A Woman And A Half

I crept in on her around 05:40 so that I could be the first to wish her a happy birthday. She was startled by a hug from behind and a kiss on her cheek. She smiled softly and said thank you. I looked at her smile, it was masked with a lot of emotion. The past few months had been tough on her and in that moment I felt words were not enough to show my love and appreciation for a woman who had sacrificed her life so that mine would be better.

I was born of a woman of valor. She is clothed in wisdom and strength. The truest definition of a Proverbs 31.

She would wake up early enough to ensure that we had full stomachs before heading out to school, and then she stayed behind to ensure that we found a home when we came back. She was never late for her usual school runs; sometimes she came too early but it was all a depiction of her true love and her incessant desire that we were safe.

There were times when we pissed her off and we would get it; they were also times when we did our best and made her proud. In spite of all this, the only thing that made her really proud was us having a relationship with God. I remember her waking me up as early as 5am on a Sunday so that we attend the first mass. I dreaded it sometimes because I loved sweet sleep but in hindsight, the only thing she wanted was for her kids to know God, personally. She would lock me in on a one-to-one with her so that I memorized the rosary and prepare for my baptism and so the day I finally got baptized, she felt accomplished (I was gonna drop a bombshell 4 years later but that’s a story for another day.)

My Ngoni princess taught me hard work. There would be times when she would round up my brothers to raid our toys and burn them simply because she felt we were becoming too lazy. I hated it but trust me, I won’t hesitate to make the same decisions for my kids.

She made me learn how to do the dishes, cook, take care of business and still go to school and act like a boss.

“You never know how life will turn out tomorrow, learn what you can today so that you may be able to face whatever.” That is still her favourite line.

She was proud of my grades, and always enjoyed collecting my school report or coming for awards day but she insisted that I should always remember that anyone can be smart. That I should never become proud of my accomplishments because anyone else can also get there. She emphasized that I become successful yet humble, willing to help others whenever I can.

She labored to make me independent.

“Don’t let this last born nonsense get into your head girl!” She would always say, whenever I wanted to be babied. I even recall asking her if she was really my mother! (Umm yeah.) And so I learned to live apart from mummy and not be overly dependent on her; she would veto my camp outs (after fights, tantrums and tears of course), and school trips that required me to spend days away from home because she wanted me to be ready for anything.

Speaking of being ready for anything, I thought it would be wise to learn how to ride a bicycle but the odds weren’t in my favour and I have a permanent scar on my head to show for it. Guess who ran around hospitals in the night? Yep, mommy dearest. Ask me again if I can ride a bike.

So she distracted my attention from learning how to ride bikes to getting there on time so that you wont need a bike.

 “What time is it from where you are standing? Clearly we are not using the same watch. You don’t learn at your grandpa’s school (recently it has been ‘you don’t work for your grandpa’)!” That always woke me up. There ladies and gentlemen, is the reason why I always wake up at 5… well not always but 5am nonetheless.

My mother believes in rising early, doing your chores and getting there on time. She believes in giving everything your best shot. She believes that you are late because you wanted to and not because dynamics worked against you (I’m still learning and appreciating this though.)

She is trying to mold me into a Proverbs 31 and that is a welcome move.

Another favourite line:

“It is 7:30pm. Where are you?”

I can only stay out late if it is work, school or church.

“I was beginning to think you were with my son-in-law.”

“Oh mummy, son-in-law, do you want me to get you one?”

*Face changes*

“Can you just concentrate on school and stop this nonsense! I want you to get a good man… [Indiscreet chatter].”

Because she was constantly saying no to me dating, I asked her what her ideal son-in-law was and you guessed right: God fearing and bloody hard-working!

“You should never have to suffer! If he puts God first, he’ll respect you.”

I sit there listening and crossing boxes on some folks I meet but she immediately stops talking and throws in a ‘how is school?’ as a ‘chill’ signal.

