Story telling still remains a deep way of connecting with the audience and reaching out to the society.At one point in our lives,we have all been inspired and intrigued by many stories that we read and listen to. Either in the public transport,at shops,at work or at school.We have all become a world of listeners by becoming the audience instead of being the story tellers.My life story is by no means different from the same old stories that we have been accustomed to.All the same i still narrate it with relish.In our lives everyone is a script writer and the play is never finished nomatter your age or position in life.In an era were there are more funerals than wedding more goodbyes than hellos,we all need to sit down under a tree,in an office,coffee lounge,in the cosy comfort of the hotels and listen to different stories.It is these stories that lightens our days,they keep us going,they make us have something to smile about.The good stories will make us forget the ills of the world,the dungeons of poverty and the they will makes us strong in the face of pythons of disillusionment that constantly seem to be eveready to attack us.However,many at times these stories only remain a fantasy.It is the story of my life.An untold story of disillusionment,joy,happiness,pain,anger,hope and sorrow.It is a basket full case with different stories.
Today,as i sit down to narrate the story,i reminisce the good old days listening to another great story teller.He was indeed gifted,he had all what it takes to captivate the audience,good sense of humour,sense of suspense and full of jokes thats all what kept us at the edges of our seats.All in all, he seemed to be well versed in the ‘art’ of good story telling.To us, we really enjoyed these times,roasting maize cobs,it is 8:30pm a few minutes after supper.Grandfather is polishing his walking stick that he has just finished carving in the afternoon.Sitted on the log with my twin brother,we are impatiently waiting to hear the short stories,myths,legends,folklores and of course the stories about the greatest fighters and the days of grandfather and how they initiated courtship at the waterholes.It is the interesting part that keeps us in stitches,how everyman was supposed to go poetic when asking for a hand in marriage.The stars are shining directly at us,we feel so relaxed,our tummies are slighty aching after overfeeding ourselves.WE have just finished eating thick porridge (sadza) in Shona and milk.After a long day’ s work weeding in the fields we really enjoy our supper especially when mother prepares good relish,but we dont have an pudding or ice-cream our main meal does not have a starter and dessert as in some circumstances elsewhere.All the same we still enjoy it.We always feel happy to hear the old man starting the narration that will leave us in stitches laughing and craving for more.He is polishing his walking stick with a cracked piece of an empty Coca-cola bottle.Thanks to globalisation,at least he manages to use the end-products of globalisation usefully.Never mind the person who drank the contents! I see him standing up,he coughs and spit some saliva in the burning fire..Once upon a time!!! Finally we feel releaved at last.
In no time our hearts were raptured as we saw them shovelling the red gravel soil in a crudely dug grave.My grandmother,tells us,”he is gone,that is his new home,we hope God will take care of him”.I saw tears cascading down the contours of grandmother’s face.I and my twin brother ,we were so confused,we never knew what death meant,we were so young.But,grandmother always lied to us afterwards that we will see him again,but she really knew we will never meet the old man again.Today i still repatriate my mind to the Pastor’s words when he said,”Dust to Dust,you are the Alpha and the Omega”.It becomes so clear to me that, when they say words like these it means our beloved ones have parted.A humourous kind old man was silently taken away in the stillness of the night.As they say a good flower does not live to blossom,this flower was plucked at the time when we wanted the guidance and wisdom.We were robbed.Many say wisdom comes with age..Who will then narrate the good stories to us? After a sad realisation that grandfather is gone,oh! gone too soon,i decide to tell my own story by myself.For grandfather taught us to tell our own stories either to the present generation or to the future.Mine is a story that is best told through writing.For the death of grandfather taught us that, ‘In Africa when an old man dies,a library is burnt down’.He went with all his stories.A library was indeed burnt.All the same i still feel inspired from the little i tapped from this great story teller.i do hope one day i will sit under the tree,in the coffee lounge,in the University corridors and narrate the story of my life through a Novel that reflects vividly my life experience.Your ears you will lend me and the story i will tell,my stories will possibly go a long way in reaching out to the society.in my stories i will connect with your sentiments.To your children i will narrate the stories of our times.I will TEACH them not to read those modernised short stories entitled,No MORE PLASTIC BALLS…I have embarked on this journey today, with support from Nadya a great friend of mine,i know that i will be able to nurse this dream until it reaches full realisation.It is like the birth of a new child,the child starts by crying,irritating,annoying and wetting her mother’s back.The child will cry,crawl,run and walk but the child will live.The dream will also live,its not a false dream…i WILL speak,for my words have not been murdered,for my mouth has not been silenced,for my pen has not run out of ink,for my imaginations are bigger that the biggest mountain……The dream lives on!!!!