I would change Shakespeare's quote in "Twelfth Night" to become "If fashion be the food of life play on....give me excess of it...." I am an avid slave to fashion and its no secret. However, trying to keep up with the latest trends can prove to be expensive and honestly, my sisters can attest to the fact that in Zimbabwe most of our shops and so called boutiques are heavy laden with chinese fake originals and downright poor quality clothes. As if thats not enough, these boutiques duplicate each other and refuse to branch out and order clothes that dare to be different .They prefer to play it safe. This is detrimental to their business because what they have to offer to us fresh faced youths is just plain boring like dishwater. Anyway their business acumen is not any of my business. My main concern is that i crave diversity and trendy clothes of acceptable quality. I refuse to go around clothed in something that will have me believe that i have enrolled in the same school of fashion with half of the population. 1 refuse to have a style stance that is common or ends up looking like a school uniform because we are too many dawning the same clothing items.
Style is never about copying to a tee fashion trends we see overseas but it is all about being able to manipulate that trend and make it your own. The need to be trendy has always been my ultimate goal. As a result i decided to thrift shop and boy did i find some pieces that have people green with envy. It has never been my wish to partake in second hand clothing or 'Vintage " as they call it. My first concern has always been the health hazards associated with buying second hand clothing. In Zimbabwe thrift shopping is popularly termed visiting 'khothama boutique'. Its all because of the bending down technique associated with the process of retrieving the wares.So i would like to impart some knowledge on how to thrift shop effectively. And to give you methods that will guarantee you being able to retrieve the most precious gold or pieces that are to die for.
Tuesday, 8 December 2015
Unveiling of the myth that is "Circumcision"
In Genesis 17 verse 11 God spoke to Abraham and said "And you shall be circumcised in the flesh of your foreskin, and it shall be the sign of the covenant between me and you." This is a command God made between him and his people to seal the covenant between them. The removal of the foreskin symbolized how God as a covenant keeping God wanted to make a special covenant with his people who were so dear to his heart. Biologically,
Child marriages on a high as economy systematically pulmates.
A child nurturing a child is the norm in the new Zimbabwe. Everywhere your neck has the privilege to turn has you bombarded with the sight of young girls backing newborns. What has the future of the vulnerable girl child come to? Whom have these children left the custody of their books to? Have they given up on the life that was before the nation started facing these economic woes?So many questions and yet so few answers.
Thursday, 3 December 2015
Chapter One -Maidei's Canvas
CHAPTER
ONE
The mail has come…I can see my fellow schoolmates tethering
in excited chatter in which I refuse to partake. My lack thereof of that
feeling I can see beaming on their faces is because I never got letters.
Boarding school in primary school demands that thread tying you to your home to
remain untouched, untempered with and intact. However, mine has been severed to
smithereens since I am the forgotten one. The child people only remember when
they see. As long as I am not in their line of vision I am a foreign city. A
foreign city that is only remembered when one is forced to go on vacation there.
Some see it as only a letter but that little package would bridge the gap
between me and my distant parents. Something I always anticipated but was
always disappointed to the point of having no expectations.
Disappointment mounting upon disappointment seemed to
the story of her life. Anga aneta
nekubaiwa nehupenyu kunge tsono dzinohoreswa.Sometimes she felt as though
she couldn't take any more of it since there was no more room for it in her
disappointment immersed life. All that was left was for her to scream ‘I AM
DISSAPOINTED OUT!!’ She should have drowned a while back from it but it took even
her by surprise how she was still alive and how she kept on surviving through that
horrid feeling. It was yet still a wonder to her how she still got up…she had
not a single pinch of hope left in her body that reeked with the stench of
disappointment. Ndicharamba
ndichishungurudzika kusvika kupi ko nhai veduwe? How much more could she
take? She quizzed the powers that be desperately. The question hung like a
pendulum swaying to and fro in the dead of an empty neglected room. Resounding
over and over again like the tik tok of the grandfather clock in the deserted
corridors of a convent.
Sei?
Baba’s death from that disease everyone in our society spoke about in harsh
whispers and frowned upon, fore ran that of mama whose death had not prepared me
for a sense of loss I knew I could never recover from. We had been taught in
bible knowledge class about the story of John the Baptist and him being the fore
runner of Jesus Christ. There seemed to be a resemblance with the deaths of my
parents the difference being john was paving the way for the coming messiah
whilst baba’s death had not paved the path for mama’s death in any way instead
the grief I felt was so heavy my shoulders ached….
Mama wrote me letters only when I found a way to twist
her arm about it. I wanted her to remember me without the unnecessary cohesion.
Disappointingly, this remained a far fetched dream that would never blossom into
reality. Like man being able to land on the sun...a dream no one attempted to
buy. Question me one day to explain to you how a mother is able to forget her
own child like she didn't birth her in those harrowing moments of labor. Worse
yet why she had not opted for the quick cowardly way out that would have blotted
me from existence without me having set foot into the world of human existence.
In response to your question, it still was a riddled mystery how a mother could
do that to her own flesh…her own colt that needed her milk till it was off age
and independent enough. I cannot answer your question because I refuse to
answer for her sins. She should answer, mama should surely answer. The platform is there for her to do so
adequately. Unfortunately, she is belly up and most probably weaving her tales
and giving those much needed answers to the lifeless bodies in the city council
cemetery. Of what use is that to me? This is one of the moments where I wish I
could trade places with one of those corpses and get my much needed answers.
I’m being worse than the word foolish in this moment
but that is as far as honest about my feelings as I can go. I know you wonder
how I could wish to be dead at this point in time when those corpses would give
whatever valuables they had in this lifetime to have a second go at life. Life
and death, far apart but yet so close. You could swear the two were walking
hand in hand depending on those involved. Maybe life and death could be
companions one day. It would be my deepest wish so that I could talk to mama. Finally put her on the stand. If this chronic
case of nostalgia could bring her back, she is already here.
Many questions …no answers. Whom is to blame nhai amai?
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