It is my mother’s birthday and I thought I could pen down who she is to me and recount the memories of what she has taught me. In case you don’t have a mom, my mom can be your mom and I’m not even joking (there was this one time when she took in a random girl she met on the street and fought so hard to get her reunited with her family. Guys, I was raised by an angel!)

My mum is simply the best! No shadow of doubt. And for the record, I tell her these things on a daily basis because words of affirmation and quality time are her love language!

Happy birthday to the best mum. My hearthstone.

This Isn't Zambia

 This isn’t Zambia

The Creator made her gold. Solid gold. She was pure, beautiful, endowed with aesthetic appeal. We loved her, it was a wonderful feeling to belong to her. We called her home.

The spirit of Ubuntu reigned. We operated in concert and sung her anthem with a reverberation of a genuine sense of belonging. We stood definitely proud and wonderfully free.

But, her beauty lured some. Her healthy face, succulent and full breasts made them lust after her. They joined us as we praised her; they sung so beautifully, we were sold.

“They must have good intentions…”

And just like that, we let them in.

But alas, they raped, defiled, mutilated, and harassed our once virgin beauty. She was left broken and bare without the sparkle of health.

This isn’t Zambia.

Our once beautiful home has been turned into a painful desert, with nothing but weeds, twigs, bushes and shrubs.

The air is laden with corruption, disrespect for rule of law, disregard for human rights. There is freedom of expression, improperly so-called but no freedom after expression. There is a miasma of barbarism, crimes against humanity, cruelty and insensitivity.

The homeless have their shacks taken away; the orphans have their parents taken away still. Yes, even the little they have is taken away. The poor get poorer while the rich get richer.

Propaganda is rampant. Black is made to pass off as white? This isn’t Zambia.

We are made to beg for what is rightfully ours because selfishness has crept into our hearts. The ones meant to protect, hurt and kill instead. The lighthouse is covered by storms so that it fails to give light to the poor wayfarer.

The young who will be the leaders of tomorrow are mercilessly taken away for airing out their grievances.

One day, they committed a huge crime. They took away an innocent heroine who was a victim of circumstances. Her blood cries out from the ground. It demands justice. In a land so free, or so they say, no one should never have to beg for dear life.

Was Zambia at war? Did we have an intruder sent to disturb peace? Was she an enemy? Hell no, why then did she have to die a martyr’s death at the hands of the chosen protectors? This isn’t Zambia.

‘Stand and sing of Zambia, proud and free?” proud of what? Free from what? The caged bird doesn’t sing of freedom. Landlocked in spiritual, political, social, economic and religious poverty; hiding behind a religious garb to cover our sins and cowardice.

The flag that once gave us pride makes us shudder.

The green that once stood for our resources has turned brown due to the change in the intellectual climate. The red that stood for the blood of our freedom fighters now stands for the innocent souls that have died at the hands of the so-called protectors!

The eagle doesn’t fly anymore; it’s dancing with chickens.

The Ubuntu in the black color is gone!

Our selfishness and short-sightedness has ruined us; our virgin damsel is ruined all because we couldn’t distinguish between love and lust. This isn’t Zambia.

This is not a political agenda; it’s a moral cry for social justice!

We have lost our beloved! The image we have now is not Zambia. It may look like it, it may even smell like it but this isn’t Zambia!

Our beloved is lost… but we must fight to restore whatever has remained; try and give her beauty for ashes.

We are in a mess but definitely not out of the Creator's mercy.

This isn’t Zambia, but it can be.

My Lover, My Friend

He was in my circle and we were friends, good friends, maybe even best friends. We met through a mutual friend and quickly grew closer than “a brother.” There were times when I considered him as more than that but he was way better as a friend. Well, they say marry your lover and your friend but right now he was just a friend, not too sure about lover.

I helped him choose his girlfriends, gave ideas on how to sustain the relationship but when it failed as all others did, I was there, helping to pick up the pieces. I let him cry on my shoulder, I let him keep me up at night because he wanted to talk to someone. Somehow, I felt the resurgence of my feelings but I thought myself too strong to handle it and control it.

