic” than logic then they should be the biggest buyers of deodorants.

I have seen and heard ladies say they are turned on by men who smell good. Maybe that underlays the fact why when a man gets a haircut, irons clothes, tuck in, everyone is quick to say he is now dating or about to settle. 

My favourite fashion mishap is the shirt crease. Most men, it’s a railwayline from the shoulder to the wrist. First crease was the original one. Second done by him. Third and fourth by girlfriends. Even the married men are not immune.
The neckties, especially the length says a lot about a man.A well-tied tie is the first serious step in life– Oscar Wilde. 

A tie should  never go beyond the belt. That’s too long, and should never reveal 2 shirt buttons. That’s too short. These ties that look like a baby feeder apron is a no no.

Next stop is the waist line and the so called drop by guys. This really gets to my nerves. I feel like puking. Im yet to see a guy who wears suits who drops his trousers below the hips. Unless if its the other type of a suit hereby called ‘worksuit’.

Revealing a khaki boxer short that was once white isn’t something interesting to watch. Whoever started with drop should be labelled an enemy of the state. Guys please Stop It. 

Even if it’s casual. It just has to be smart casual. Properly ironed. 1 shirt pleat. One can not be called a gentleman when you wearing a shirt that looks like you wrestled it from a cow’s jaw. Pants dropped and a tie as short as your palm. Looking good isnt self-importance but its self respect.

This is fast becoming long like the river Nile or as long as Psalms   (Mapisarema), will revisit this topic. 

As I once brought this issue of guys dropping their trousers, one guy had this to say, 

I’m not bothered by men who drop their pants, I hardly notice them, I would be busy looking at women’s behind instead” 

shots fired 😂


Women always have to prove their point in life. In school if a girl is in the top 10 its always a great achievement. For boys it’s regarded as normal.

In companies to have a lady boss is regarded as a milestone for her. As gentleman as I am, I believe “To be born a woman is to win first prize in the lottery of life“.

 I surely thought by this century, men would have evolved and would have dropped this banal issue and inequality will be a thing of the past.

I was wrong. Still wrong and might eternally be wrong.
When a woman gives birth,  people sends their congrats and the sequence is always the same to those that pay visits at the hospital or do visit the newly  born at home. “Oh congratulations on your baby. Is it a boy or girl. What’s the name”?

Inequality begins at birth.
“It’s a boy, oh that’s really nice. The father will be very happy. You have cemented your place in the relationship”.

“It’s a girl, don’t worry keep trying, you will eventually get a boy. All shall be well”

Traditionally for a girl to go to school, it needed more convincing to the parents as compared to boys. For a girl to advance her education lots of questions needed answers.

Fast forward to today, In relationships, it’s easy for a husband to say “this is Yvonne or Vhuvu, she is my friend. We have known each other for days. She was talking about her husband going on holiday. She invited us, we are joining them”, he chronicles.

All she(wife) has to do is nod her head in unison.

Reverse the situation. Can or may a wife come home to say “daddy this is my friend Beaton. We are workmates. They are going on holiday with his wife and we have been invited. We are joining them. Will be drinking lots of coffee together”.

There will be a funeral, either for the male friend or his wife, if not both.

Even on phones, men prefer doing settings on their wife’s or galfriends phones. Going through the phone books and chat history. Nothing wrong with themselves,so they say. If the wife does the same, its a different ball game.

Girls have even imitated the wearing of trousers to equal men. Some men still have problems with that. I wonder if there are women who have a problem with men wearing a skirt.

But then again. Some men have gone to behave like Susan. Painting nails and “swinging”, is it still in the name of equality? 

Now, I’m confused.

Very soon food will be equated

The Apple … continued


Snippets from part 1

The two let go each other, and stared at the current husband.

I’m still wondering who the wife stood next to or even who she sat next to. I really don’t know what happened next.

What I know for sure is the two gentleman are wondering who got the first call amongst them. A conundrum


…. continued … from part 1

They all couldn’t stand the silence so the husband decided to speak first,  but he too doubted the outcome of his thoughts and arguments.

“Excuse me nurse”, he finally said to a passing nurse.

“I have a question, not medically related but something I need your opinion on”,
Would you go back to your ex hubby in the name of reconciliation if he extended a hand to you?

