Celebrating Andrea Bocelli

My evenings these days are musically filled but they remain calm and quiet. there is so much pressure around me and I am not sure if this phase will end at any point in my life. I struggle to find time to relax and build on the few things which glamour has not not stolen from the world . For instance I miss talking to people having a genuine conversation that has nothing to do with work. just to talk about the weather would do..In the dusty streets of where I come from. I long and yearn to hear that ice cream bell , noises and voices. my world is a bit silent at the moment because I feel drowned. As I realize this I am working on lifting this shadow up to reclaim the very things that bring life to my being…and it all started with Music. 

I feel that listening to Music is an art. Music offers a liberating space for reflection and I always put skill, time , commitment and passion in selecting the kind of music I listen to. Growing up, music was  just teenage thing , a craze rather, where we would listen to Music according to the trends of the top radio hit list or whatever song my cool cousin brother was listening to. adding to that it was also because I needed people to sign in my ”auto book” so it had to be cool and well arranged with enough lyrics of songs to get the cool peers want to sign in it.  When the Autobook era ended, we got saved and forgot about music and somehow my musical identity got lost. A decade and a half later , I find myself tracing back to my early music journey , just to find out what  to listen  to and live with now as I get older by the day. It has been challenging a  process because now they are trillions of musicians who ”excel in one hit wonders”.  I just can’t keep up with the music ,the dances , the lyrics ,and their dressing. I have also done myself a favor in that regard-I acknowledge that I am getting old fast.

So as a way of toning down, I have religious late night episodes of listening to music ..Beautiful as it comes , not really choosing what to listen to but carefully winding into genres, I never would have given an ear in my early years. Opera is one such genre. A friend introduced me to Andrea Bocelli and I have grown to really appreciate what humility and passion can contribute to song.  I felt that I needed to pen a bit  on this guy because his music is not only the exceptional thing about him. I actually find his background more interesting than his music. 

The Blind Man who lights the world with Music

His life story in summary would have been a sad one , Born partially blind , he became  totally blind after a soccer accident at 12 and went on to get a Phd in law before he decided to  change his career to music . The visually impaired, Tuscany-born, vocalist has emerged as one of the most exciting voices in contemporary opera. I refer to this story in my moments of seeking true and genuine inspiration. In his state he must have seen something  within himself to get to where he is. the fight did not begin with him, it started with his mother who refused to abort him against the advice of the doctors who had predicted that he would be disabled. I respect her she fought for her foetus now barely recognised as humans. But who would have known? 

So tonight i just want to celebrate Andrea , to honour him for the 70 million records he has sold, and for him just brightening up my musical life. 

After my interaction with his music and his life story, I have the same dreams for the visually impaired in our lifetime. I hope they see within themselves and become. Helen Keller did. If anything it’s a prayer. Image

This girl

For a long time, I have always been clear on what I want to do with my life. Setting my vision and goals from an early age, the last thing I thought I would need was a coach. As my career progressed, they are processes that I went through that helped me define who I wanted to be ; a campaign strategist. This came to being because I fell in love with campaigns simply because they made my working life easy and I found them to be more impactiful that the normal programmng routine. Having set all this, the next thing was to establish a project. At that point, with the pressures comming up with the new project I had set up, I realized that I didn’t know this girl who had decided to call herself the campaign strategist. All of a sudden there was a lot of conflict within me. Perhaps my A type personality had taken it’s toll (even though I felt I wrongly assumed that it would take me to greater heights and make me an achiever) The question which haunted me was-what could have gone wrong for such a seemingly vibrant young girl who had it all together ,(at least to the outside world)?. I just couldn’t place the source of conflict.

Two women in one
They are things I have mastered in my life , things that I do well such as my writing ,reading and my work. However reflecting on the conflict within me made me realize that behind that prowess there is fragile girl dying to come out as positively vulnerable to a lot of experiences around her. I am not always strong, driven and daring . They are times when I have to struggle to put a brave face in the struggles which life presents time and again. Coming to terms with this has not been an easy process,it has just been necessary. My search for balance has propelled me to reflect on a lot of things lately and I feel I need to step up to get to know my self better. I progressively realize with each day that  the Nyasha who goes to work and the Nyasha who is at home is different.  If I can connect that, then perhaps maybe I can sail through as I evision a better future for myself and for the women I work with.

