There is something about the flow of water thats reminds I need to keep at it.

We all have a destination. The journey might seem very long and tidious but eventually we will reach our destinations.

In the mean time dance with the stars, sing with the wind and enjoy the ride because its a one way ticket through this journey called life.




Oh Man

I cannot begin to express how I feel. My apologies it has taken me a very long time to realize it , But I am glad I did. You were a marveling being in all your ways from the day the sands of earth worked in unison under the porter’s hands to fashion you. The sun kissed your skin and with every kiss loomed an intense glow as I AM breathed life into you. Perfect but yet still incomplete. I was meant to be your completion. Together we would become one. In truth I think that is all it’s been about , Oneness.

I wish I had saturated my mind with the image of the Oneness, instead of the Perfect Man. Well i could blame society and the so called “system” for indoctrinating me with the idea of the perfect man, but that is not what this open letter is about. OK, Hypothetically speaking over the years i sort of took advantage of the fact that you were a dog without a bone.

“It is not fit for man to be alone”

I have studied you since your first suckle, when you wrote poems and psalms of my beauty , compared me to celestial bodies and felt that if you had it all you would give it all…and yet I see you stir from one me to another , perhaps in search for completion.

“with intense realization that I was your source of nourishment”

Would it be wrong to say I was made for you. A cliche term that has been uttered in ignorance. If so can I then say have no purpose without you…

to be continued…..

Its a journey worth taking

When you meet a girl for the first time, and you become attracted to her .
You don’t know if she feels the same about you or not.
You don’t know if she is in a relationship or not.
You don’t know if she is even interested in being with someone at the time.


With so much doubt and fear speaking to me. Telling me to forget about it. Logic telling me to avoid making a fool of myself. And thoughts projecting the worst outcomes possible.

One of the most awkward moments ever. Brought about by one of the most awkward kisses ever. Giving strength to my already enormous fear.

But because I faced it. (fear)
Today… Almost two years later.
I am able to saunter in the mid cool spring sunny daylight of a Sundays afternoon.

You see… There is a wonder in creation. God’s creation.
And no, Im not directly referring to the plants, the animals or the landscape he fashioned. I’m talking about her. How she has an eye for spotting beauty. How she notices elegance from afar. How a marvel captures her attention. For this reason perhaps is why man will never be considered as beautiful as woman. For indeed it takes one to know one. And her eyes knew and were drawn to beauty. It was as if she lived in a fairy tale…
She stopped us… Praised the splender of it’s beauty. Looked at me for concordance… And….

Today I was takem a picture along side a beauty. Today a I took a picture with a pink flowered TREE on the sidewalk of Merimam Road.
Today I saw my victory over that fear.

So quem vio intende o que digo.
(Only he who saw, understands what I’m saying)



Smoke filled the whole room l couldn’t breathe my head throbbed so much l found it hard to focus. What was happening to me was l having a bad dream or was  dead .Voices I could herd voices outside so l know one thing l wasn’t dream l knew something was terribly wrong and l had to pull myself  together . l was naked and l could feel the blood running down my arm on my whole body was bruised then it all came back to me.

Uncle Mandla had come into my room in the middle of the night and climbed into my little  single bed he told me not to scream and even if l did we were alone in the house no one would hear me. l began trembling in fear because this was not the uncle that l knew l had never seen him like this. l leapt out of  bed and ran to the door which he had locked. Out of desperation i ran to the window which had burglar bars and l couldn’t squeeze out. He laughed l can still hear his laugh so loud and clear as if he were right there with me. He then descended on me and started beating me insulting me and calling me all kind of names. He tore my clothes of me the more l fought him the harder he punched me l begged him to stop l asked my mother to save me l called them all but no one came because there was no one in the house just this  monster that was my uncle. He went on to rape me the pain so much l thought l would surely die and at that moment l wanted to die. When he was done he promised to kill me if l ever told anyone about what happened he told me l was his.

I remember the disgust and disbelief on my parents faces as l told them what my uncle had done. My father actually beat me up with a belt on top of the beating l had already received during my ordeal. My mother called me a whore she said ever since l hit puberty she could see my head was filled with lust. Mandla had called them and told them he found me sleeping with my boyfriend and he beat us up and chased my so called boyfriend away. l could believe it how could my parents believe him  over me they were supposed to protect me and believe not someone else. They treated me like in was the scum of the earth insulted me every day and he continued having his way with me every time he could. My once perfect life became a living nightmare l ran away from home then and decided l would rather be paid for my services rather than be used by someone l had looked up to.

At 12 was an orphan with parents, they chose not to believe me when i needed them the most when my life and dreams my innocence and childhood was shattered by a trusted individual. As l grew older in the trade l was a frequent visitor at Greys police station l would watch as men paid their way out of sticking situations for hideous crimes they had committed. What happened to law officers that never covered up crime? What happened to the men that protected their families from harm? What happened to the mothers that held their daughters in their arms in any situation and fought for them, protected them? What happened to the communities protecting the innocence of all the children regardless of whose children they where? What happened to the government that cared about the welfare of its population?