Faces around went white, as white as the nurse’s uniform , scarlet if we may describe it, in other words. The nurse was shocked too. Nurses, in general, are more prepared to answer questions relating to someone’s health or giving directions to lost patients

“No, i wouldn’t. I got lots of pride and wouldn’t stoop so low.  Never ever. Mwana wani iyeye nguva yaakatambisa. No. Nix. Bodo ndaramba.” she declared rather than answered

“Excuse me Sis’er, let me ask what you normally encounter in your day to day livelihood,  if a child gets sick is it right to let the father of the child know?” Asked Shaddy the father of the child, not willing to be outdone as he was fast trading on soft ground

“Yes of course what’s wrong with that because …
“Sorry to inject you nurse but even if the parents are separated is it still the duty of the father know the condition of his child.”

“Of cause the father has the right to his child, regardless of the situation” answered Matilda, as prescribed on the badge slightly above her breast on her ‘once’ white uniform.

She quickly walked away fearing her answers might be used as bait and diving into waters that might be too shallow to swim.

To the 3 seated on the bench, regardless of their sitting arrangements, issue is, The nurse scored for both sides. Scored for both teams. Scored for both opponents.

Question is. Would you go back to your ex? Some say ex is short for example

Question is, does the mother has a right to call the child’s father even midnight regardless that they are now divorced. How will her (the current) husband take it. How will the recipient’s wife take it?

Decision making is a gift and it’s not everyone who is gifted. To those who turned back for reconciliation and things didn’t work out, you too by now know they have no kind words. It suffer continue

To those who heeded the call for reconciliation and things turned out best, they walk with a spring in their step. Right move. Right decision. Life is good. Second thoughts are the best, right?

Let me get back to the trio on the bench and find out how the drama unfolded.


The End is near

Diary of a woman


When a woman is angry about her love life she takes it to the social media. She has to let everyone know that she is angry. She writes the unprintable and you can tell the depth of hurt or hatred.

When she is happy about her love life she takes the information to the diary. She writes fantasy stories and all the imaginary things. She even writes of her imagination of her boyfriend opening the car door for her.

Not that there aren’t any more guys who do that, they are still there,  but in the movies.

When she is happy she posts the photos on internet. That’s a change. When she is happy she posts all the places she has been to. That’s encouraging. But there is no boyfriend along. Ok. He is the one holding the camera right. What about a photo bomb or selfie?

Maybe its the fear of the unknown that when you publish faces we will see our married brothers. Lol. Maybe it is the fear of the “known” that after 3 years the number of male faces tagged as bf will definitely outnumber the days of the week.

Our sisters and friends need to stop this decadent behaviour. This obstinacy and stubbornness that sometimes allows personal feelings to override common sense is very disturbing.

Slow down sis “No one has ever been booked for speeding in India or China”

Guys too go through the same feeling of reject. Same feeling of hatred and hurt. They endure the pain and hardship without showing feelings or complaining. ( stoical )

what do guys do when they are rejected? They drink beer and drown their sorrow
What do guys do when they are happy? They drink beer and celebrate.

Maybe I should learn to drink beer

What is Love. Part 1

“Excuse me,  do you know where I can find  Barbours Departmental store?”

He swang around. Instead of answering he spent his time admiring what was in front of him. She scared the daylights out of him

“Oh yes , yah, yes” he found himself saying.

Wat are you saying, she asked in astonishment. ?

“I mean Barbours is just around the corner,  along First Street, you wouldn’t miss it. But may I please have your number”. He finished the sentence in a half shout, as she had walked away. “I’m James by the way,” he shouted

She looked back , tilted her head downwards so as to look from the top of her sunshades with that smile  expression of “loser” written all over her face.

She was swinging, black mini skirt, so short that even women turned around to admire the great feature behind her.  High heels and dangling car keys, Merc keys. She had an 8 figure shaped body. Her eyes made men shy away. She had dimples.
All that he could do was swallow saliva, as he couldn’t even blink. Neither could he walk. Even though he swallowed, nothing went down. The throat was dry.

“Will all those going to Mutorashanga please board, this is the last kombi (commuter omnibus ) for the day”.

“Driver my money isn’t tallying, please stop the bus. Vabereki someone didn’t pay me”, shouted the conductor

“It’s me who didn’t pay”, said a soft frail voice on the front seat. She looked as though she was sick and her mind wasn’t anywhere nearby.

Everyone stared at her.
“Do I know you? Have we met before?”, asked the driver. She raised her face to meet the eyes of the driver

“Ah I remember you. The girl I directed to Barbours, black mini skirt , Merc keys in hand, you remember me, It’s James. “What happened to the Merc and all that glamour?”

“Conductor don’t worry she is staff. No need for her to pay”.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. She sobbed. The place she was heading isn’t the kindof place where people give you a tissue to wipe your tears. They all expect to use your palms.

