Why can't we just be?

If anybody asked you if you thought greatness was in you, you'd probably say yes.You might mumble the answer a lil' if you're judging yourself based on your external success -'These don't really look like the shoes of a great person...'

I found myself thinking one day, what exactly stops us from being the best version of ourselves that we could ever be? I mean, besides money, lack of resources, laziness, excuses, money? What's holding you back from just being your best self?

You know what you want. You could describe at any moment in time how an ideal you would be...and i bet it's not who you are right now. Will there ever be a moment in time when we'll be able to say, "I'm at my best right now. This is the best me."

Or are our lives on earth going to be a continual pursuit of a distant perfection that keeps slipping away the closer we think we're getting to it? 

I think we might have got the whole definition of perfection wrong. Or maybe perfection was never the goal we were supposed to aim at. 

Every new year, nomatter how we scoff at all the jokes mocking new year resolutions and the whole 'new you' cliche, most of us actually do subconsciously decide to work on being 'new'. A lot of the time spent on social media, on watching stuff, on games... is time spent avoiding dealing with ourselves. 'You can't conquer what you won't confront' tho.

So, i think the reason why we can't 'just be' is because we choose not to be. Be brave, be bold, be hardworking. Be rich?

I've changed my definition of success to a state of inner affirmation you get after giving the best of your ability to any given task. If i gave my best, then i was successful;  in spite of the outcome. That way, I can truly just be whatever I want to be without fear of failing at it.

In my African Dream

"When I grow up, I want to be an air hostess," said the little 7-year old girl in her African accent, shyly pursing her lips together.

"Why?" asked the person behind the camera.

"Uhh..i don't know...i'm just interested in planes when I watch them fly over the village, high up in the sky. Maybe this will be my chance to be on a plane in real life."

 She sat behind her ailing grandmother's hut; wearing a torn blue dress. Her feet were rough and dusty, and bare. Rough from the long distances she has had to walk - to school, to fetch water, to the grocery store. And bare because the only pair of shoes she owns are worn-out sandals that a distant aunt got her 3 Christmases ago. Her eyes sparkle still, with a hope that says 'my dreams could come true too'; yet there's a gloom of despair on the corner of her eyes, scared of becoming like every other ordinary person around her whose dreams have slipped out of reach.

The person behind the camera asks, "Have you eaten today? Are you hungry?"

The light in her eyes that'd been sparked by talking about her dreams fades. She looks down, and playfully draws the ground with a stick.
"We had a little bit of food in the morning."

She continues drawing. Her lips are clearly dry. It's 2pm.
 "Today we will receive mealie meal and oil from CARE though," she says, almost jocundly.

'CARE' here refers to the many non-governmental organisations providing aid to Africa, mostly in the form of food.
This has been a very efficient relief from starvation for many rural families. However, when that bag of mealie meal runs out, the unfulfilled dreams of the African child still lay there, distant. I do not believe God's picture of Africa is that of lil' black hands stretched forth, ready to receive whatever the elites have to offer. It's more powerful than that.

Our education system is such that we learn whatever we're given (this is where the 'just take' mentality is forged) ,some of which we never actually get to apply in real life. Go to pre-school, primary school, high school, university...get a job, get money - pay for your kids to do the same. It's almost like the job range is outlined too - 'i want to be a doctor', 'a lawyer', 'engineer' bla bla...all great, but while we're at it, may we think out of the boxes made of our textbook pages. Manufacturers, inventors, scientists? What if innovation and creativity were instilled in us from young ages in school and we didn't have to just sit and accept what textbooks say (and wait until the textbook writers discover more and update the info), but actually questioned how that information was attained and joined the research to improve it? What if we were taught of people like Einstein and Newton as normal people who chose to explore their greatness and not as some superpowered superIQ'd superior beings in whose footsteps we just could never follow?

Many people today are sitting around competing to get the latest tech product to be on top of the social pyramid; instead of being curious to find out how it's made and maybe strive to make an improved version. Instead of bragging about buying the latest car, how about we channel more energy towards manufacturing one?

As long as our minds are still satisfied with just receiving, we might keep getting that annoying '3rd' before world.

