Music, the experiences of our people

I WAS not the only one who danced to the songs by the Bhundu Boys in a Harare bar in Glen Norah B last Sunday. The songs were filled with past memories, forcing you to dance as if you were back in th...

Of witches and wizards

TSIKAMUTANDA witch hunters are on their way to our village. A few weeks ago, somewhere along the Save River, they found many witches and wizards in possession of  various gnome-like creatures called ...

The colonial cemetery, our troubled history

Sekai Nzenza TODAY, I did not go into the busy Mupedzanhamo market with Piri and her business partner Chandi. Instead, I have taken a walk in the Mbare’s Pioneer Cemetery, which is just opposite the ...

A return to laughter

IT is Sunday afternoon and I am trying to write something good, interesting and inspiring for this column. But I am struggling to do so because in the next room, the noise of the blaring television a...

A cry for lost manhood

My cousin Piri and I heard that the mulberries were in abundance at  the village compound of Jemba and his sister-in-law Mai Esinati. When we  arrived at Jemba’s house, only a few kilometres from our...

African beauty and the shades of blackness

Sekai Nzenza MY eleven-year-old niece Edna came home from school crying. Some kid called her “Sudan”, meaning she was very black. This was not the first time Edna had been called names like that. Edn...

Surviving the stigma of HIV and Aids

“IF I HAD education, like a degree or something and I was not HIV positive, I would have taken that cousin of yours. Reuben, that one, I tell you, he is a man among men,” said Chandisaita. She said t...

Poverty, the desire for something foreign

SOON after the harmonised elections last Wednesday, it was business as usual at Mupedzanhamo Market in Mbare at 8am on Friday morning. We got there early because my cousin Piri had an appointment wit...

Ngozi and the moral law of non-violence

“ THESE days, what makes news is violence, tragedy, angry emotions and maybe some African tribesmen jumping up and down with axes threatening to kill each other,” said my cousin Reuben, the one who i...

Hunhu: An African way of life

WHEN we lived in the village compound, the elders referred to a good person as munhu, meaning he was a human being with certain behaviours and characteristics that made him a good person. Munhu....

Technology vs loss of traditional protocol

WHEN we lived in the village, before the liberation war, there was no phone anywhere nearby, except at Muzorori & Sons Store. The other phones were at Hwedza Hospital, Kwenda Methodist Mission a...

Dancing to the sound of mbira

I USED to dance to the sound of mbira. Rhythm came naturally to me. I had this effortless movement to stamp my feet in unison with everyone. But, at the Book Café in Harare last Friday, I discov...

Saving the sacred land of our ancestors

THERE was a time when we did not talk about saving the environment, climate change, cutting down trees or the drought. In those days, the rivers, the land, the trees and the animals were all par...

Nhomba: Immunisation in colonial days

If my grandmother, Mbuya VaMandirowesa had her way back in the days of Rhodesia, long before we Africans got the right to vote, none of the children in the village compound would have been immun...