“It all began 2months ago…”, she began

“Tafara 1 bus stop”, I shouted as I saw my drop off point, as she began her story, I too was curious to know what transpired to this former great cat walker


…….. to be continued

But … why???


Women come in all shapes and sizes. There are the pencil slim, who have since found their way into modelling. I still think if it blows a little heavier some might easily be blown away. They are good in modelling though in the real world fuller women take center stage for attraction.

Then there are the abnormal load one. You know the giant popeye after eating spinach look alike. Big at the top and slim as you go down.  We used to call these the improper fraction.

There comes the isosceles triangle. Small at the top and huge at the base. These are plenty and outnumber the slim ones or the improper fraction ones.

Im not sure is 8 is a digit or shape,  but these are the crowd pullers. Whenever they walk,  majority look back. Even women look back and I’m yet to find out why women look back  at other women. Clothes suit them. Better if they are short. Portable size. From shoe size to dress or skirt. It’s all equal proportions.

Even in a mini its a marvel to watch. Music to the eyes. I wish I could put photos here. That would put me in hospital at a faster rate though.  These people, forget the good shape, they got temper. Dynamites  come in small packages and its true of them.

Finally we got those who look like a sterilised milk bottle. Or an orange crush bottle. If 8 is not a shape then we have to agree that round is a shape. They are so round that when they trip over they just roll forward.

With such fine women of our generation that make the human flowers of our day to day life, one will never get enough superlatives to describe them. They are a marvel to watch regardless of shape and size.

Then you hear someone saying he is Gay.


Friends like these

In case you missed a good article about friends. Friendship by Makupsy
This is a continuation.

Facebook really corrupted us. We nolonger know the difference between Friends and someone you know. Even Twitter didn’t help it either when we faced to distinguish between friends and followers

Having met friends on Twitter and having had a life whereby I change friends in every 5 years,  not because of my liking but when I looked back I was amazed. In this life we live,  we make friends depending on the environment, situation or even nature of activities going around.

I have this friend I met on Twitter. I just love her. Pure love. We chat about anything and we just flow. Even though there was once upon a time “we” did a “disappear” from the radar, but generally I can safely count on her as a friend. After all “Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light” – Hellen Keller.

I would love friends like these.

Then there are those people from High school or your community back home,  that you meet in a foreign  country or big city,  anywhere not home and because you share a common background they are also deemed friends.

Maybe that’s the reason why we can’t even define old school music. To me its music that I know that brings memories. If I don’t know it regardless of how it is and I don’t have a memory of it, well…

We often have situations where the trusted friends are only there because they benefit something from you. Stop the benefit and you all alone.

For same sex yes friends can be there. But for opposite sex , is it still friendship or its love that’s taking long to mature. For guys would agree with me that above 90% of them, later on, develop deeper feelings for their female friends (i hope that wasn’t the reason to be friends in the first place. Draw her nearer then strike).

Of the 90% who tried turning friendship into a relationship, majority landed in the friendzone. And you can imagine the step you make when you are that 10% that moves from the friendzone

My question is, is there a lady who has ever made it to the friendzone.?


Population Density Matrix

Harare, being the Capital City of Zimbabwe has a funny population density.

The many the houses, the many the children, the fewer the houses, the fewer the children. Is it because majority in the high density don’t have much to do with their time except baby making.

The future of the kids is at risk. You become a prisoner by birth. Even though we have crafted and found ways to comfort each other. We certainly believe that “being born poor is not your choice but dying poor is”.

How does it happen that in the low density suburbs, a family living in a 14 bedroomed house, has 2 kids, whilst in the high density, a family living in a rented, 2 roomed cottage has 5 children. Shouldn’t it be opposite.

The education system that we so much brag about, how come its hasn’t had an effect to population control. I would honestly advocate for 1 is best, 2 is most, considering that school fees has become the best contraceptive, more effective than any other family planning method.

People living in high density suburbs have more children, who a bigger percentage fails to make it through secondary education let alone tertiary. What is the point behind having more kids that you can’t look after, most importantly living in a 2 roomed house. The lounge is meant for couch not a bedroom for kids. Some we have to ask permission from our neighbours to accommodate them during the night.

The only place where numbers are welcome is a hotel. If you were to visit Pavillion restaurant with your 7 kids the hotel staff will greet you with a warm smile. If you were to travel by bus and all 7 kids paying, the bus company would smile all the way to the bank. But alas, these kinds of family never make it to hotels or holiday destinations.

These type of families, when they bus, they make sure kids sit on each other’s lap to cut costs. Contrary those with 2 kids have family cars and always drive to hotels or holiday destinations. One can not guess which of the 2 families wish a relative could take their kids for the holiday.