 Greatness is in Africa too, unperturbed! Yes, colonisation happened. Exploitation of African resources happened. Slavery happened too. And we could keep teaching generation after generation about our bitter past in history classes, blaming it for our stagnation; or we could rewrite history for the future generations and say, ' inspite of it all, we rose still.' We still became one of the most powerful continents in the world.'

Children in school ought to be reminded repeatedly that they have the potential to change the world; that the next big thing is right within them. I believe the bigger portion of the limitless treasure God placed on this earth for us as people is yet to be discovered. He would not be inspiring us so deeply to dig it up if it wasn't there.

Africa can stop being the poor, diseased continent it's been named to be and start dominating and roaring like the lions it is home to. We, it's people have everything we need, right here, right now, to be the greatest we ever thought we could be.
And, my little friend up there, in the blue dress, may believe in the possibility of not just being an air hostess, but maybe operating her very own, original airline.
We are the goldened, diamoned and platinumed continent (not to mention super oiled), it's time we knew what it means to be as wealthy as we already are.

Love, still.

The door violently swung open.

"You. What are you doing here?" he asked, coldly.

"Are you kidding me, I'm the mother of your child Ronald."

"My family cannot see you here, you know my mother doesn't like you,"

Janet gasped deeply, her eyes beginning to gleam with tears. The rest of the venomous words Ronald said bumped against each other in her mind, she didn't bother trying to make sense out of them. 

Huge, dark clouds in the sky and a strong humid wind made a solid suggestion of approaching rain. It was sunset but it appeared darker than normal. A drop of rain fell on Janet's forehead.

She blinked some tears away, straightened up her head and looked straight into Ronald's eyes.

"Our daughter is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen...and I'm tired of trying to drag you to loving her. I really don't care anymore. It's your own loss." Said Janet, and then she turned and walked away.

 She heard the door bang behind her.  At that moment the swift showers of rain began falling down.The tears Janet had been trying to hold back streamed down her cheeks. She just let them fall, flowing along with the rain.She was alone in the streets of this high density suburb,and she felt as if she was alone in the world...shut out from people's warm shelters. 

Thoughts of giving up avalanched down Janet's spine. Twenty-year old, high school drop-out with nothing to her name, she thought life couldn't be any more cruel to her.

 She had attempted suicide once, the previous year. Janet took a bottle of rat poison and went to the bathroom, hands shaking, and fighting the disapproving voices in her head. Then suddenly a feeling of nausea overtook her and she immediately had to throw up. She realized this nauseating feeling had been with her for several days. It was then that it dawned upon her that she was pregnant, confirming it with a pregnancy test later that day. Suddenly, Janet felt as if she had a reason to live. Even though she had ran away from her rural home to come live in the city, cut all communication with her relatives and had just broken up with the one who used to be her everything, Ronald; this unborn baby was her new hope. Throughout the lonely pregnancy, Janet dreamt of building a family with Ronald. He was rude and unloving and cold but she thought she saw some love deep within his fierce eyes. However, it was after her beautiful little angel's birth that she got to accept that he really didn't care about her or the baby. And on this day, she had gone to his house to officially exhale his heavy influence out of her.

"I gotta be strong," she whispered to herself, "I gotta be strong for my baby."

The neighbour Janet had left with the  5-month old baby complained that she had been crying the whole time. This little cutie was so fond of her mother she would scream if she woke up without her by her side.

She didn't look like either of her parents. Janet was glad. Heaven forbid that her angel resemble the detestable Ronald in any way. She had big, friendly eyes and a cute little smile that lit up her world. Janet loved rubbing her baby's small chubby hands against her face; oh what a soothing feeling it was. Something then rang inside her... she thought of her own mother. Her humble, aged mother back in the village. She imagined how she'd feel if her baby ever decided to abandon her when she gets old, like she had done to her mother. Janet's heart broke. At that moment she decided she'd go visit her mother in the village.

The next morning, as Janet stood by the roadside, waving at passing cars to ask for a lift, a mercedes benz stopped in front of her. Cars of this caliber usually never stop. She remained standing, waiting for the driver to confirm that he had indeed stopped for her.

"Aren't you looking for a lift, ma'am?" asked a friendly stranger.

"Umm, yeah.." stammered Janet, picking up her bag. She stated where she was going and he happened to be going to the same place.