To discover that was quite a red flag for me. It appears as if there is need to bring in some kind of alignment on board in my life , which confirms that perhaps what I am searching for is not balance but alignment maybe. It is that need for alignment that has motivated me to go through a coaching process in the next 12 months of my life.
The Coaching Experience
The inception of the coaching was greatly insightful for me as I had thge opportunity to explore my personaliity type in wake of the conflict which I am going through. For thge first time I am reflecting on everything around me focusing on the self and to try and synchronize the value which I give to my family and my work. I have also decided to lay down the rule of self care in my life. I need to take care of myself and become more self aware of the things I can do without straining myself . In other words, I am searching for a better relationship with myself in order to build good ones out there.

The Day Odinga let me down: Ordinary relfections on Kenyan Elections

I’d like to believe that the Kenyan elections were somewhat free and fair judging to the previous standards of Kenya in regards to elections and broadly their handling of the electoral process from the start. I applaud them being Zimbabwean I must say , Kenya transitioned over the past five years through processes which one can follow more than what is happening in Zimbabwe. In a week I am expected to vote for a constitution I know nothing about. . I am afraid I can’t say the same for my country. We don’t respect process. At this point, I will express my disappointment and say I thought Odinga would win but he didn’t and was thrashed by a wide margin. Recognising this, we should note that these elections were not explicitly or rather out rightly rigged amidst the alarmist calls by one to many comrades who lost the struggle they thought they would win easily without uniting the tribes in Kenya. I feel that tribal issues have been the underlying factor of the results we got out of Kenya.

Now this post is not out to fuel hatred amongst the Kenyans and their different tribes. But it’s an offhand caution of the thoughts of a young woman who is scared for this nation and all the other African Countries going through transitions or rather those failing to go through their political transitions. We must learn from Kenya and watch them very intently. If my notion pointing towards tribal gymnastics had any part in influencing the outcome of this election then Kenya is in trouble and Africa has some real democratic shit to shovel out of its system. If I am wrong then the next 6 months need to prove me wrong. Kenya must prove me wrong.

The Day Odinga let me down- So after the violence which rocked Kenya some 5years back, we thought perhaps maybe they will be space for change and it was actually going to happen. Naturally as a Zimbabwean I was hoping that Odinga would win so that we have a message that is sent out to assure those of us without hope in political systems that change may come if proper political procedures are followed. I was hoping that it becomes a wave after Zambia. And deeply dreaming that young people would become a greater part of that revolution. This is what I thought. Tracking the Kenyan results was depressing, I don’t think anyone can pull off rigging with an 800 000 margin with an electronic voting system. It’s practically not possible. Odinga failed , being the candidate I would have wanted to lead Kenya as he was the most visible figure in Kenyan political agenda. He failed and we need to reflect and analyse his failures objectively. Forget the rig talk, critical conversations need to follow the Kenyan debate because I feel that it spills over its influence into other nations particularly Zimbabwe which has been borrowing concepts and ideas from Kenya at a close call. Let’s get rid of emotional sentiments and dig on what really happened to Kenya. Who/What  is  tipped to bring in the ideal change –the people, a specific tribe or the process of transition whether it was flawed or not?

Who needs the olive branch?

Uhuru offered Odinga an olive tree branch to his opponents which was not accepted by a single one of the presidential candidate indicating a surging energy of unacceptance. In this case I begin to question these movement for democracy entities. Are they going to mourn and groan over the lifetime of their politics and tell us that they are not moving g fast enough to democratise Africa because elections are being rigged (timely) in their face. Who started the rig talk? What was the intention of it all? I keep thinking that sometimes in Africa’s real politics we keep thinking of how we have been short changed, how they are beating and throwing us against the wall, we speak and go on top of mountains and lament. Never have I seen these democratic stalwarts on top of mountains speaking real strategy and action. They mourn all the time and reflective of apathy and their failure to come to the throne and deliver their rants, it seems they this cycle in African politics will forever stink of one party politics. Perhaps they should all line up at Freedom Square in Nairobi and accept the branch after all they opted to work in a divided Kenya.

 For five years, they preached peace and passively pointed towards unity not knowing that Africans will always value their own first. There is no way the Kikuyus were going to put Odinga in power and they happen to be the majority. I don’t know why the opposition expected this to happen. The dynamics of power and money are at play here. Kikuyus own most of Kenya and there were no possibilities of them letting that wealth grip go. In fact, it is a common trend in Africa and the politics is more about the money than the people. So why did we over look that? I have no idea what the other tribes have or own but I suggest that the Kenyan fight becomes less about who has the power but on who owns what .Yes explicitly like that. Money is power and that power shall remain in the hands of who have it. Odinga can dream on now.