The more the kids, the more the expense. Even after marriage breakdown, being brought in front of the magistrate for neglecting 5 kids sounds catastrophic. Try knocking sense to such parents and the obstinacy is just amazing. Decadence at their best.

More kids more expenses. So what’s the point. This has nothing to do with sanctions the country is facing. This is pure logic or lack of it. Our high literacy rate shouldn’t be mistaken, it’s ability to read not ability to reason.

Let’s advocate for 1 man 1 wife. 1 family 2 kids or 3 at most. After all family cars carry maximum of 5 people.

That is normal, perhaps not for Africa.

Honest men marry soon, wise men …

What is the right age to marry. Would you want a scenario whereby you visit your kid at school on consultation day and the students or teachers call your son and say your grandfather is here to see you?

But again that is if you had married in the first place. Majority of guys have resorted to buying an Altezza Audi or BMW rather than marry. I don’t blame them. Choices do differ, so are priorities.  So they say

What does the Bible say

Genesis 2:18
And the LORD God said, It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper suitable for him.”

So where are my fellow brothers missing it. It’s clearly written. This is the generation that is so clever at defending what’s wrong than whats right. The blame-game-generation. Its never wrong on their life. Someone has to take the bullet for them. (focus is on guys for now. Next article on girls, but the article has to be clearly worded as most girls listen to reply rather than listen to understand)

The bible didn’t just stop there. It went on to say

Proverbs 18:22
He who finds a wife finds a good thing, and obtain favour from the LORD”.

“Awana mukadzi awana chinhu chakanaka” in my local translation. For the world is so full of beauty and honestly one can’t give an excuse of not finding the perfect one. After all why go for perfect. Perfect what you get.
Go yee therefore and marry. Go and find your good thing as it is not good to be alone.

Hold on. It’s not all of us who read the bible. Not everyone is a Christian

Honest men marry soon, Wise men not at all. I rest my case


The Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

“Do you take this girl to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together in this holy state of matrimony;  to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part”.

He cleared his throat as though in doubt then softly said “I do“, it came as a whisper. Was it stage fright or tell tale signs?

“If any one can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

“By the powers vested in me under the constitution as your marriage officer I hereby pronounce you husband and wife. You may now …..”

Fast forward to 5years,  the two love birds nolonger see eye to eye. The guy was about to remarry and the wife was said to have relocated to Mozambique. They had 2 sons. The contentious issue was custody. As always.

Divorce is never a way to settle scores and now that he is marrying again, this spells the end to mother’s love for the children. Not that the incoming mother is bad but the moment parents seperate so many blame games come to play.

How does a wife treat a scenario whereby the mother of the kids(ex wife) pays a visit to see her two sons (as enshrined by the law), seeing the 2 former talking and possibly sharing a joke?

How does the husband feel when her ex (former husband) visit the kids. As you grab your newspaper and sit outside trying not to listen or be bothered by the two in the lounge, you hear them sharing jokes and clearly enjoying themselves.

Does love really disappear for and or from someone you share kids with. When the kid falls sick you need to contact the father (in this case Ex hubby) and he comes rushing.

So, they met again at the hospital. After the doctor had explained the condition it was nothing “really” serious. They strolled out of the ward towards the visitors bench. As they sat, nothing to talk about except weather and bar talk

“You gave gained weight, seems things are pretty well your side hey?” was his opening line

For the first time that night she smiled, turned to look him in the eye and responded “you don’t look too bad yourself, though that shirt would have done better with a blue tie”

“Oh really, you are still fashion conscious, I have since stopped being particular of what I wear” he said

“Why isn’t she taking good care of you”, it came as an attack than a question. The two just looked at each other just as the Doctor appeared. They all stood up.

“I have good news”, “and bad news”, said Doctor Ethan, (in an accent), making sure the words sink. His face showed no signs of either news and he seems to enjoy delivering such news. (I’m sure doctors practise this or is it practice )

“Start with the bad news, get on with it Doc, I hardly can’t contain it anymore”;

“Bad news is we going to hospitalise the boy for 2 days”, he paused as though still going on. “Good news is the operation was successful and no complications”

The two former lovebirds turned and hugged each other in celebration, a hug of relief, a hug of comforting each other, a hug that was too close for comfort. They never saw the Doctor walk away and neither did either of them see the husband arrive.

He coughed once, then coughed again twice, a little louder this time, in annoyance, to gain attention with just a hint of melancholy on his face.

The two let go each other, and stared at the current husband.

I’m still wondering who the wife stood next to or even who she sat next to. I really don’t know what happened next.