And so we continued spending more time together; I was helping him through the break up after all. We went shopping together, had ice cream, watched movies or played chess. He was so happy, and that made me happy.

People eventually started asking about us.

“We are just friends,” I responded, but deep down I hoped we weren’t.

One day, we decided to talk.

“I seem to have a way of ruining good things, don’t I?” he asked.

“Well, you know the song… ‘If you wanna be happy for the rest of your life…’”

“’Never make a pretty woman your wife…’ haha. Well, are you saying I’m miserable because I go for the pretty ones?”

“Just look at her. She’s drop dead gorgeous. You know, I wonder, what really went wrong?

“Gorgeous she was. She was also very caring, loving and all that. It is just that we were incompatible on a number of things and before you say it, I knew all this before we started dating. I just hoped that the more we knew each other, the easier it would get. Clearly not and here we are!”

“So what would you rather have, a trophy wife or peace of mind?”

“I want both.”

“No you can’t have both; well, you can but it’s rare.”

“It’s rare, but very possible.” He said the last line with an air of flirtation and leaned in. My head was hot, I pulled back.

“So which one do you think you are?”

“This is not about me.”

“Which one do you think you are?”

“You know what…”

“WHICH ONE ARE YOU?”

He wore a serious face as he asked the same question for the third time. I could feel myself getting emotional and tears almost dropping. This was a defining moment.

“None... well at least for you.”

“There! You are doing it again. Downgrading yourself and thinking you are not good enough…”

“Well, do you blame me? You make it so impossible for me to feel good about myself. I am both to someone else, or even one to another but I’m none to you. None.”

“Well, I never said that.”

“Then why haven’t you…? You know what, never mind. Stop thinking with your emotions.”

“I know you will pin this on my emotional imbalance but trust me, I say this with a sober mind. You are the trophy, the peace of mind. Sometimes I wonder where we would be if I chose to let what I feel have free rein.”

“What do you mean?”

He drew in and fixed his eyes on mine. I felt hot again.

“Well, maybe this is not the right time for this discussion but just know that I have always had you as a friend, but something within me has wanted you as a lover too.”

There it was. He said what I had wished for all this time. There it was!”

***

I see the picture of that beautiful day every day in our living room, hanging next to our wedding frame. My friend had become my lover. Everything had happened as I had imagined. I found love, true love; love that made me walk down the aisle and make a vow to be a lover and friend for all seasons.

I found my beloved!

I Fell For A Douche

I walked into a room full of tall people, light people, dark people, shorter people… great characters, bad characters… in the midst of this varied choice, I set my eyes on fire… the blue and orange looked good, I was pulled to it. It never hesitated but proceeded to reciprocate. Unrequited love? Nope. Here it was, ever loving, ever giving, I was warmed in.

It spoke the right words, did the right things. I felt giddy; a little over the moon. It was fire and ice (umm literally).

Random acts of kindness? Check. You need attention? Check. Before I finished my sentences, it delivered. I felt like a princess, scratch that, a queen. My king was in charge and I loved it.

But I was just an experiment, another one of his escapades. It was easy because I was naïve. He knew what cards to play and how to play them. All hearts? Yep.

Broke down most of my walls and I was getting ready to finally give in. I mean, how often do you find the looks, the books, the nooks in one? In crooks of course, but hey God had blessed (more like the devil, but who cared?)

The voice of reason? Hushed! Sixth sense? Silenced! Significant others? Well… do you really understand what it is like to fall in love? I respect you but can you at least let me be happy?

God sensed it and was like no, this one must be saved for a gentleman. So, Son and Holy Spirit, it is show time!

I resisted, fought hard and hushed the throbbing on my heart. Spirit was speaking but I didn’t want to listen.

Slideshow? Yes. That seemed to work. Smart move, God. So He was like okay fine, I understand you are in love (with a sarcastic chuckle) but hey, how well do you know this guy? You don’t need to answer that, I’ll show you.

