I probably have to remind myself that things are not as bad as I make them out be. Every day I try to take pleasure in the small things. Drinking a cup of coffee, while listening to Brian McKnight’s live performances as he sings a mellow tune about love. Nothing can beat that.
Lately, I have been having way too many conversations with myself though. Stuck in my head for most of the time, I try to rationalize even the “mundane” things: Am I doing enough? How close am I to where I want to be? …
Sometimes I can feel it in the air, damn near taste it on some days. It lingers around with utter disrespect for my state.
A longing. An unexplained yearning.
For what, you ask?
A piece of freedom.
I constantly welcome it into my heart, as if greeting an old friend who was once dear and near. I often wonder why I long for it this much. Is it human nature to want what one cannot fully have? It cannot be, surely. That would undoubtedly be cruel. A cruel game to play with a species as often as ill-fated as men.
Why do you do this?
Does it please you that my days are often spent in silence because of the people you took from me?
I want to tell you how selfish you are. How inconsiderate your timing and how empty a void you forcefully create. But I cannot. My grief overwhelms me, my tears betray me yet you say nothing. You look at me with empty eyes. Soulless. Unmoved.
You’ve had this conversation before, have you? My words are nothing new and my tears of no importance to your centuries of human betrayal. I call you a thief. Of…
I think you’re dreaming.
Wake up, now. Before it’s too late and the sun sets on what was to be a beautiful day.
I think you’re dreaming. It should bring you comfort that the world welcomes your existence, but you sleep on, unbothered by the impending disaster, and continue as if life carries on without you.
I just want to let you know it doesn’t. They lied. Life stops without you. It comes to a screeching halt, and why shouldn’t it? You have been one of its most vehement proponents.
Always nibbling at its moments of intrigue, and engulfing yourself…
Imagine you’re 10 years old and you’re asking your mother where your father went to.
I don’t know how black mothers do it. Not the raising a child(ren) alone part, the attempting to make them understand that their father does not want to be part of their lives part.
I was having a conversation with some friends in a whatsapp group chat a while back, and the issue of the absent black father came up. We’re all young black men in that group, and these type of conversations are a bit personal for some more than others. …
Big Boys Don’t Cry
This winter is different.
The past few winters have been cold, but this one feels even colder than normal. An unwelcoming cold, like when you leave a warm bed, in the early morning, and are greeted by a cold floor. Can’t I just roll back into bed?
It’s a bit odd though, because the sun is always out.
I feel this every morning. This cold. This lack of warmth. I feel like going back into bad, carrying on with my third dream and pulling my laptop closer.
But I can’t. I made a decision at the…
“Zuko? My guy give me more…”
“What do you mean? That’s literally my name. Z-U-K-O.”
I almost regretted walking into Starbucks. Besides the barrister questioning the truth of my name, I felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders after the day I was having, so naturally I wanted coffee and a place to write in peace
I’m honestly not having the best of days, so I’ll hope after I’m done writing this a few a people will share with me how they usually deal with the tricky days, and curiously share their favourite coffee.
Nobody cares who took a helicopter to the top of Mount Everest, they conquered nothing.
The glory remains with those who braved the arduous spirit-seething climb. One foot infront of the other.
The glory goes to those who dared the below zero conditions, and looked at death in the face with an unwavering desire to achieve, muttering “One more step…”
The glory is in the climb, more than reaching the peak.
Anyone can get to the top of Mount Everest, not many can say they climbed to the top.
The glory is in the great journey.
So climb. Every day.
The glory is one step at a time.
When Zimbabweans gained independence on the 18th of April 1980, I doubt many of them who were jubilant ,at Rufaro Stadium, would have imagined that 35+ years later they would have to revolt ,for the umpteenth time, against the man who had lead their revolution.
The issue of African leadership refusing to hand over power is nothing new in Africa, infact it’s an all too familiar story for most. Just ask the Angolans, Egyptians and a few others.
Zimbabwe ,though, is a more peculiar issue because 1) It’s right next to South Africa 2) Zimbabwe could be a ‘sleeping giant’.
We Were Radicalised.
Weeks of dissatisfaction had finally culminated in various mass student action around the country. This was in 2015. Students were demanding a scrapping of fee’s in higher education.
Entitled. A nuisance. Unnecessary.
These words came from most South African adults. But it was too late.
We were radicalised. We were radicalised by poverty, struggle and injustice in our society and educational system.
“They are beginning to address unresolved questions and some of the erasures and foreclosures. They stand on our shoulders but we do not provide a steady foundation.” …
I write mini-stories about life.