The voices grew louder and clearer it was the neighbourhood ladies. They had come in when l was about to leave for my shift and told me they were sick and tired of me stealing their husbands they had given me a sound beating and l must have passed out. That explained why l felt sore and the blood but what about the again just like Mandla had done before l felt at peace l was going to die and be free from the pain. Then it dawned on me that they had decided to burn me to death in this little shabby backroom got up from where l was lying and dragged myself to the door it was locked and wouldn’t   give l  didn’t bother with the match box window .l was trapped  just like l had been  all those years ago with Mandla l wasn’t going to fight this time l was tired of the coldness of the living surely l would be better off dead.

Beyond Unfair

I wake up in the morning my body covered in bruised from wrestling with the devil. A night spent selling my soul for food again. I pick up the pieces of my life and convince myself that today will be a better day.

At the age of 13 I had to experience my mother’s agonizing death. She had been suffering from the dreadful AIDS. Nobody really speaks about it now. This plague has become part of my life. With everyone in my community either just contracted it or slowly crawling to their grave. There are no medical facilities in Masendu, and most medical care givers come but do not enough supplies. This makes it so hard to combat the diseases. I have never met my father, my mum said that he dies a long time ago. He used to be a truck driver, driving to neighboring countries such as Botswana, Zambia , DRC and South Africa. Their story is one to shred the hearts. My father contacted HIV from prostitutes he used to sleep with along his long journeys.

Sadly this too has become my reality. I can’t tell my story but I know someone else can.

I will be turning 14 in a few months and already I have been introduced to the “High” life of Zimbabwe. On the side of my dressing table is a tiny bag of marijuana ( widely known in Zimbabwe as mbanje). I roll one and take one drag to numb the pain. This  makes me feel fearless and for some reason takes away the shame as well. The two men I had last night requested that I have unprotected sex with them. Knowing the dangers of unprotected sex I tried to say no but the negotiation soon turned violent.


Life is very hard in Masendu. I had to leave school because I could not afford my school fees. This is the reality of so many teenagers. I’m meeting my friends at the growth point. There is a local bar close by. We try to market ourselves by looking pretty and wearing skimpy clothes. The owners of the shops around the growth point also enjoy our services. The charges range from $2 depending on the client’s requests.

I have managed to buy myself a few items which include a tiny radio that keeps me company on most lonely days.

I used t have so much pride in my country. I remember Monday morning singing the national anthem with so much pride and walking past the Head master’s office and seeing the picture of my Great president Mugabe. In gr7 I was chosen to be a flag raiser, but this flag, this country,.. Has been trotted on by the very people who were supposed to protect it.

I don’t believe that there is anything better beyond this point. Most days I feel like a needle in hay stack. It’s a theory I have, you take from the poor to keep the rich healthy. We die in poverty so that they can build houses and fly all over the world, live in lavishly big houses and eat of the best crops. What happened to the Lancaster House agreement?

I did not choose this life for myself. The situation around me drove me into the hands of the devil, to dance and entertain his company through blood and tears. Again this is not just my reality; others are grimmer than this.  It is not fair that minors be selling their bodies for food, it is not fair that  youths be forced into drugs and alcohol straight from school because of the lack of employment. It is not fair that people die from diseases and porverty. Why is it no onw I hear campaign on the radio ever comes to see how we at Masendu village live our lives and actually bring a change….

I have so many whys….

Do not tell me there is a good side to this our Zim…sigh

The good only comes when you riding the backs of others. It’s beyond unfair.

For now, let us be united in our endeavour to lead the country to independence. Let us constitute a oneness derived from our common objectives and total commitment to build a great Zimbabwe that will be the pride of all Africa. Let us deepened our sense of belonging, and engender common interest that knows no race, colour or creed. Let us truly become Zimbabweans with a single loyalty. Long live our freedom.”

Everyday people

Have you ever stood in the middle of a busy corner and just observed. Noord Street is one of the busiest streets i know. Situated in the heart of Joburg the hub of South Africa. Its no joke, at every corner there is someone hustling you and trying to sell something to you. The energy in that street never dies out. from people selling clothes to guys who sell smoked gizzard kebabs. I remember my friend Rena telling me how just passing through that street made her feel like she was a part of something huge.

Back Home in Zimbabwe we have this really amazing market called Mbare. you can literally pick up anything from there. i have always been one fascinated by what people have to offer. walking in those tight packed streets picking out all sorts of fruits and vegetables. The vibrant colours they give off on a beautiful sunny day., Especially in December when its mango season, it is really a beautiful scene if you just take your time to observe.

Memories are like photography. When you think back to the moments that you had when you were young and how you heart was so content.

One day a really close friend of mine asked me why i always smile at homeless people. i never really thought of until today. sometimes I honestly have nothing to give, and my heart actually is drown to giving something. I think if you human enough a part of you is always having an urge to give something of yourself, I guess in that way i choose to give my smile. The best part is they aways smile back, which actually brightens my day.