To her surprise, the man got out of the car and helped her put her bag into the car boot. He then opened the door for her, as she was holding the baby and could not open herself. Or let's say it was just chivalry.

"She's beautiful," he said, with a disarming smile.

"How did you know she's a she?" chuckled Janet.

"All that pink? And those eyes...definitely a girl,"

Janet settled in the passenger seat of the car, inhaling the sweet scent of a brand new interior. 

"So what brings you to the village?" she asked.

"I visit my grandmother from time to time. She practically raised me up," he said.

It stroke a cord on Janet's heart. She felt peaceful with her decision to go visit her mother after five years of not seeing or hearing from her. And what a great coincidence it was to meet this nice man on her way. He was very friendly and they had conversations that felt as if they had known each other for a long time. He mentioned that he had noticed she was not wearing a wedding ring and also figured no responsible husband would let his wife and a baby that young travel a long distance alone. Janet was initially reluctant about sharing her story but somehow she felt welcome to speak. He was a good listener too. Oh God, where were men like this when i was surrounded by Ronalds in my life? She thought.

The car came to a halt a little distance from her mother's compound. This had been the shortest journey to the village ever.

"So uhh, may I have your number or something...maybe I can give you and your beautiful baby a lift again if we happen to be going back to the city at the same time," he said.

Janet smiled, and gave him her digits. She felt more thankful than infatuated. It was a great feeling. He helped her get her bag out of the car and then he bid farewell and left. She sighed to regain her composure.

When she turned around, she saw her mother standing in a distance, looking at her in disbelief. Janet walked towards her, forgiving herself with every step she took, and feeling her mother's magnetic love pull her closer.

The little mud hut that was her mother's house still stood in the middle of the compound just as she remembered it. But there was a warmth to this place. It was fenced by her mother's love. It was home.

Janet fell at her mother's feet and started weeping. She remembered how hard life had been without her ...how she had to beg Ronald for money for food as he wouldn't let her go to work. How she waited for him to come back to their one-roomed house when she was eight months pregnant with swollen feet and an aching back.

"I should never have left like that mama,I'm so sorry," she said, amidst sobs.

Amai Dana lifted her daughter to an upright position, her eyes swelling with tears.

"I'm glad you're back my child, I'm glad you're back."

Those words calmed the storm that had been raging in Janet's soul for a very long time.
She held her baby closer, praying she could learn to give love as her mother did. Unconditional love.

