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Fadzayi Maposah-Correspondent

Young people pace the streets of Harare and other cities and towns as and when they wish. 

I can relate to their behaviour somehow. 

Remember I was once young. I have shared in the past that when I was at Harare Polytechnic, my friends used to walk a lot.

We criss-crossed the length and breadth of Harare.

When I remember the distances we walked, I am amazed. At times when my body aches, I console myself with the fact that in the more than half a century I have lived, the body has done a lot of work, maybe even too much.

I think everyone needs a bank of photographs, notes and journals that detail places visited and things done. I have both. On some days, it is good to just go through the picture and remember the captured moments.

The laughter will be there remembering the crazy things that happened, or even just looking at the clothes we wore back then.

One of these days, I will share the pictures I have. 

The pictures remind me of where I have come from. I believe while I cannot change the past, I can sure learn from it. 

Some of the decisions that I made in the past may not have been the best but given the information that I had then and the circumstances I found myself in, they were right. So many things may have changed since then and the decisions that I made look “confused”.

I have many pictures from my college days. 

When I was in college, some evenings, my friends and I would walk to the telephone booth past the Division of Mass Communication offices in the next block, now I cannot remember which department that was. 

Outside that block was the telephone booth. When I talk to young people and I tell them that I first had a cellphone when I was a whole grown adult and mother to Tadiwanashe and Takudzwanashe, some of them look at me in surprise and usually the next question will be “How did you live? “

We lived a normal life! We did not know the life of having a mobile phone and being reachable no matter where we were. 

The people from the telecommunications company had written the telephone number in the booth. 

So, my friends and I would wait until there were few people at the booth and make our calls. 

Not that we did not want them to hear our conversations, but we had a different way of using that booth.

We would call home and we would ask them to call back. My mother MaNcube, had put the number by the telephone in the hallway. 

Whoever would answer the call, would tell my parents I had called. My mother would tell them, she will call back. 

The public telephone would ring and the conversations with my mother would begin.

I remember that on most occasions, I would call my mother.

She would pass regards from my father or I would hear my father pass his regards. 

Rarely he would come to the phone and speak for a few moments, take note, not minutes.

 I would speak to my mother first. I would update her how school was and if I had any requirements. Sometimes I would ask if I could come home for the weekend.

This was entertained if the end of term was still some way off. I had been told to ask in case the budgets were tight.

I am the eldest of seven children. Back then I did not really understand why I would need an appointment to go home. Now it makes sense, I can see clearly now! After my mother, my siblings would wait by the phone and say a few lines each. 

Those moments of innocence were awesome. As we walked back to Hostel A which then was the only girls` hostel, we would be emotional. 

Just those minutes of talking to one another were important to us. Hearing the voices and picturing where they spoke from made us teary. 

At times we would walk to the telephone and it would not be working. We would walk back to the hostel dejected, with our coins in hand. 

This week, I showed someone a picture from 2001 and they looked surprised that I had black hair. I always suspected that I would grey early because I just knew my father with grey and snow white hair. 

One of my favourite pictures is when I was in Grade 7.

I remember being worried about starting menstruation. Now I am just concerned when I will reach menopause.

The irony of life. Others worry about starting others worry about ending. 

It is a long weekend for many this week. 

Families will travel far and wide to be together for Heroes Day and Defence Forces Day. 

Hormones have no clue it is holiday time. They will behave as they wish! Be an unsung hero/heroine this holiday and offer the necessary support. 

Remember too that unlike our time of walking to the telephone booth and having my siblings waiting in line to speak to me, we can support each other through various technological means. 

When someone sends a message that is has started or has ended, there is no need to forward it. If she wants others to know, allow them to pass on that information! Do not create a queue like the one my siblings made to talk to me, it is not a public telephone! 

Happy holidays!