Mhenenguro

A conversation with my loved little mother When I first saw my little mother, I was also a little boy. Fifth or fourth grade I think. She was a lovely little girl from the city. She knew her other name which was erased when her birth was baked at the registry offices. ‘Ndinonzi Melisa Magumbo follow me’, said her when introducing herself. And being attracted to creativity, I loved her from that day onwards. This is not the story of the story but allow me to give this background so that maybe my little non-sense will make sense to you. Fate separated us for a few years from this encounter of little son and little mother. I will not bother you with the details of the separation but with our lovely r-union. We met again, in the year 2007 in the month of August. She was still bright. Now in grade five, I think. It was a brief reunion which was rekindled on the first day of the year 2009 when she was doing grade 7. She scooped the number of points as mine though not as balanced ...

What else is there for a ‘bookshit’ locked down like the cheerer of the global and national events such as Easter, Ramadan, soccer and our very own independence. The novel citizens could not allow me to forget 18 April. A day strangely recognised as the birthday of Zimbabwe. A day that makes it difficult to imagine baby Zimbabwe in a free-way. What is the ‘bookshit’ saying by free-way? Waaaaaal I sometimes feel a disconnection between the historical interpretation of the facts of Zimbabwe in relation to the maintenance of the borders and systems that sustains the parameters of the nation as country and state. This is not why I am here to preach about. I am here to commit a crime by sharing you the words by some literary citizens in the Zimbabwean literary texts I have in my library as of today. I will put less analysis to the extracts. WHOSE LAND IS IT ANYWAY Interesting ideas about the day and its precursor; the war comes out of the imaginations and conversations of Benjam...