Boarding school at nine years old

The car pulled up outside the girls hostel. It was literally built on a flat rock. I watched other girls run around, carrying their stuff to their rooms. This place was gonna be my home for the following 3 years. It felt exciting, finally leaving home to have some ‘freedom’, at the age of 9.
I was introduced to my new dorm; dorm 4 St Theresa. I chose the upper bed on a bunk close to the window. My parents helped me make my bed, but I just couldn’t wait for them to leave so I could explore this new place and start making friends. I thought I was fearless. The moment I waved goodbye as the car drove off, a cloud of sadness settled over me. The reality that I had just remained alone, in a strange  place, suddenly came down on me all at once. I walked back to my room and silently cried as I lay on my bed, missing my mum and dad.
Before long, our dorm room was full. We were approximately 12 in each room, but it never seemed crowded as the rooms were large enough. As we talked and got to know each other with my dormmates, I realised this was not going to be too bad after all.
The first thing I thought would be difficult on me was the waking up in the morning. Oh the bell that the prefects rang at around 5:30am every morning sounded like a declaration of the beginning of the apocalypse. We had to immediately wake up, and by immediately I mean if you woke up 5minutes later you could spend the next day sweeping the school grounds. We’d take our metal buckets and go have our baths at the bathrooms. The struggle got real in winter when we had to race to the bathrooms for hot water because it ran out on late bathers. After the preparations for school were done we’d gather outside the dormrooms and have our morning prayer and announcements. Then we’d line up to go have breakfast as the prefects assessed if we were all dressed well and clean. Our little black shoes had to be super-dooper shiny. And our blue uniforms; well- pressed and spotless.
On the first day in class, I remember sitting outside as we waited for the teacher to open the classroom. Making friends was much easier  than it is now. I mean you could bond over having the same pencil back then.
 Our teacher finally came and opened the door. We got the strictest grade 5 teacher, and needless to say, we were terrified. However, she had great teaching skills. She sat us in groups, boy, girl, boy, girl ; something they avoid in high school. I don’t think my little self made a great first impression on her coz I had to work extra hard to prove I was intelligent throughout the school term. It took several beatings on my hands for my handwriting to be as emmaculate as it was back then, before medical school ruined it of course. And it is here that I developed an interest in a subject I never thought I would – Math…which was also ruined by med school. All those complex math skills acquired through school are almost all unnecessary now as I have to occupy my brain space with big scientific terms like amygdalo-hippocampectomy….never mind. Anyway, as days went by, I made some good friends, some of which I’m still in touch with, 12 years later.
At mid-morning we’d go for tea at the dining hall. Lunch was in the afternoon, and basically after all the nitty gritty of classes was over. We’d go and change into casual clothes before having our lunch. Being primary school kids, there was virtually no competition for who wore the most expensive label…at least none that I was aware of. We were definitely already self-conscious though.
Supper meals had the best food. And afterwards we’d have evening studies for an hour. I don’t think we actually really studied here, I for one spent the study time playing word games, drawing or reading stories.
I met some of the smartest brainiacs ever at this primary school. It  was a challenge getting a spot in the top ten. A lot of us are on our paths to fulfilling our dreams. We have all kinds of imaginable careers represented, it’s awesome.
The third term came with Jacaranda blooming season. I loved how the jacaranda flowers coloured the ground purple. Sweeping the flowers off the ground, however, wasn’t so much fun. We believed that if you stand beneath a Jacaranda tree and catch a falling flower, you could make a wish and it could come true. Most of our wishes were that we’d have our parents visit. I don’t remember ever wishing for a billion dollars. For all I know, I could’ve been typing this from a private yacht off a self-named island.
The best days were visiting days, and the day before closing schools, which we called ‘big dinner day.’ Seeing our parents and siblings on that one visiting day was ecstatic and made our lives bearable.
 My primary boarding school was not the fanciest school in the country. No. We had beans for lunch sometimes. But, we didn’t need play-stations and i-pads to keep us entertained. We’d sing and dance, while drumming our school-trunks, and have the most possible fun ever. We narrated movies we would have watched at home to each other, and used our imagination to enjoy them. We had simple but joyful lives. And boarding school was a home, a fortress, a place we all grew together into great, yet unique people.
Reflecting back doesn't mean our lives were much better then than they are now, no. It helps us appreciate the path we've walked to get to where we are. And we might not be exactly where we want to be yet (i'm clearly not writing this from a yacht), but we're inspired by the fact that if we could be courageous little beings enduring being far away from our families to get an education, we can be great older beings, making a lasting difference in this world.

A sign just outside our school read: I came, I learnt,  I succeeded. And that’s exactly what we did.
“In unitate stamus.”

Mirror of Grace

                                          (Based on John 8:1-11)

She stood up from the ground, knees still shaking. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. The angry mob had dispersed. She could not lift her head to face anyone.

Mary quickly adjusted the cloth wrapped around her body, and dashed away without looking back. She could feel the stares of the people in the street…their mean whispers.

“Shouldn’t she be dead?” she heard someone say.

She had grown used to the stares of the people that seemed to pierce through to her soul. Even though she wasn’t looking at them, she could feel how cold and hateful their stares and words were. It was horrible enough living among a people who wish you were dead. But on this day they didn’t matter. Their voices faded in the distant part of her mind, overshadowed by a new voice; a voice that had just turned her entire life around.

Mary kept walking, almost running, yearning to seek some shelter somewhere so her mind could properly process what had just happened.

“Home-wrecker!” shouted someone.

The words just flew past her, harmless. She kept moving on.

Mary finally reached her house. She ran in and locked the door, and then threw herself to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. All the deep loathing she felt for herself and for the mean people around her, the guilt, and the pain – she let it all flow out with the tears. Then she stood up and walked towards the mirror on the wall. Her mascara had made black pools under her eyes, make up all ruined and her hair was shabby and dusty. However, she was intrigued by the image she saw in the mirror.