I sat for 90 minutes reviewing my little fire’s life history, present and future. What? Yes!

“Do not give in, my dear. I know he’s seemingly good but what I have in mind is way better. Don’t give in!”

“But if he’s so wrong, why does he feel so right?”

“Must we start talking about sin? Okay no, but you know your heart is deceitful and so you’ll naturally gravitate towards evil.”

“Okay then why are you taking so long to bring the so- called right one?”

“I knew this would come up… just let this go child, let him go.”

So I went to quench the fire, hoping he would just do that thing he does that makes me rethink my decisions and be like ‘I wasn’t free this Saturday but I guess we could go…’ but I had to let go no matter what and so to disturb my thoughts and prevent me from changing my mind, the Holy Spirit looked down.

Okay, okay, here goes. This fire was warm and all but I gotta let go. You are not right, this is not right.

Dumbfounded, he just walked away. Nope, he did not put up a fight. Like all douches, he was not ready for a challenge:

“She seems to know what she wants, I’m in no mood for that,” he must have thought to himself as he walked away.

Now I struggled to get him out of my hair. I badly wanted to text him and say I had played the fool.

It’s hard to let go when you fall for a douche. But, you must choose peace of mind over giddiness. Choose security over fiery impetus passions. Chemistry must be there, darn right it must be but don’t be blinded by feelings. Open your eyes, see the character before you decide to love.

Stay woke. Douches are all around us!

Irreplaceable

It’s exactly 17:06. I check my phone and see the message I had dreaded to see for the longest time. In that moment, I’m numb. A certain chill rushes through my body and sadness engulfs me. I lose my mind and keep hoping and praying I misunderstood the text.

Those around me see my pale frame and being used to me being all bubbly, they inquire what’s wrong. I am unable to explain, so I just cry and point to my phone. They read the message too and tell me to calm down. How can I calm down when a piece of me has been taken away? Dude I was with you in the morning, why didn’t you warn me? Why didn’t you tell me you had plans of leaving?

I make my way home, hoping it’s a nasty prank… dumbfounded, I just see your lifeless body being taken away. As much as it hurts, it’s true: you are no more. I can’t figure out how I feel, but the tears flow fast. It hurts!

You lived a number of years on earth yet we only spent a few together… and just when I thought we were given an opportunity to get together and make up for lost time, you were taken away. Three weeks is too short a time man. You should have waited. Do you know how good I got at throwing those punches you taught me? Do you know how confident I became just because I knew how to fight back? I was a girl yes, but a tough one because of you…

And do you know how good I got at Math? It’s because of those persistent questions you gave me and the countless homework you helped me with. You were a brother, a friend, a mother, a sister, a teacher and a neat freak. How is it that your life just turned out this way?

They say you are in a better place, that you ran your race. They say you suffered long and it was time to be free from the pain… well you left me with more questions than answers.

It’s amazing how you brought us closer to each other. It seems your passing lifted a huge burden off our shoulders so much that we are free to go anywhere, at whatever time. Why is your demise seemingly the reason why good things are happening?

Whenever I think about the fact that I’ll never see you again, my heart breaks. I miss you with every fiber in me. Sometimes I forget you are no more and plan for you. It is so soon but it hurts so badly. You took everything and now it feels like I have to teach myself how to do certain things all over again.  It’s obvious I’m not doing well… do you see these eyes? When have you known me to cry?

As you rest, know that you are irreplaceable. I have a void in my heart that will be had to fill. I hope to see you again, to hear your voice again.

Sad Violinist

He played sad songs… filled many an audience’s eye with tears.

Someone was bold enough to ask him the story behind the songs, yet another simply said:

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”

Somehow that is all they could say and I don’t blame them.

I mean how do you talk about life in the valleys if you have spent your whole life in the mountains? How do I expect you to understand what it means to dance in the rain when you live in a desert region?

