The Baobab

It is easy to love a Writer

Am I the only one who always finds it easy to love Creatives and in this context Writers? This question sounds funny because I am a Writer too. I am a little bit bias but I believe it is easy to love a Writer.

Inspiration is everywhere….

Writers can be inspired by a leaking tape, a dusty pair of shoes or even a plate of food. Writers see beyond an image and an object and they let their imagination create a story. If all writers were to share their inspiration for every story you would have a good laugh and sometimes you would cry.

Our lives might mirror our stories

Sometimes when the world of a Writer is crushing they run to their blog to bleed and offload the burden. On our happy days, we create fictional stories that might reflect our happy jobs, happy relationships and their hearts being at peace. Writers also create stories in line with their fears, hopes and struggles. If you are close to a Writer you might be able to connect the dots to the Writer’s reality.

Dear Writer you understand me…

Stories from other Writers make one feel safe and realise that what they are going through isn’t unique to themselves. On some days Writers have a tonne full of inspiration and writing will be effortless. However, on some days a Writer does have the strength to write anything and it makes one feel sad because they wonder if they fell out of love with their craft.

How will you remember me?

At the end of the day, a Writer wants his or her work to make a difference in someone’s life. They want their work to be the reason why someone chose not to give up or why someone ended up making the right decision. Writers also hope that their work makes history and continue to touch lives when they have retired or when they take their last breath on earth.

Do you want to hear my story?

Lastly, each writer has a unique story of how the birth of their writing journey. For some people it was just a way to escape, a way to kill time or it all started in High School when they had a journal. Whatever the story is, what I can guarantee you is that the writers have evolved through the years and it has been quite an adventure!

What are some of the reasons why it is easy to love a Writer?

Time

I hope you will know when to stand up and when to sit down.

You should know when to take the lead and when to watch

Sometimes you have to allow yourself to be comfortable

You can unpack your belongings and choose to stay.

Yet on some occasions, you should pack your belongings and leave.

Mwanangu, sometimes you have to let parts of yourself fall.

It is okay to let them crack, and break, and do nothing about it.

On some occasions, you have to put the pieces together.

You have to be patient with your healing and letting go journey.

The fruit of my womb, hear my words.

Sometimes you will feel inferior in some spaces.

Whereas in some spaces your heart will say “We belong”

I want you to pay attention, if you do everything will make sense.

While you wait

When you hear the sound of rain…

When the smell of rain calms your spirit and the wind is peaceful.

This is a sign that the rains are on their way, bask in the moment and wait.

Remind yourself of the results that the rains will bring.

While you wait for the rain …..

Remember that what people don’t know they can’t destroy.

Remember that some things are better kept as secrets.

Oh child, stop oversharing, some people do not love the rain.

Oh Darling, say goodbye to the sleepless nights, panic and stress.

Be comforted because the rains will bear good results.

Smile because the rains will bring you joy and peace.

When the rains come….

Get your umbrella, raincoat and Wish Wellingtons.

When the first drop wets the dry ground run outside and dance.

The waiting is finally over and you deserve everything coming your way because you waited.

I can already see the smile and look on your face as you dance in the rain.

You will smile, laugh and cry for this is your moment my child!

My garden, my happy space

Sometimes I want to complain but then I look around and then I realise that I have somwhere to fall onto unlike other people. I end up silencing the voices in my head and finding a way to run away from worrying. I wish I could pick up the phone and call someone, pour out my heart with someone on the other line validating my thoughts or just saying ‘I understand and oh go on’. Who can I call when it seems as if everyone has a burden to carry? Who will understand what I am going through without reminding me that I should be grateful or at least my problems are far better than the next one?

I have ruled out some of my plans and postponed some dreams for indefinite date. I know that some people will say I am not serious but I am, I have been doing what I can with the little energy left in me. I have been trying to keep hope and oh dear my umbrella and wish wellingtons are outside, all I am waiting for is the rains. Why didn’t you warn me that waiting is hard? It pushes, stretches and it makes you doubt that something good will come your way.

Although my heart and my thoughts are in constant conflict, tears have forced their way into my home. On some days I sit down and just stare at the blank wall or cupboard. On some days I stare in the mirror and all I see is that girl who lost but chose not to give up.I see that girl who believes that I am doing my best although there isn’t a trail of results. When I listen to some of my favourite podcasts I realise that everything might be going south but at least there are some good people out there.

When the noises of the world become too loud for me, I look for a quiet corner and hide and when I feel much better, I look for my pen and pour out whatever is on my mind. I never want anyone to feel pity for me so I use my pen to show you that I am human and that it is okay to not feel okay, but what is not okay is choosing to give up!

They came to my garden and the destroyed everything. The rose petals have coloured the ground and the sunflowers are no longer happy and bright. This was my garden, and I loved it, I enjoyed weddings and taking care of my flowers. Spending time in the garden brought me joy but, where will I go now that they destroyed my garden?

…..I wrote this piece when my heart was heavy and all I wanted to do was cry. I have learnt to show myself grace and it has been working❤️

What brings us together

People are brought together by different situations. Friendships and bonds are created. Memories are made.

For some people grief and loss brings them together. They help each other get through the day and on some days they cry together with no questions asked.

Chaos, panic and confusion can be what birthed a decade of friendship. One could have been scared of being a first-time Mum. She was scared and confused and finding someone who understands her brings her peace. The icing on the cake could be fighting to get their bodies after childbirth.

Having the same goal and dream can be also something that brings people together. They encourage each other not to give up. They look for opportunities together and do not easily give up.

Sometimes it is better to go through life knowing that you have a friend who has your back. It is comforting to know that even when your heart is heavy you can call your friend and pour out your heart. People might be brought together with love, hope and even fear.