For a very long time, she had not had the courage to look through her own eyes into the depths of her soul. She thought the filth in there would be too much to handle. Her definition of herself was based on what men had told her. Layers upon layers of makeup were aimed at making up for a lost identity…a lady trapped beneath heaps of guilt.  

But the words the Lord had said to her resonated loudly in her head;

“I don’t condemn you.  Go and sin no more.”

‘What? Just like that?’  Those words had knocked off a heavy load that was weighing down on her shoulders. They were the most freeing words she had ever heard.

Mary grabbed a wet napkin and began wiping her face. It was like removing thick dust off an obscured windscreen, finally allowing light into the inside.

 For the first time, she saw strength, and warmth, and love through her own eyes. She saw beauty.

For the first time, she saw her image through the mirror of grace.

Mary smiled wide. She immediately cleaned herself up and wore a clean white dress. Then she went out, to feel the wind against her skin, blowing her hair like the wings of a dove.  All that mattered was what Jesus thought of her.

 Finally, she was determined to be the virtuous, powerful lady she had always wanted to be – in Grace. True freedom.

Hey there Champ, you look pathetic

 This place looks familiar. It's dark and cold and painful, yet very familiar. Sitting on this hard thing is the most uncomfortable feeling ever. Oh wait, it's a rock. Yup, rock bottom.

 'How did I get here?' 

A feeling of paralysis overwhelms your entire being. You wanna get back up but you don't know how. There's just no more strength left in your body to take any more pain. What's funny is, you were fully aware of the poison when you decided to go ahead and drink it anyway. You thought you'd be able to deal with the agony and the sound of your insides wringing, getting consumed by the toxin.Or maybe you didn't believe it was poison, you gave it the benefit of doubt :D. Your poison could be anything, or anyone. Surprise! You're on rock bottom now. Nah, this was definitely no surprise. Whatever got you here was approaching you in a head-on collision course, in full view. You knew you absolutely had the power to avoid it. You just thought the collision would have more thrills than wounds.

You gotta get back up again, you know you have to. First step is admitting you're there. And well,  taking some responsibility for getting there. Quit blaming the poison, or the truck you saw coming. Yeah, externally, your situation could clearly be that you are the victim...but there's way too much weakness in playing victims. You are very much aware of how victorious you already are.You know this picture of a champion sitting defeated on a cold rock is just inappropriate. It doesn't matter what got you here, all you need to figure out is why you are here. There's a purpose for the lesson you were given, the one that got you here. Yes, it was a lesson. And you were meant to learn instead of just sit here grumbling about how unfair everything is. The rules of lessons remain unchanged -unless you pass the one you have right now, you will remain there until you do. You may choose to become numb to the pain induced by the hardness of the rock and stay there  ,or you may choose to act like the champion you are and get back up. After all, what matters most in any situation is how you choose to react to it.

You are a champion that has won a battle without the need to fight! Not even once. Your real enemy, the devil, comes in a defeated package already. His only handle on you is your ignorance and unbelief in who you are. Would you fight at all if you knew the battle has already been won? What on earth are you doing on that rock,champion? That rock is actually little and essentially unreal. The One who made you a champion is Himself The Rock Of Ages. And on that Rock is light, love, strength and everything else you'll ever need to go through this life.
So, bid farewell to little rock-bottom, it was virtually a stepping stone to your next level.

the indelible words of a stranger

 

I met a certain woman once. She left a non-erasable impression on my heart.
I wonder where she is now. I wish I had taken her number or address or something. If you'd seen her from a distance you'd think she was some old woman just exhausted with life...but the lines on her face were not an indication of age. They resembled pain, deep agony she had had to deal with in her young life. We were walking on the same path from the local town, in the same direction. "Life's hard," she initiated the conversation. I turned to her and smiled by reflex. "I have 3 kids at home," she said. I wouldn't have guessed. I thought she was weird. Who says that straight-up to a stranger?