So sometimes what I need is empathy, not the surface pity little sorry’s but the hard stuff. To know that you feel what I’m feeling, that you have been down my road and that you completely understand my tears, and my heart ache.

So tell me… have you walked in my shoes? Have you seen torture, pain and brutality?

Have you had the privilege of hearing angry words? What about being caught in the middle of a wrangle?

What about worrying where someone is and wondering why they just won’t pick up your call and end your emotional torture?

Have you ever had to wonder why someone would consistently break your heart with no remorse?

Have you refused yourself sleep even when your eyelids are begging for mercy just because one close to you was unwell?

Have you been afraid of the night because bad things seemingly happen then?

Have you been afraid to sleep because you don’t want nightmares?

Have you cried for all this to end?

Have you ever pled with God to take you away because you couldn’t handle the pain?

Have you wondered why you were born? Have you ever hit rock bottom? Does it really hurt? Does it hurt you so bad that you couldn’t handle it anymore and just wanted to die?

Have you ever felt so helpless in the face of turmoil? That instead of helping, you just chose to cry because tears freely and effortlessly flow?

That is the journey of a sad violinist.

Do you still ask why he plays sad songs? Seek first to understand his struggle and maybe it’ll answer your questions….

D flat, minor… and the rhythm continues

[Enter sad song]

Love Makes It Easy

“I need to see you,” he squeaked. This is the third time he is making this request and it seems like it will be ignored as with all others but forlorn hope still pushes him to try and try again.

She thinks of ignoring him again but the humanity in her beckons on her to at least be kind. So, she gains the courage to respond and a rendezvous is set. She wasn’t looking forward to it.

And so the days wore on and the dreaded date came. It was the same story: how he loved her and was the best man for her (speak for yourself dude). She just sat there and stared at him, with a blank expression. Everything about this situation was a drag. Oh how she wished she was home!

Attention from the wrong person is torture!

But then she met another, whose presence made her cells dance. Suddenly, she looked forward to dates, movie nights and lakeside strolls. She hang close to her phone because she didn’t want to miss anything from him. What before seemed like hell was now making her little heart dance. And she loved every moment of it.

And because she loved every minute of it, she gave effortlessly.

And so he wondered: she said she never liked movies, or at least that’s what she told him. Never mind strolls by the lake. How come her feed was replete with the same things she claimed she hated? What was it about this guy that made her love stuff that she apparently didn’t love, or was it a mere ploy to shun away from spending time with him?

So he asked her and boy she answered:

“See, you are a nice guy (enter friend zone). You are loving and all that. But, I wish you would stop. Stop stalking me, stop following me around and trying so hard to get my attention. It is so clear that nothing good can come out of this. Think about me too; I’m the one for you, are you the one for me?”

“I have found him who males my cells dance. Please don’t ruin it. If you love me as you say, then probably seeing me happy will carry the day.”

“You said you didn’t like mushrooms on your pizza!”

“Did I? Well, maybe I didn’t. But now I do. The thing about this is that it feels so effortless. I don’t have to drag my feet or dread our evening dates. Yes, I’m now more open to things I thought I didn’t like. I’m sorry to say this, but maybe it wasn’t the pizza I disliked.”

She made a point.

He walked home and fought so hard to forget her. He hoped that his heart will finally settle for someone who would easily do random things for him simply because love makes things so easy!

Nothing is ever too hard if the heart is in it. Maybe it is high time you and I learned that love makes it super easy!!!!

Big Fat Unfaithfulness

He dropped her at her place. The night was still young and he wanted to spend more time with her but she said as much as she would love to, she better be tucked in early because she had a ‘busy day tomorrow.’

He stared into her eyes and navigated the meaning of the word ‘busy.’ Avoiding an argument, he brushed the thought aside. After the pleasantries, he watched go up into her cabin as he drove away.

He woke up to a “hey love, just started off. Have a nice day, love you xoxo” text. He blushed and cringed at the same time. As he stared on the phone, finding the appropriate response, the house help budged in.