What I know for sure is the two gentleman are wondering who got the first call amongst them. A conundrum


To be continued..

Beauty – defined

Here goes the joke doing rounds on social media. Not sure who to credit but credit hereby goes to the “unknown” originator.

A man dating three women and wanted to decide who to marry. He then gave them a test. He gave each woman $10,000 and observed what each did with the money.

The first one did a total make-over which included a fancy hair style, make up and several new outfits. She then dressed up for the man and said, “I have done this to make myself more attractive to you because I love you so much.” The man was impressed.

The second woman went gift shopping for the man. She bought him a new smartphone, a Rolex watch and very flashy clothes. As she presented these gifts to him she said, “I’ve spent all the money on you because I love you so much.” The man was again impressed.

The third one invested the money in the stock market. She earned $40,000 and gave him back his 10k. She then deposited the remainder in a joint account. She told him that she wanted to secure their future because she loved him so much. Obviously the man was very impressed.

The man thought for a long time about what each woman had done with the money. In the end he married the one with the biggest hips

Ahhhhh, men will always be men!


Is it worth it


The pain that people go through in relationships,  and the bearing it has on the children is painful.

Just this Saturday I saw a mother ,  baby on her back and a heavy bag in hand. She was crying, in the middle of town. I lept out of the car wanting to find out why. (Being the gentleman that I am)

I discovered the man, a few paces in front was her husband. He was fuming, shouting the unprintable. He couldn’t even be man enough to carry what looked like a heavy bag from his wife. Honestly men need to be reasonable at times. (Yes I just said that).

As I followed I tried to pick up the conversation, why she was crying, why he was fuming and why go through all this in town. In the middle of the city, of all the places. Why would the husband has the ego to chastise her in the middle of the city.

In the mean time I tried to play detective and avoid detection as I might be labelled a thief and the plot would have suddenly changed. Tried not to be labelled a stalker too.

For closer to a kilometre I was in persuit. What I gathered, was the man was saying he is fed up because the wife isn’t obeying him. The wife was trying in vain to be given another chance. In her defence she mentioned that for all these years she has natured him and now that he has been promoted he nolonger sees her as useful. I’m sure she felt used, stamped upon. Walked over. Melancholy.

She mentioned something to do with the guy’s behaviour when he is drunk. How he is abusive when he comes home drunk, more days a week than not.

Two things define you. Your patience when you have nothing, and your attitude when you have everything

The 4 of us arrived at the bus terminus downtown as they headed for busses going to Kuwadzana. I stopped and realised how men can be so mean. I didn’t have kind words for this guy. How could he. Is this what women are going through in their respective homes. Is it worth it?

He couldn’t even have the courtesy of carrying the bag.

Hang on, I trailed these people for a kilometre and me too, I couldn’t offer to carry the bag.

I’m no different.

NB. Based on a False story

Best things in life are for free


A lovely little girl was holding two apples with both hands.

Her mum came in and softly asked her little daughter with a smile; my sweetie, could you give your mum one of your two apples?

The girl looked up at her mum for some seconds, then she suddenly took a quick bite on one apple, and then quickly on the other.

The mum felt the smile on her face freeze. She tried hard not to reveal her disappointment.

Then the little girl handed one of her bitten apples to her mum,and said: mummy, here you are. This is the sweeter one.

No matter who you are, how experienced you are, and how knowledgeable you think you are, always delay judgement. 

Give others the privilege to explain themselves.   
What you see may not be the reality. Never conclude for others.

Which is why we should never only focus on the surface and judge others without understanding them first.

Those who like to pay the bill, do so not because they are loaded but because they value friendship above money.

Those who take the initiative at work, do so not because they are stupid but because they understand the concept of responsibility.

Those who apologizes first after a fight, do so not because they are wrong but because they value the people around them.

Those who are willing to help you, do so not because they owe you any thing but because they see you as a true friend.

Those who often text you, do so not because they have nothing better to do but because you are in their heart.

Those who take out time to chat with you, does not mean they are jobless or less busy, but they know the importance of keeping in touch.

One day, all of us will get  separated  from each other; we will miss our conversations of everything & nothing; the dreams that we had.

Days will pass by, months, years, until this contact becomes rare… One day our children will see our pictures and ask ‘Who are these people?’ And we will smile with invisible tears  because a heart is touched with a strong word and you will say: ‘IT WAS THEM THAT I HAD THE BEST DAYS OF MY LIFE WITH’.

Accreditation : Watsapp.
Im too lazy to find the origins

Love at first sight

“I don’t believe in love at first sight. It lacks hindsight,  its lust. No such thing exists and its failure of judgement. One needs to think straight and learn to study the person before you even think of believing in love”.