Twenty-five years, three kids, no husband, late parents, estranged to relatives and beat-down broke- those were her life's details in summary. They had me mute.
"You see my sister..." she began, as if we actually knew each other. "I had been going out everyday looking for a job to feed my kids. I dont have any academic qualifications coz i had to leave school at 14 as there was no money for me to continue my education. I had my first child soon after leaving school, with a man who promised to take care of my every need. We had two more kids together, and I thought we'd be a happy, stable family. I love my children so much, they are my light. That man left us to 'get a job' about 5 years ago and we've never seen or heard from him ever since. I don't even want to talk about him. Anyway, I committed my life to taking care of my children to the best of my ability. It's been indescribably hard." She took a deep gasp.
"You wouldn't believe it if I told you i'm living in a shelter i built with my own two hands. I cant afford to rent even half a room. And I owe almost everyone i know, they have all written me off. I can't count the number of times i've felt like i've reached rock bottom. But last week was the worst. My daughter came to me crying, hungry and frustrated that she could not enjoy playing with her friends because her stomach was empty. I had given the kids the last of the food we had the previous night and had not eaten myself for two whole days. I wiped my daughter's tears as i tried to hide mine. Then i made the decision to go out and try one more time to find a job. Although I had been searching everyday to no avail, that day I was willing to stoop down to the level of begging if it meant I would have something to feed my kids." I was silently listening to all this, astonished. She didn't seem to care about my reaction, she just wanted to let the words out.

"I took my kids and we left together because I was afraid they might collapse if I leave them alone. We headed for the surbub where the rich people in this city live. I was hoping inside that someone would at least give us some food to get through the day. Food my sister...money would have been nice but my kids were crying of hunger and all I needed at that moment was food." She wiped a tear. I didn't know what to do.
" Well, we knocked on so many gates; those huge metal gates for those big compounds of rich people. On some gates, we got responses from servants, mostly rude and saying they were not offering any charity things to strangers. Some politely told us they had no job to offer, or food to spare.My knuckles were hurting and almost swollen from all the knocking. My entire body just wanted to retreat and fall to the ground and bring to an end this miserable life. But I had to be strong just for my dear kids. Then my young son fainted. My heart broke. I fell to the ground to inspect his frail frame. All I could do was scream with the last of the energy remaining in my body. I was willing to be the one to die as long as no harm came to my kids. And then out of the blue, i felt a hand tapping me from behind and i turned my head. There stood an elegantly dressed elderly lady and her maid. She instructed the maid to help carry my child inside her house. We were on the road right opposite her gate.
"What happened?" she asked, gently, as the maid disappeared through the gate with my son. I could not reply.
"Come on, stand up, let's go inside, " she said, her hand stretched forth to me. I stood up with her assistance and held the hands of my other two kids as we followed her into her compound." She paused...as if she was reliving that moment in her head. Then she wiped another tear and sighed deeply.
" I believe in angels," she said. And that was the last thing she said. A car abruptly stopped in front of us and she got in and left, smiling and waving at me. I remained standing by the road, perplexed. I must have stood there for quite long, just reminiscing all that woman had said. I assumed the car was driven by the nice lady's driver and that that woman was now living or working with her or somerhing. I dont know really, but from the way her face had lit up when she said she believed in angels, I'm pretty sure her life has not been the same since she met the nice lady. Her story made me wanna turn back and go back to all the beggars i'd met on the way and give them even the little that was in my wallet and not assume they'd smoke it or whatever. I just wanted to show love. God touched me through her. I absolutely admire her strength and courage. You never know what the people you see are going through. Be kind. Always. 

TV times in Zimbabwe for a 90s kid

 I grew up in Zimbabwe, beloved Zimbabwe; eating grilled corn and scrumptious watermelons.I still have some scars on my legs from falling off mango tress and guava trees. On a normal day my lips would be red from drinking freezits or stealing home-made fudge sweets. However, I would like to express the great impression TV had on my childhood.