She looked distressed as she held the telephone in her hands.

“Wait, what are you doing in my room without knocking? I could be in compromising attire for crying out loud!”

“Sorry boss, I just got this call from April and Ginger’s school that they are yet to be picked up. It’s almost 8!”

What?

This is the fourth time his wife had done this. It was getting dark and his two kids were out there in the cold. He had assumed that she had picked them up and gone off on her frolic but clearly not.

He quickly dressed up and sped off to salvage his children from the cold.

He reassured them that mummy was just running late. He even bought them food to make them forget.

“What is wrong with this woman? Why can’t she learn to put her family first? Why does such a beautiful woman make it so darn hard to love?” The thoughts ran through his head.

Around midnight, the bedroom door crept open. Mummy was finally home, but the kids didn’t get a chance to see her; they were fast asleep.

She went on about how her day was, how time seemed to slip through her hands. She was getting good at this.

As he looked at her beautiful frame, trying so hard to conceal her misdeeds, his heart was drawn out to her. He jumped out of bed and tried to lean close to her. The smell of booze and men’s cologne repulsed him. He knew where she was coming from and what exactly she had been doing but for fear of confrontations and back and forth arguments, he let it slide as he had done for years.

As the night wore on, and she was fast asleep, totally oblivious to what happened during the day, his mind was turning. How and where did he go wrong? How did he land in this mess? Here was a woman, beautiful in every sense of the word yet she was the cause of so much heartache, both to him and his poor children.

Should he forget about her and do what she does? His mind was driven to the house help. There she was: ever available, ever caring. He would be lying if he said that the thought of him and her didn’t cross his mind. And what about that co-worker, pretty and smart. But no, he wouldn’t cheat. No matter how unfaithful his wife was, he wouldn’t cheat. Partly because he didn’t want the tables to be turned against him and partly because he feared they were all the same. What if down the road, they all become like her?

What was the assurance that all that is glittering now won’t tell out to be base metal? Hold up, who is he fooling? He saw all the signs way before but ignored them. His mind quickly flashed back to that night when he drove her home because she had hectic errands to take care of the following day… he was uneasy then and the uneasiness only grew worse… why, oh why!

The message alert tone buzzed again.

He had been staring at the ‘I love you xoxo’ for so long. He didn’t believe it, scratch that, he didn’t believe her. So, caring for his peace and the well-being of his unborn children, should there be any, he garnered the courage and responded in the most honest way ever:

“When you get back, we need to talk.”

Men Are Trash

She was born with love in her heart, never mind the whole tabula rasa shenanigan. She was born with the desire for affection, protection and adoration. She was willing to give it, as much as she was willing to receive it.

The first person who was supposed to give her this pure love shattered her hopes. He was neither the object nor subject of affection. Instead of protecting, he hurt, instead of loving, he hated. He was the complete opposite of everything she wanted and needed.

So she grew up fearful and insecure. She wasn’t taught true love. Her feelings weren’t protected but her soul was mutilated, broken into and defiled. Love became synonymous with fear.

She grew on. Those who came along brought nothing but hurt, pain and disdain. The first guy soiled the painting, the rest just added rotten cherries. Somehow, all the men that came into her life just came to take away from her… they got, and got, and got while she lost, lost and lost.

So she hated all men. She believed they were trash and wanted nothing to do with them. They belonged to the dustbin, as all trash does.

Would you blame her?

See we live in a society that teaches girls to be ladies, strong women, good mothers, good wives. Who teaches our boys to be gentlemen, strong men, good fathers, good husbands?

We teach our girls to guard their virginity, cause way back it used to be their pride (and it should be) but who teaches our sons the same? Suddenly being a man is equated to how many escapades you have and not how polite or respectable you should be!

Our boys aren’t taken care of! Our sons are left to learn the tricks of life by chance yet our girls are taught moral standing.