“How can you love someone before you even know the person. This is what we used to call in primary school ‘it can’t’, when asked by the maths teacher 2 – 3. Its just impossible and will implode in the so near future”.

“It would be mainly out of greed rather than anything  else. To me its more of lust than love”.

These are some of the various reaponses i got from asking a number of people, unfortunately women. Fortunately all guys i asked they said they believe in love at first sight. Can you blame them.

My own version.
I do believe in love at first sight. It is that magnetic instant feeling you have when you first saw him/her. That sudden blood rush, adrenaline pumping. That caricature at the back of your mind.

That instant feeling that makes you rehearse your opening line. Your most precious opening statement. As most guys believe “if you make her laugh you halfway through”.

Im not quite sure if you can lust for something you don’t like. “Friendship at first sight, like love at first sight, is said to be the only truth” – Herman Melville

Example 1
As she pushed her trolley in the supermarket, he prepared his opening line very well.
“So what do you do?”
She was a Markerting  Executive at this top telecomms company. He said he was a student. He didn’t waste time to say how he felt for her.
Loser the girl thought to herself
Jackpot the guy thought to himself

Example 2
As she pushed her trolley in the supermarket, he prepared his opening line very well.
“So what do you do?”
He was a Manager at a local hotel. She said she is a student. He didn’t waste time to say how he felt for her.
Jackpot thought the girl to herself
‘Chinamira’ – gold digger thought the guy to himself

Example 3
As she pushed her trolley in the supermarket, he prepared his opening line very well.
“So what do you do?”
He said he doesn’t work and she said she too was home. Job hunting.He didn’t waste time to say how he felt for her.
I love you too she thought to herself

She picked up the Sunday Mail only to discover that he is infact CEO of a listed company.

The 3 examples best illustrate my answer. They are all the same but with different outcomes. Love is what you feel first time when you are approached. First impressions last. The other examples’ outcomes were determined after the so called “knowing you first”. No one believes in Love at first sight, until that special person comes along and steals your heart.

In conclusion “The only true love is love at first sight, second sight dispels it”, or if you don’t believe in love at first sight, should I walk again

If this was an exam
Do you believe in Love At First Sight [25] marks

Beauty Reloaded

“I’m sexy and i know it”

I need to change my dress first before we go braiing“, said Tsuwie as she drove into her apartment garage.

Come in and have a drink as I change“, she said in a faded shout as she slid into her bedroom whilst I made myself comfortable in her couch.

The apartment was neatly furnished, signs that she was earning a decent living. We have been friends for a few weeks and just like that, we clicked and gelled very well.

Turn on some music, as I have decided to bath first“, she shouted. I grabbed the remote and turn on the home theatre.

Take your time, there is no rush in Africa. Moreso we are 2 hours ahead of London why rush” , I responded with some assuring boldness even though to be honest we were already late. Damn. Effects of not owning a car. I reminded myself.

Have you ever loved somebody so much
It makes you cry
Have you ever needed something so bad
You can’t sleep at night
Have you ever tried to find the words
But they don’t come out right
Have you ever, have you ever

Umm nice music i thought to myself as i drummed my fingers on the armrest. Was already getting comfortable. Typical African in me.

Next on the playlist was “Heaven Sent”, by Keisha Cole

I wanna be the one who you believe
In your heart is sent from (sent from heaven)
There’s a piece of me who leaves when you gone
Because you’re sent from (sent from heaven)

as she appeared on the doorway in a black and yellow stunning dress that shaped her body. She looked like she was born with it. I wonder if this was a trap, of music I mean.
image image

She was elegant, intuitive, spontaneous and it didn’t help matters that she is short. Her body in that dress was like an hourglass. She really honesty and truly has curves.

Her eyes were suggestive, shy and her matching shoes told a story that she was fashion conscious.

Don’t just sit there“, said Tsuwie, “I’m sexy and I know it“, and this time her voice matched her dress. I felt numb. The voice was music to my ears. Dynamites really come in small packages.

She took steps towards me, all I could do was admire her. She stopped a few centimetres from me… My lips parted.

I heard a sound and ignored it. Whatever it is it has to wait. It is my time to be sent to heaven in ecstasy.

Then I woke up.

The sound had grown louder as it was my alarm ringing. Time to wake up. Damn.

The bridge that Petronella built

Today I sleep with a smile, something I haven’t done in years and tomorrow I will walk with a spring in my step. It’s a proud feeling that I have that I wish to share with you.