Adding on, if elections have been presumably rigged can we make it about the people more than it is for the political parties? What are the Kenyans saying about the result? Can we reflect on the common conversation on the streets and the village? In wake of this, political leaders who rush to the people and seek sympathy should know better. The last thing that we expect from our leaders is for them to be cry-babies in our sight. Playing victim all the time when they are not building their strategy for attaining power enough. I hate it when I have to find myself constantly disappointed by those whom we expect to save us at least when they are outsmarted at the peril of their sweat. Odinga worked for the new Kenyan constitution and it did not work for him. God knows he tried to follow the trench without missing the ideal corners but today he emerges the loser. I hear the echoes of the same trend in Zimbabwe. I can almost predict the speeches which will be made in the near future in regards to this. They will grace podiums and say we were on the right track but the rules were bent etc. We, the people do not want to hear that nonsense. We are tired of it. Political leaders can outsmart each other not the people.

Post Kenyan election, Odinga should know better than to complain and disregard the fact that he ignored the elementary tribal factor and its impact in Kenya.  It’s not over yet for him but I think he should bank on the fact that it’s never going to be an easy humiliation to serve a man who was once your subordinate. He is on his own now.  

And a few words for Kenya, I think the people of Kenya are tipped to learn the hard way in the political period which they have entered. Uhuru Kenyatta is an echo of the previous systems we dare not remember. Here’s to hoping that the Kenyans will not re-live that memory. I am not saying that Odinga was going to be good leader, I am just saying they ought to watch their backs and this time beyond the political space….

Its time for Kenya to look past the tribal lenses before its too late.

Dreams for Miss Stacey which came late

So Stacey visits family, as always they escorted her back and left her after helping her cross the busy part of the road to finish off her journey. On she went and from that point everything becomes blurred. She goes missing for three days and is found raped and murdered. Everything on her body was intact nothing was removed on it according to reports. It was not a ritual murder since nothing was taken from her body. So what was it? What happened to Stacey beyond the raping and the murder of this child? To say nothing was taken from her for me would not be true. She was found dead with a lot of things taken from her though not visible. Life, breath, peace, warmth, her smile was gone, no voice, nothing was left except a lifeless body. Left there thrown in the maize fields without hope and we say nothing was taken from her body. I don’t think so!!

Tracing this story from the time it happened, I find myself failing to raise enough questions in regards to Tsitsi’s tragic ending. What is it that we are really supposed to question as rape is increasing by the day? The gap in the legal system, rape culture, and patriarchy, our naivety – leaving her safety to chance and assume she will get home anyway, women’s organisations not doing enough, the government, anyone: who could have acted in a way that may have saved Miss Stacey’s life? Who deserves to die because society has watched as rape culture is anchoring itself and scarring our society. Are we still dreaming for our children to live on ,long enriched lives?

I have dreams for Stacey even in her death and they are clouded with shame.
I have a dream that whoever raped and killed Stacey will be caught by the police and justice will prevail for her.
I have a dream that one day rape will be a thing of the past
I have a dream that one day men and women will see the need to collectively rise for their children and erase the scars of past abuse and end it in the future.
I have a dream that one day, work around protecting the sexuality of women and girls becomes high priority for everyone.
I dream in my moments that Stacey’s Story shall be told in all genuineness and that every one of us will keenly push for justice for her.
I have a dream that someday we will let our children run put to play in the streets without fear
I pray that the dreams of organisations working on gender based violence go beyond their need to be visible, but reach deep down to the trenches of the soul to transform minds and to build movements for ending such atrocities.
Dreaming on, I want us to work on not having misplaced sexual desires that are blind to the future of Zimbabwe

In the pit of my dream, I sit and watch governments not lifting a finger, not even raising thier own voices for the women and girls. I watched as they coerce us –we the women- to vote for them yet our children are lying dead in maize fields bruised and battered, and stripped of their bodily integrity. It’s like a nightmare where my value is attached to the ballot only. I can’t vote for a leader who will not fight for my body, in aguish I ask the maker to wake me from that dream. No I cannot go to the poll with a bruised body, I cannot stand in the same queue with the perpetrator when he is supposed to vote from the cells stinking as the soul that rapes our children. I will wake up from this nightmare.
I keep dreaming that maybe we may pursue our understanding of consensual sex…just once!!

In the dream I fight on hoping to get an answer. I want to meet whoever did this to Stacey. I want him to explain why he picked Stacey? Why he raped her and what he got out it? I want to know and also have a feel of how he thinks. I want to see the hands that pinned down the body of a young girl not yet developed. I want him to tell me the source of his sexual fetish. Yes I want him to explain why grown up women cannot fulfil it where there is consent. I want him to explain and explain, yes in that dream. I want him to tell me if he can distinguish wrong from right. I have a dream I want talk to him and make him respond to my anger in person.
I will keep dreaming for her!!!