This isn’t a pro-feminism post, Lord knows I am not feminist, and I don’t intend to be. This is a passionate cry for true manliness, for courtesy, true handsomeness!

Boys should be taught how to be strong yet sympathetic, how to be hardworking yet cooperative, how to love and protect, how to love and not lust. Our boys are devoid of the training of how to be men in the sense of the word.

Son, it’s okay to cry. It’s okay to fail, now pick yourself up and admit you lost. Sometimes, you’ll have to admit that you lost to a girl, not because of affirmative action but because she put in the extra effort that you didn’t. Your sister may be better than you in one respect and that is perfectly fine. You were meant to be different albeit equal.

Son, it’s okay to love just one woman, to provide for your family, to care for your parents and work hard at your job. It’s okay to be a leader and it’s perfectly okay to watch soccer, as long as you remember that there is life and people outside that match.

Son, it’s perfectly normal to have sexual urges but you can control them. Why, because you are not an animal!

And most importantly son, it’s okay to never lay your hand on a woman. Control your emotions; your hands are for cuddling and not for clenching fists! So, love those women, protect them and meet their love language, because they are willing to do the same for you.

Find that one lady that tickles your fancy, one that fits you perfectly, marry her and ever be faithful to her. If she delivers beautiful kids, be the perfect father: love them, protect them and let them know that there is love in this world and that men have loads of it to give.

Now men are not trash, society is!

My Beloved

Hey sweetheart, you are beautiful.

I know we are yet to meet but something within me tells me that you are awesome, wonderful and everything I ever wanted.

For countless years, I walked around with a list; a list of who and what you should be. When I shared with some, I was advised that it is not possible for one such as yourself to exist but I reminded myself that if I can dream it, God can create it.

So I kept dreaming of how we would meet, and yes I kept planning our wedding and how we would live after we were married. I imagined myself striving so hard to be the perfect wife, while you strive so hard to be the perfect husband. And because our efforts are other-centered, we both get our cups filled.

I imagined the things that would make you angry and make you want to stop talking to me, I imagined us resolving that difficulty and learning how to treat each other better next time.

We would be in love, and our love would conquer all. We would be best friends, that you tell me everything and that I do the same. We would watch your favorite sport, as much as you would try to read my favorite books or give input on my blog.

We would travel together, play music loud and dance when we can. We would mess up on the lyrics, maybe even argue as to who has the better voice but it would be a pleasure to be in each other’s company because we would be best friends.

We would help each other’s weaknesses and enforce our strengths.

We would bear each other’s burdens, be a shoulder to lean on, share our joys and our sorrows. We would run this race of life together and promise not to give up on each other.

And then when the time is right, I would mother your children. They would probably have my dimples and my eyes but be as strong as you are. They would be beautiful reflections of our love. We would nurture them together and help them grow to their full stature, holistically.

I also imagine the worst. You’ll be tempted to hurt me, as much as I would be tempted to do the same but the promises we will make to each other and to God will draw us back to each other.

We would be an example of a beautiful home.

These are the plans that run through my mind as I notice your absence in my life yet. But I know, when I look at the moon that such thoughts are running through your head too.

It is only a matter of time before our paths cross, and we write our beautiful history.

I love you before I meet you!

Know Me, Love Me

To be fully known and fully loved: a beautiful phrase that has recently occupied my interest. As a matter of fact, I stumbled on a beautiful piece that suggested that being fully known and not loved is painful, being fully loved and not fully known is somewhat scary but being fully known and fully loved is definitely ecstatic!

Truth is we all want to be loved, accepted for who and what we are. In as much as wearing a mask is what we occasionally do, the rationale is simply that deep in our heart of hearts, we do not want to live under a fake pretentious garb but want to be seen and read by men, and be accepted at the same time.

One evening, I was being taken home by a group of friends and noticing the silence in the car (except for chit-chats here and there) I suggested that we play some music. It was immediately suggested that I be the DJ, which entailed that I play music from my phone. Nothing scary about that… yet.