The people who have the least give the most, the people who have the most are the most dangerous in the society because they are fueled with greed. Natasha Mabika


Someone once sent me this piece and made me realize how love can be such a beautiful destruction. Its almost like building your walls so high only for someone to come and destroy everything but instead of having a sense of anger you actually feel relieved because these walls were keeping you away from the world.

Was walking to work and a thought came to my mind. Love them as you love yourself. You will never love someone else unless you love yourself. And also maybe the problem is actually how we love ourselves. We hurting inside, looking in mirrors and seeing broken reflections and lowkey we want closure. We cant deal with the messes we have become so we look deep into others to find their broken reflections. And in a way we want someone else to fix us. BUT that doesnt work because we are all broken reflections. And whenever you look into someone else you will just see the same thing. Only when you see the beauty and love in yourself, is when you will see the beauty and love in others.
Loving him was purposely walking on thorns rather than the fine grass, it was flying so high just to hit the ground, it was driving in the wrong direction when you know that it leads to a dead end. Loving him was listening to a song in a completely different language on repeat, trying to understand the lyrics, it was filling your system with smoke instead of love and covering your wrists with scars instead of bracelets. Loving him was feeling chains around your throat as they tighten when you’re supposed to wear tiaras around your head, it was holding onto a cactus for help in a storm to stop the waves from taking you away. Loving him was going on a voyage in an endless ocean, it was entering a labyrinth with no way out, it was standing under a tree during a thunderstorm. Loving him came in waves and I thought that I could swim until the water entered my lungs and suffocated me. Loving him came in dark, sleepless nights you spent while waiting for him to turn up at your door (but he never does).
Loving him was like playing with the fire that you thought would reincarnate you but instead turned you into the ashes on the pyre.
Loving him was was like the hue of the sky carrying a hint of pink, slowing turning into the ruby red running down your fingers while playing with broken dreams. It wasn’t wishing to learn to drive a car when you’re sixteen but instead wishing one would hit you.
Loving him was painful, it was destroying me. He lowkey hurt me more than making me happy. I made her unhappy. My hat off to you. Now Im just another number and a good story to tell”

And that is the legacy I have left. After all was said and done. These where the words she had to say.

We causing each other pain not because we want to. But only because we do not know how to really love ourselves. You need to understand yourself, love yourself before loving others. Very vital

The Star that fell

Up above the sky so high, Twinkle twinkle little star how I wonder what you are…

I am a little star, shining so bright above your night.

I wish to reach out to you and laugh with you maybe even hold your hand.

Why do I have to only see you in the dark ?I have watched you from a far.

I used to be the center of your attention, every night I would guide you to your destinations.

But now im just a reflection of the past. I feel I have lost you.

I look up to the Giant and ask him why he made a star. I feel so alone.

I was made for you, to shine bright for you but you don’t notice me.

I wish I could come down to you and maybe we could run around in fields


Perhaps I am not bright enough for you anymore.

You don’t gaze at me the way you used to.


I plead with you Mr Giant blow me out

With a heart so heavy the little star turned into dust.

And sadly fell from the sky.

The awkward and the simple

So i made my second ever illustration. Needless to say its not the cutest was trying so hard to make her look cute but she just ended up looking like a stuck up afro me. Anyway  I am really excited about using paint for my illustrations because to be honest i can never get the hang of all these other software. So  in case you are wondering her name is Kundie. The adventures of Kundie kinda has a nice ring to a book. (laughs to self). I can actually picture miss Kundie over here with a cheater leather outfit in some tree in the amazon jungle, except there are no cheaters in the amazon (thinking face). Snake skin maybe? hmm will see

Hmm Adventures of Kundie (laughs to self again)

Thoughts of Black Pregnant Girl: Needy

I choose to be vulnerable in your arms. to expose myself in your eyes and dispose of myself when needed, not because I am weak but because its in my nurture to give off myself. I am a fountain of many endless gifts from a Demi goddess who seems to have all your life problems on her shoulder and making them go away, to a slave who humbly submits to your will. With my smoothing words I tell you it will be okay but your response is a blow to my self esteem implying that I am the cause of your problems. If it was not for this precious life I carry or me being around…maybe…maybe it would be one less mouth for you to feed. I know  deep down you don t mean it , its just  the frustration speaking so i choose to let you beat me down and use me as a punching bag.

I am Needy. I am needy in sense that for me to be this strong pillar of strength i need you to be my support. Day in day out you chip away and I feel myself lose this strength, lose this purpose, This purpose that i used to hold on to so dearly. I’ve lost my identity …i used to have the choice to be vulnerable in your arms, to dispose myself when needed but now you have taken that away from me . You have taken away my will to give and I do not know who i am anymore.

14f8e90eb927eb52a44487d96ccf90e7 THOUGHTS OF A BLACK PREGNANT GIRL….to be continued