I have always believed in quiting something I like more, to achieve a goal. 1 january 2015 I quit facebook to begin a journey that’s making me sleep peacefully. I had gained some reputation as the public entertainer and an avid lover of posting photos of wherever I go.

I had also grown fond of the posts by Strive Masiyiwa. He is surely the only person I miss about Facebook. The aim of quiting facebook was to minimise time I spend on social media. I deleted and exited all watsapp groups but for Twitter I had grown an addiction and I was on it another year longer.

Ironically or should i say conicidentally I was also a follower of Tsitsi Masiyiwa wife to Strive. With her passion about disadvanted kids I was inspired.

Then there is this person by the name Petronella Maramba. She inspired me to go into philanthropy. Even though I’m miles away from being called so, but i got the idea from her. The love she has for disadvantaged children is an inspiration to me. I wondered why somebody didn’t do something.  Then I realized, I am somebody.

Even though I have tried to join forces with several groups, they always shut me out. I have tried joining hands to even have people who can do motivational speaking at my former high school but seems majority all like doing it by themselves.

It was upon reading Petronella’s Twitter posts that i decided to sponsor kids for O’level. Today I’m proud to say 1 kid that I’m not related to I was sponsoring sat for 8 subjects and passed them all. He got 6As. Congratulations Eesa Kazembe. I’m proud of you.

Even though I quit twitter 1 Jan 2016 to concentrate more on several other things among them helping the kids cross the great divide, the O’level bridge I only wish more people could join the fraternity and sponsor students from their former high schools.

It’s not suprising that when one needs to host a bachelor’s party people are willing to part with $20 for braii and beers, even if it means depositing the cash into someone’s account they never know, solong there is joy.

It’s not suprising that most people can go for drinks and spend $100 or more. Have we taken a step to look into the fact that at our former high schools there are students failing to pay $50 fees.

Why do we often lead in forming social watsapp groups that chew much of our time instead of forming groups of 5 that each person donates $10 per term ($3.33 per month or 0.11c per day) then you collectively sponsor someone’s fees.

This year I’m sponsoring a girl child and the number under my arm has risen to 4. The life of Jairos Jiri inspired me. “If only” we could have more of the Jairos Jiri people. If only

Why do we have to always wait for the nation to do something for us. Why can’t we do something for the nation. Go the extra mile.  It’s never crowded.

Look at your friends, what do you have in common. Are they the ones who quickly jump when you say guys its friday beer is on me. I have tried and dismally failed convincing and converting my friends to sponsor a child in their respective home arears. What followed was a thorough purging.

Don’t let negative and toxic people rent space in your head. Raise the rent and kick them out!‘ Rather have people around you who are passionate about others than those who are self centred who believe whenever you have cash in excess you need to spend it on them.

I do hereby challenge you dear reader, what are you doing with that excess cash. Take a time to think and reflect, would it kill you to skip buying pizza just once and use that cash to pay someone’s fees. Will you really die if you skip buying your favourite 6 pack of beer 1 weekend and use that cash to sponsor a child’s fees somewhere in the rural areas.

“It’s not how much we give but how much love we put into giving” – Mother Theresa

“Love only grows by sharing. You can only have more for yourself by giving it away to others”. – Brian Tracy

It takes each of us to make a difference for all of us. — Jackie Mutcheson

To Petronella
“May whatever you believe in keep you going, i don’t have cash to pay thank you but i can only give you the gift of a prayer”.

It’s good to be blessed.  It’s better to be a blessing.

The Daughter, Son and Mother-In-Law debacle


Are our Mother-In-Laws that evil or it’s us that’s resistance to change. The diatribe has been ongoing for generation to generation and all claim innocent as it reach unprecedented levels. As the saying goes “grudges will only affect their holders”.

Who really is to blame? Is it the Daughter-In-Law? But again our mothers forget that they are/shall be also be Mother-In-Law somewhere. The mothers expect special treatment that they never showed to their own Mother-In-Law. How does this work?

Our mothers have personal issues with their Mother-In-Law, they claim that they are troublesome, if it wasn’t our grannies I’m sure they would have been called names. Trying to dig the root cause is fun and at times worrisome. Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in their eyes.

The issue for most of our mothers is, they believe the inlaws hate her for their son’s (husband) failure to send money home. Since mom got married my dad’s routine or levels of sending money home has reduced drastically. That’s her version. Or is it that our mothers have consumed some tomes.

Now that my mum has a son , will she be the nice “first of its kind” Mother-In-Law that is (trouble free). Will she be the perfect example of how Mother-In-Law behave? Having listened to her stories i see a revenge mission.