Oh axe, the tree never forgets

Time heals all wounds but there are some experiences that our memory fails to forget. This is because these experiences might have left us feeling worthless, humiliated and hurt. Maybe people have fought back the tears because they were in public but when they were alone they let their hearts bleed through their tears. These hurtful experiences have given birth to strained relationships.

Oh axe, do you remember how you referred to her in public? She thought the two of you were family, she adored you but you chose to pierce her heart. You made fun of her and everyone laughed at her. At the end of the day she looked in the mirror and wept. You were supposed to protect her, you watched her become prey to the vultures.

Sometimes they are the simple conversations that people have and they slowly fall out of love with the people they once loved. They are conversation where people were blamed and scolded at and never given the power to use their voice. Maybe if you had given people a chance to use their voices you could have realised that they were not ignorant or stupid to act in that way.

The people close to you still remember your tone and the words you said to them during your last conversation. They still remember how you chose to react and how you failed to sympathise with them. You found their painful experiences funny and when they needed you the most you chose not to pay attention to their struggles.

Oh, axe you broke people’s hearts, you hurt their feelings. As long you are alive, you can fix the wrongs and turn over a new leaf!

Light a candle

Mbuya sat on her favourite couch and when she called me she asked me to light the candles that were on a small table next to her. When I had finished lighting the candles Mbuya handed me an envelope. Was Mbuya ill or was she dying? I tried to fight that painful thought and sat on the mat.

“Please read that letter or paper for me”, I nodded and with shaking hands I opened the envelope.

Let us light the candle in remembrance of the ones we have lost.

Mai Saru is still traumatized and wounded from being a frontline worker. Will that lady ever recover?

Stella was a beautiful lady, she lost her life a few days after giving birth to Mia.

The Mpofus never got to bring their son’s body home for his burial.

Mai Jesse still weeps and panics, “What if she buried someone who wasn’t her husband?

Melanie would have loved to see her daughter walk down the aisle.

Andile misses his wife and he has been raising the kids all by himself.

Let me light the candle for all the healthcare workers who lost their lives in the line of duty.

Let me light the candle for all the beautiful lives that were lost.

Let me light the candle for the individuals that were buried in foreign lands.

Let me light the candle for the families that are still grieving for their loved ones.

Let us remember the ones that we have lost. Today in history Zimbabwe began its first level five lockdown. Beautiful lives were cut short and many people are still grieving for their loved ones. Remember to be kind always.

Winter is coming

This week I discovered, it gets darker earlier, and the sun rises just before 6 AM. I believe that the change has also come as a shock to the people who were used to going outside the house at 5 AM. People have to make security adjustments like getting home before it gets dark and not leaving the house before sunrise. Nature has a way of telling a story and it is evident that Winter is coming. The change in seasons is a reminder that nothing is constant, but this reminder seems to be bruising many aching hearts. Some wells have dried up and the continuous drilling of boreholes is straining the groundwater table. Is that the correct term or I should look for my Geography textbook?

Winter is coming and people are anxious, about what will they eat. How will they survive up until the next rainy season? Will there be no price hikes for maize meal or mealie meal? There seem to be a lot of unanswered questions but I do that we find answers to these questions.

The change in season has made me realize that we have once encountered a Winter season in our lives. My heart ached when I told myself that there were plans I had to postpone not because I was lazy but maybe because of insufficient funds or other responsibilities. You might seem okay but each time you pass by a particular place, your heart aches and you remember how a certain place used to bring you joy. You long to have that smile and have something to look forward to. You long to feel alive all over again. Winter is approaching but your growth seems stagnant. You are grateful to be alive and hope that something good comes your way. I understand the pain of counting down to the day when your certificates expire and there is nothing you can do about it. All you can do is hope for a miracle.

Winter is coming and I do hope that you give yourself grace and remind yourself that you are doing your best. I do hope that your Maker carries you through your Winter season

Rain

When the RAIN did not come…

Droplets of sweat decorated our foreheads

The wells became dry

The scorching heat became unbearable

Our livestock died and our children became dehydrated.

Most of our plants withered

The soil was dry and the fields became bare.

Nothing could survive the heat.

Our parents starved so that we could eat.

We ignored the sound of our rumbling stomachs.

We endured the long hot days.

MaZulu cursed the day she conceived her son.

What would she feed him when he was born?

Baba Gamu felt hopeless and angry

He had failed to provide for his family.

The food was never enough.

The bodies failed to produce milk.

Some nursing mothers dreaded burying their infants.

Screams and wailing scared the villagers.

It was now a sign for loss of life.

Our hearts longed to hear the rumbling sound.

We hoped to see the clouds become darker

We hoped to dance, laugh and ululate

When the rains ground become moist with RAIN.

Time, memories, and a heartache

With time he became a man of few words. He agreed with them and never voiced his opinion. It was not because he was getting old but his memory could not erase the times when his grandchildren had humiliated him. He wondered what he had done wrong and who he had wronged to be treated like a fool by his children. He felt like a stranger in his children’s home and he had provided for them and made sure they made it through school. VaMusena’s sons said hurtful words, and the children made jokes that bruised his heart and kept him awake at night.

On some days he wept as he sat by the veranda reading his newspaper. He longed to be in his home but then his wife’s illness had brought them to the city. He knew that his wife was sick, her cancer had spread and he wasn’t prepared to say goodbye. His heart ached watching his wife in pain. MaMoyo would not have tolerated her children’s behaviour but her health was compromised. He wept for how powerless she had become and failed to save his wife.

Each day VaMusena prayed for God to allow his wife to rest, he could not stand to see her in pain. All the old man wanted was for his wife to not feel any pain. VaMusena prayed his prayer with tears, an aching heart and the fear of living a life without Keresenzia.