Promiscuity in the Age of the Pandemic

She had become a pale shadow of her former self. What used to be an elegant and curvy woman had become a skinny and pale figure. She never forgave herself for having met Joe. She regretted that very first day when her heart skipped when they met at the village borehole. She reminisced over the feelings she used to have, the first masculine touch and those gentle lips. That touch that used to send her body many places. The soft touch that would ignite some fire in her veins. The touch that would send a cold shiver down her spine. These were all now imaginations and fantasies of old.

She had to stomach seeing her loved one lying in deep pain on the reed mate in their cow dung floored hut. She could stay awake the whole night – till the first cock crowed, heralding the coming of dawn. In such a deep rural community they did not have a clock, their judgement of time depended on watching the sun or either in hearing the cock’s crow. Traditional indigenous knowledge and wisdom, had it on good record that the cock crows hourly.

She had to stomach the trauma, segregation and neglect. Unfortunately, she had to live with it. Normally, when she went for her anti-retroviral drugs (ARVs) at the local clinic, she would meet fellow women. It was a difficult time in her life. She would meet fellow villagers who would tell her that ‘mhanyai asikana manonokwa kuchirongwa – taona vamwe venyu kare’, (rush we have already seen your fellow colleagues going to collect their tablets). It was a village that had many stereotypes, discrimination,  labels and segregation. A village that celebrated the use of segregatory and discriminatory  phrases like ‘ari mubhazi’, ‘akarohwa nematsotsi’ (all translating to she is infected by HIV/AIDS).This was the community, that had chosen to celebrate songs like Bhazi by Dino Mudondo.

It was the prayerful woman in her that managed to withstand all odds. Even in death, she was there for her husband. She was a woman who sticked to the vows she made ‘in health, in sickness, till death do us part’. Whenever she went to the women’s church gatherings on the routine Thursdays (ku China) chemadzimai she came back re-energized. They also taught her the same language of perseverance and forgiving the man that had brought her the disease. She managed to grow in spirituality – the art of being a prayerful woman.

Even till the signs of time were all visible for the naked eye to see, that his hubby was not going to survive – she remained there for him. She remained steadfast in her love to the man that she had shared the lighter and bad moments in life. Eventually death knocked on their doorstep.

But, one question that kept nagging her, as she went to church and prayed for her children was the fact that men never learn. Songs have been composed, pastors are preaching, sermons are being delivered, dramas are being acted, documentaries have been produced, literature has been written, songs continue being sung, in the likes of Charles Charamba,(Mukondombera) Simon Chimbetu (Denda), Leonard Zhakata and others. It is a crazy world indeed, a world full of promiscuity in the age of the pandermic.

 Charles Charamba


When the Luck in Good luck becomes Bad Luck

One of the nights, I chose to throw away my books and socialise with friends. What started as a social conversation ended up into a fiery debate on the nexus and impact between politics and religion in Africa . However, the recent incidents in Nigeria as shaped by Boko Haram occupied much of our debate. What came out clearly in this discussion was the fact that religion do has a positive and negative role to play in shaping contemporary politics as can be shown in the multiplicity of religious based conflicts in the Horn of Africa.
At some point way back, one writer noted that most of the conflicts in the 21st century will be over water, but it seems contemporary conflicts have since departed from being resource based conflict into religious based.

‘Religion is the opium of the people’, Karl Max was right. But, why then do people fight over religious belonging and identity? Why do people kill each other over religion, why do people fight over Gods? After all is it important that people have different Gods? My God and your God, My Allah and your Allah are they not the same?. To some, religious based conflicts are a simplistic version of the manifestations of resource based conflicts that are punctuated and sugar-coated with the veneer of imaginary religious based differences.