The grannies version is our mothers are being fast eroded by the lights of the city. They don’t respect them, they don’t value culture and they say they are of the modern world. They say they have the first right to their husbands. The constant jabs are bidirectional. Or is it because majority of the inlaws are ‘yokels’.

Haven’t we heard scenarios where parents say “I don’t like this girl so you can’t marry her”, its good when you are the deliver of such a statement not the recipient. Our mothers forget how it would have felt if their Mother-In-Law has said the same statement to their son.

Least we forget, the daughter will also marry soon. She will be in the same predicament like her mother. This is fast becoming a life relay. A Pass-On the baton to the next generation.

The question I need to ask all our mothers is, “how will it be possible for the new Daughter-In-Law to be a “darling”, when you can’t and couldn’t be a “darling”? I hope the girls are taking notes and the guys observing with keen interest. For one way or the other we are all in this together though nicodemously for most guys.

Will this diatribe of casting aspersions ever end? Both sides are creating a playground to exchange superfluous verbiage and out-compete each other in the faces of those who care to listen. It’s a matter of time, and
Only Time Will Tell.

Of the Bible, Banks and Books

The way Fear Markerting has gripped Africa and the world in general is alarming. What happened to

A Billion Reasons To Believe In Africa


The Insurance guys, Funeral Policy/services, Medical Aid and of recent Prophets or is it profits, its all Fear Markerting. What do they all have in common? Very adroit, deft or dexterous with money.

All these people are just using the Bible (easier way to get rich quick) the Books (to get every dollar off your pocket) to fatten their Bank accounts. “Tora mari united”

They tell you what you fear most, instill fear in you, convince you that without their service when you die you will rot in your house, you won’t be given a decent burial. Honestly a dead man knows and owns nothing.

Men go to far greater length to avoid what they fear than to obtain what they desire.

In our right senses do we believe that a prophet can credit your bank account. Are these Prophets even ecclesiastical? Or the congregation is easily eclipsed. Ok maybe in my profession i was taught double entry system. When you credit something debit something.

If your account is credited what will the banks do with this miscellaneous transactions. How is it reported on the Bank’s Balance Sheet. All of a sudden the Bank’s Cashflow improves.

It’s just pure logic that we need at times if not most of the times.

Our morals tend to weaken when we start believing in things that don’t matter.Expecting miracles in everything, majority of these fly by night churches make it a must to include the word miracle be it on posters or their sermons, mainly for attraction.

Paying tithe into the Pastor’s account, are we trying to personalise the blessings. Honestly this is laughable at best, ridiculous at worst.

But again those who do go or fall prey to such old tactics will go ballistic. Majority are temperamental, cantankerous and I understand that.

Zimbabwe is (was) regarded highly in terms of education. Literacy rate is so high but again that’s just the ability to read and write not ability to reason. For i know we shall never equate reasoning to literacy. We shall never reach ceteris paribus stage.

However, as that may well be the case, the bottom line is you are being taken for a ride. Time to wake up and smell the coffee

Facts are stubborn

Being a muroora (daughter-in-law) in 2015

Being a muroora (daughter-in-law) in 2015

The African Woman

Life with Dimples

I had a hilarious and interesting discussion on Twitter with a few friends the other evening on what’s expected from a black Zimbabwean daughter-in-law, especially the first time she goes to the husband’s “kumusha”. For my readers outside of Zimbabwe, when a woman gets married, she is expected to go to her in-law’s home and carry out some daughter-in-law “duties”. If her in-laws live in the rural areas, these duties include fetching firewood, getting water for the entire family from a well which can be goodness knows how many kilometres away, cooking on an open fire and even killing a chicken or heaven forbid a goat and of course cooking it.

Now, my issue with the above scenario is this; I really want to understand why people still place so much importance on doing things the old fashioned way? Take me for example. I did not grow up in the rural…

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The downside of fake nails

The downside of fake nails

Kana runako rwowedzerwa nemucheno

Life with Dimples

You know how it is sometimes when you swear you will never do something again and then a while later you have forgotten why it was such a bad idea then you do it again? Immediately after all the reasons why it was such a bad idea come flooding back! This is my current situation with regards these darn fake nails I got done last week. They look nice I must admit but goodness, I don’t know how long I can deal with the following:

  1. Fake nails and stockings are not the best of friends. This is a recipe for disaster. The number of brand new stockings I’ve laddered! Ugh!
  2. Messaging on your phone is damn near impossible! Soooo frustrating!
  3. Goodbye to any satisfying scratching. These things are blunt compared to my real nails. I’m having to use my hair brushes and all manner of sharp objects to scratch myself!

View original post 217 more words