 I grew up in the days when there was only one local television channel, ZTV. A second channel, Joy TV aired only in Harare, and being a Masvingo child, i thought that was pretty unfair. But anyway, I had my sufficient share of fun with just ZTV. Mondays! Having to go to school early meant no time for TV .By noon, I came back home all tired and dusty but still as bubbly as ever. Then my family and I would be eating some delicately cooked sadza and a portion of cold  mouth-watering sour milk as we watched the midday news. 'They' watched really. Eight year olds couldn't care less whatever's happening to the world. My attention would be caught by the drama series at 1:30 after the news.  Gringo or Paraffin were my favourite. I enjoyed laughing at all the hilarious moments with my family. And then there was a drama called 'And to my nephew Moses' that also aired at 1:30 for some time. Being an 8-year old I still had to correlate the English language spoken, with my developing vocabulary...so a lot of the conversations went over my heard. And then there was a time when the 1:30 drama became 'Rage of Innocence' (I'm not sure if it was at 1:30 or 7pm), a local drama about a woman struggling with a sexual abuse experience. Everything about that drama, from it's drab opening theme to it's plot scared the life out of me. Thank God for the cartoons that followed at 2pm.Every weekday afternoon at 2p.m there would be an interesting animated series, unless if it was Spartacus and the Sun or the Puzzle Place whose theme songs were the only interesting things about them. Blinky Bill was my Monday afternoon buddy.I would be sad to miss the rest of the cartoon as i had to rush for afternoon studies at school. Afternoon studies for primary school kids though? Well, it's that strict and effective system that played a great role to get me where I am today, which i'll explain in broader detail in another blog. After school i had time for 'pada' or 'maflawu' in the road with my friends. And then we would play 'Chitsvambe' before parting and rushing to our homes. Curfew was 6p.m and I had to make it to the house before my mother closed the doors and windows. I looked forward to Afro beat on Monday evenings. We were serenaded with wonderful music from all over Africa, with the likes of legends like Salif Keita.
Later in the evening came Studio 263, the local soapie which kept us glued to our TV sets as we had our dinner in the evenings. It could be sadza again (gosh), with the delectable mazondo or some lusciously-prepared meat stew, with green vegetables to complete the nutrition requirements. My bed time was around the time the Mai Chisamba show would be starting. The important issues of life discussed on the show were not too significant to me at the time, but I was intrigued by the way my family enjoyed the show. So, I'd rather interject in their laughing at stuff I didn't understand than go to bed. Afterwards, we'd sing a hymn and pray and then retire to bed.
Each new day was exciting; and with the different TV programs, I had a different show to look forward to. I liked the diversity; from Taina to Robocop to Kabanana the Zambian soapie whose catchy theme song I can still remember.Thursday evenings brightened up our homes with Ezomgido, the music show. I remember my mum ordering me to sit down after i attempted to imitate some  dance moves.

My friends and I sat enthusiastically glued to the TV screen for Power Rangers on Friday afternoons. "I'm the pink ranger!" "No, I'm the pink ranger today, you were the pink ranger last week!" Oh, it was so much fun watching the shows together. The joyful shouts would disappear as soon as some gloomy show like Mbira Dzenharira started playing. We would then rush off to play 'nhodo', or 'fish-fish' (skipping rope) outside.

 Weekends were glorious days for me.I would be super fired up for Paddy and Denver the last dinosaur on Saturday mornings.I don't think i woke up as early for school as for Paddy. Then afterwards, tiny me would be feeling fly in a 'pedal-pusher' and a 'one-arm' top, all ready and set for 'Young-Stars' (I've seriously searched all corners of you-tube for this show). It ignited the star in me. I literally thought Harare was the coolest city just because of Young Stars. I watched with bright innocent eyes and sang along with the kids on TV to the likes of 'handirege' by Roy and Royce. Mastering the fancy dance moves from the show meant I would be cool among my friends. I can apologise to my mum now for all the trouble I gave her to get me whatever clothes were trending on Young Stars.

Wrapping up the week with Sundays (Well,Sunday was my last day of the week for a long time) , we would have an interesting line-up. Sundays were the only days I enjoyed watching the evening news as there would be an interesting clip or the video of the week at the end of the news broadcast. Prime Gospel Show came shortly afterwards and i'd be up and jamming along to the likes of Fungisai, Amanda Sagonda, the Charambas etc.
In a way, TV brought us together as one big Zimbabwean family. I felt like I personally knew the TV people so well I remember being genuinely happy for a female music show presenter when her co-host announced her engagement or something...I was only a primary school kid!

 Sisonke, Tiritose was more than a ZBC catch-phrase. And the resounding message of the melodious song that recurrently played as the 22nd of december drew near, is still engraved in my heart, and as i would like to believe, in the hearts of the rest of the Zimbabwean people as well :
"Let's preach unity, the gospel of peace, of human rights, of tranquility, oh yeah,"
SISONKE.