There is nothing Good coming from Nigeria, rather the luck in Goodluck is becoming a badluck.The growing insecurity and fear of an imminent Boko Haram attack is an albatross on the neck of the ruling elite. Unfortunately, the state seem to have few options and solutions in sight – in dealing with Boko Haram. The abduction of school girls in Chiboko and the seemingly evident inaction on the part of the Nigerian government is testament to this claim. Yet, there are growing signs of human insecurity.

The whole unfolding events in Nigeria are indeed a bad luck to the good luck.


A Part of this World

In that part of the land were people do not socialise
In the land were you don’t even exchange a simple greeting
In faraway lands
Where you don’t ask the other about the weather
The family and the kids
Were you don’t ask about the harvests and the imminent drought
It is a world where each man is for himself
In such a world you are on your own
It is a conservative society
In this part of the world….

In a land where you feel you are the only people of colour
In that land were someone with a skin pigment close to yours becomes a close brother
Close sister

In a world where there is no social life
In this part of the world
You are even afraid of asking for directions
It is a world where you have to visit when you are invited
Unlike in that world were you may just pass by
And pretend you are not hungry
In a world where you are easily offered food
In a world where you pretend your stomach is full
Yet in actual fact you will be hungry
It is so different in this part of the world

Different worlds indeed
In this part of the world
You sit on the same seat in the bus
Without greeting each other


In a world where you will pretend to enjoy sipping wine
Not that you like it
In a world where you will try hard to learn to like coffee
Not out of interest
But just to fit in the society
In a world like this……
In part of this world

It is different from the other part of the world

I hear,feel and i can touch…

The love of  Africa’s motherhood

A part of the world

Where a child is Everyone’s child

A world where it takes….

The whole community to raise a Child

Eulogy to My Dad

A man who loved his bottle with a passion
Its only but mere memories now
You fought a long battle,
But, the Lord saw it fit
And decided that your time was up

You fought a good fight,

We only hope that your soul has found eternal peace
A man who believed in his ideas
A man who believed in doing things quicker and faster
A man who believed in sharing and giving
But when you passed on
Relatives and friends quickly forgot
Such is the naked cruel nature of life
They loved you
Not for whom you were
But they loved your money

When we least expected you would leave us
When we thought you were on the full road to recovery
But in you, you had already given up
You constantly appealed to God to rest your soul
For your flesh was in deep pain
For you were tired of being in and out of hospital
From West End clinic, Harare Hospital, Chitungwiza Hospital
Avenues Clinic,

You even doubted whether you were going to live
That day when you overhead the doctor
Disclosing to me that you had Cancer
That was the very day that caused anxiety and stress to you

Your health deteriorated further….

Days rushed past….
On that fateful day, the Lord chose to take you away
In that serene morning you left this dear world
You just slipped away without biding us farewell
It was on a Saturday morning of the 17th of May 2014
You had hopes of surviving

The last words before I left for the Airport, you told me ‘Remember to call when you arrive’
Little did I knew that was our last Goodbye
We all miss you
We think of you in silence
There are times we question why us
Why is there death
Go well….

And the painful words from your employer

I worked with him for 33 years as my manager and not on a single day did he come to me with a problem.
He would always solve things by himself
Your father always bragged about you two.

You really meant the world to him

He was a very wonderful man, with a strong character and he will be missed.

I am truly sorry for your loss’.

Indeed your untimely departure is a heavy burden to bear.
Through your death I have learnt who true friends are,
I have also learnt who true relatives are,
I have also learnt that we are now on our own

On that fateful day
In a crudely dug grave we buried you
On the 19th of May 2014
Under the trees at the foot of the mountain
In the remote rural area in Nyanga
In the midst of the chipping birds
Your lifeless body was lowered to the final resting place……

As tears ooze
As we felt like being choked
We derived consolation in the Lord

We also derived warmth in the multitude of crowd who travelled on bare foot
From long distances
From far away villages
Who came,
To celebrate your life and death with usDSCN0479
But life will never be the same again….

Its too hard to say Goodbye as we listen and play Westlife

Oliver Mtukudzi

Cynthia Mare