Tag: Culture

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 

                                        oOo

NB. Based on a false story

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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.

oOo

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 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

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To be continued..

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

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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