I dream for her every day because I have hope for her.

Our fight against violence on women is a time capsule ..future generations are going to look back at our actions and the loud voices, and ideas and be truly thankful just as we are thankful for the women who strated the women’s rights ideology..thanks Melinda for such insightful writing ..we will fight for her memory!! with love from Zimbabwe!!

Africa is a Country (Old Site)

Guest Post by Melinda Fantou

The road that leads to Bredasdorp, a small town about 180 km from Cape Town, meanders through barren fields shaved of the wheat they once nursed to maturity. The sheep sidle through protruding stalks, stomaching the lack of greener pastures. The resilient blue gums – the only trees that seem, ironically, to break the dullness of the Cape Agulhas region – lay their leaves to roast in the harsh sun. A “Beware of Children” sign stands at the entrance of Bredasdorp with its 15,000 inhabitants.

View original post 1,097 more words

Kuroorwa KwaMaidei part 1 : Zvinyorwa Zveshamwari Pafacebook

Asika zvekuti ijinda ramabo yakanga isiri nyaya yaizezesa sekutaura kwakanga kwaita tete. Ko yakagove mhosva here kuti akanga apenyerwa nemutunhu wemuchinda uyu.Ndiani aisaziva kuti Musarandega aiva rume rino ari hofori yadekadza kutarisa. Ko ihwo hunhu? Amaihwe Chisikana chakapishana nendangariro wena. Ari mundangariro kudai Maidei akafamba famba munhanga yevasikana achipiringishna nepfungwa kuti oita zvipi. Mumana mavo hapana akanga amboita zvanga zvafungwa nemhandara iyi . Ko yaiva mhosva here kuti akanga ada jaya iri asi aisakwanisa kusvitsa soko semunhu wechidzimai? Aizova mashura eshure zvikazivikanwa nemitunhu kuti ndozvanga aita.

 Zvino akati ndoita hwekudii? Chisikana chakaona kuti chikasangwarira yaizofa kwacho chakuona jinda rakunokumbira sadza kumwe iye aripo achishuvira kuita nyachide. Saka chakazoti dhuu kufunga ndokuona kuti hapana maitiro achaizoita asi pamusoro pemadanha ekuendesera jinda mvura padare nekunoritsvagira hacha dzinopenya. Nyaya ka iri pakuti zviri pamoyo zvinzwikwe. Panguva iyoyi chakabva chafunga kukumbira nhembe yomuninína wake nokuti yaiva pfupi uye yakanaka kuti chiende kunobata basa iri chakachena.

 “Iwe Marwei ,Marwei” , chakadeedzera nezwi repamusoro

 “Matiko taita?”

 “Uya pano hausi kunzwa kuti ndabvira kare ndichikusheedza? mhanya kuno kurumidza!”

“Muri kudeiko nhai vakoma?” Marwei akadavira, achishamisika kuti nezwi raMaidei. Akaziva nechemumoyo kuti pane zvikuru zvaiva mupfungwa dzemukoma wake.

Chaasina kuziva maidei ndechekuti jinda raikwenya mhuno nekasiyamwawo kuti dai mwanasikana aridawo asi chaimunetsa ndechekuti Musarandega aigarotaura kuti Maidei aizofanira kuita mukadzi wake wechitatu.

Apa tete vaMadei vakanga vachirongawo yavo tsoro neparutivi. Vanga vakangomirira kuwana nguva yakasununguka yetaura zvaiva pamwoyo wavo kumwana wehanzvadzi yavo. Vakanga vave kungoti mangwana mangwana “muroora ndauya kuzoona kuti muri sei negumbo?”…..Apa Maidei mwoyo waingova kujinda ramambo.

Shoko rakanga rasvika munzeve dzaMadei kare kuti kwaMusarandega kwaidyiwa zvekuti vaitofungirwa kuti vane divisi saka pakadai ndiani aida kusara . Tete nyangwe vaiita zvekabisira mhandara yakanga yatowona kuti yaive neaimutsigira. Mushure mekunge akumbira shashiko iya mwansika akabva apinda mubishi rekuzvishongedza. Akatanga arova tsoka akananga kurwizi rwaMakaira ndokuzvidira mvura kusvika agutsikana kuti akanga awota. Mushure mezvo akatora chuma chaakanga apihwa nambuya Mandijinyura ndokuti pfee hake muchiuno umu. iwo mafuta emuchinu sandi kunyiminya ikoko. Musi uyu mafuta aya akaita kunge aziva kuti kwakanga kune basa rakakosha raida kuitwa. Akabva apenya zvekuti kana nyeredzi chaiyo yaisakwanisa kumira pamakwikwi iwayo.

