Death is selfish, it is like a thief that knows when and how to attack and in no time it screams ‘Checkmate’. As you try to process what happened the results of death slowly dawn on you and you remember that there is nothing you can do.
When you go to the grave there is no return. You wonder what would have become of an individual if they had lived a little longer. How many hearts were this individual going to touch? What difference would they make in this world if their race was not cut short?
The writer’s pen fell and the ink splashed on the floor and the paper. The readers long for another story by the legends, they long to be taken on a journey and appreciate the author’s craft.
She had a great voice, the mbira was her best friend. She sang in her native language and she sang about different topics that reflected on her country’s daily lives.
The books stacked on dusty library shelves would only make the authors turn in their graves. They spent years writing their stories to be covered in dust. Their creativity deserves better recognition.
The music, lyrics and instruments being played remind the fans of how far they have come. They remember the loved ones they have buried on the cold soil, they remember the times they danced to the songs and up to today they know every word. The songs not only touched the fans’ hearts but it made them feel alive.
I wonder how events would have turned out if the unsung heroes had crossed over into the world of technology. Would they laugh that everything is slowly becoming digital? Would they say we are lazy or innovative? But one thing I am confident of is that they would be amazed at places that their craft has travelled. They would be amazed at how other fans wished they had met them and share the same thoughts as mine “
This blog post was inspired by Dambudzo Marechere‘s writing and Chiwoniso Maraire’s singing.
The Baobab 