Maidei akange akaumbwa Nyadenga aine nguva yakazara. Kumeso kusina kana bundu kuchitsvedzerera se ruredzo munguva ye zhizha. Vhudzi rake rakasvibira kunge tsvubvu dzakanyatsosvika. Icho chivakashure chake chaiteerana nemuviri huri hunyanzvi hwe Musiki. Iro dundundu rakati tushu kuzara kunge richafashukira nekoko.Izvozvi ndozvaimupa manyawi ekuendera murume aneruremekedzo saMusarandega. Chigagairwa chakapinda munzira chakananga nechekumabvazuva chafunga zano rekunopotsera shoko ku jinda riya.

Kana museve woda nyama unosvotoka pauta! Chakanga chabaya chikatyokera. Mwanasikana kanga azvipira kuti nyange zvaizogona kumushoresa asi shoko rinenge rasvika. Zvichitangirawo kuna vakuru, “hanzi kuraidza chembere muto wegwaya hunzi wati ifire mudziva!” Imwi woye “Ihurukudyungu muchembere wedatya” zvinotokunda ngoma kurira zvetsvarakadenga Maidei. ……… Iro jaha parakaona chigagairwa chichiuya hana yakaita seichatsemuka nekurova, ikagotanga kubika yega manhanga, “yanga yatova nzwira pamuviri tsvimbo yarova dapi!”……. izvi zvakaita kuti nyaya irereukire mwanasikana nekuti runako rwake rwakamuitira basa.

Her Cry ,My Cry

Her Cry my Cry

Love sees a deeper sight

The cry of another sister in another land is mine

Her rape is mine

Her torture is mine

Her hunger is mine

Her heavy load is mine

Floods or not we cry together

Her broken heart is mine

Her pain is mine

Her mutilation is mine

Her injustices I feed on

All shared within me

Yet in all this anguish I have hope for her, just like she has hope for my trouble to

When her passion is thwarted, mine is gone

When her soul wails for her freedom,  I’m a slave

When her hormones wreck havoc, I’m also emotionally unstable

In war zones we get hurt differently but the wound is deeper

when she cries;  mine eyes will burn with tears for nations

When she is beaten the scars are deeper in me as I relentlessly watch

When her man is broken into pieces for the believed, I fell like I’ll never love again

When her breast is cut I cease to  breast feed.

When they tell her to shut up, I’m silenced

When they make her drink vinegar my throat will shrink with forceful thirst

When her dreams remain dreams I sink to the way of the loser

if she can’t speak I’m,  mute

When she’s sad, I’m down in the dumps

When her children suffocate from oppression I’m barren

my cry is her cry

I cry for my sister in DRC, my vagina is torn with hers

I cry for my sister in Pakistan, they threw acid at me for dressing up

I cry for my sister in Kasese Uganda, they made me eat my mouth and my nose they cut this afternoon

I cry for my sister in South Africa, they raped me to death for being a lesbian

I cry my sister for Cote D’voire, Now I can’t support any party I want to

I cry for my sister in China, they tied my feet for their sexual pleasure

I cry for my sister in India, My value is now left to my prostituted life benefiting timber

I cry for my sister in Zambia, they’ve just cut my clitoris and they’ve sawn me up

I cry for my sister in Nepal, they’ve burnt me for defending my other sister

I cry for my sister in Pakistan, I have no idea where our husband and the father of my children is?

I cry for my sister in Egypt, they chased me from Tahir Square, now victory is for the men

I cry for my sister in Tunisia, the revolution I enjoy no more,   for I shall be remembered as martyr denied life

I cry for my sister in India ,raped me baseless on a moving bus, and figured the iron rod would bring me pleasure instead ,it ripped my intestines out, now I’m dead!!

I cry for my sister in Zimbabwe, I am in a shrinked space

I cry for my sister in Central African Republic; Kony is bailing for our blood in order to destroy womanhood which birthed him

I cry for my sister in Central African Republic, my dream man is a guaranteed rebel; Mr Right never existed after all.

I cry with my sister everyday for I am that voice in the desert crying and moving towards flowing peace

We dedicate our lives to building peace, where its possible to wake up one day without

A single thought, memory idea about war,

Everything and everyone will be positive minded and work for good only

And the language of war will become unspeakable and its voice inaudible

We are sisters in it for hope and lasting peace!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!