We were a group of five Seventh-day Adventist young men and women who were coming from a church outing. We were affiliated to a mission group. As a matter of fact, two of us held significant positions in that mission group whilst the others had their own sphere of influence. Remember, we are SDA!

And so, being nominated as DJ, I quickly put a disclaimer that songs I’m about to play may not prima facie be the ideal SDA music, but “there is depth in the lyrics guys!”

Fast forward, the songs (and not hymns) start playing and we all danced and sang along till I got home. Bliss!

There is something about that moment that made me feel at home, gave me a sense of belonging. There I was, jamming my favorite songs and nobody gave a stern look at me, nor judged my taste. Its like our minds had met and there was no way of undoing that!

So often than not, we try to twist and squeeze ourselves into something we aren’t just to be loved and accepted but I heard somewhere that the best things in life are free; that you do not have to squeeze and stress yourself to be loved, because genuine love, loves inspite of who you are. It sees, it hears, it understands, it embraces and it transforms. Genuine love is love that is all-eyes, all-observing, alert yet doesn’t excuse faults but embraces them so much that they are consumed in love.

For a certain part of my life, I craved the acceptance and went to great lengths to obtain it. It was stressful! When I stopped chasing the wind, I discovered that I became free, happy and content in my own skin. My faults were plainly seen and lost in the genuine love of those who truly cared and instead of striving so hard to be accepted, it came naturally.

There is this beautiful hymn (I’m SDA after all) that concludes “He looked beyond my faults and saw my need.” That is the love that knows, that sees but loves anyhow. That is the love that transforms you into being a beautiful version of you and lets you have fun while doing that!

There is nothing more precious than the feeling of being at home… where you are fully known and fully loved.

The Stones That Built Me

So today, I went down to a place I had never been in 6 years… As I walked past the familiar roads, memories of how I got there in the first place flooded my mind. It was almost hard to believe that I had grown so much…  A lot had happened in the past 6 years, so much that I could barely recognise myself… But all this nostalgia just reminded of one thing: every stone I get is building a monument.

So I remember the toils, the stress in primary school. I remember being the nerd with a short temper, I remember exchanging one or two punches with some kid who thought I could be a push-over, I remember crying for certain things, not being content about other things… I remember the joys too, the good grades and everyone knowing my name… every stone is building a monument.

Fast-forward into secondary school; a place of growth and identity, meeting new friends and reigniting old friendships. It’s so painful to think that those few years not only shaped my character but determined my life path… as dismal as it may appear to be, every stone is building a monument…

2017, almost wrapping up my university tenure, uneasy about life, wondering if I served my purpose in the past four years, wondering whether am battling with regret or satisfaction, I just want it to matter that I lived!

Looking back, a few years from now, I’ll definitely see a pattern, a plan, and I’ll realize that some of the failed dreams, some of the life experiences, the people I met, the sorrows were all simply but building blocks for a monument. And one day, when I become the Madaliso God intended me to be, I’ll look back and realize that indeed ALL things work together for good, because every stone was building a monument.

For My Good

Seated at home all day, studying… preparing for my mid-year exams starting the coming week. It is a chilly day, the day before my birthday. Trying to keep warm, and whilst trying not to be too comfortable, I grab my sister’s lab coat and continue studying.

Something moves me to stand up, and as I do, I am met by a reflection of myself in the mirror. In that instant, thoughts flood my mind. 7 years ago, I had dreams of going to medical school after completing my high school. Was I in med school now? Hell no. Instead, I had just graduated from law school and was sitting here preparing for my bar exams. Things changed along the way.

As I continue gazing at myself, I am a mix of emotions; regrets, longing and wondering where I would have been had life turned left. I guess there is no way of finding out now.

One thing I have learnt through it all is that my plans are not God plans: something I had read in the good book and probably packed at the back of mind or recited in church. However, little did I know that God had plans alright, plans that were not even remotely resembling mine. Little did I know that 7 years later, I would be seated here, typing this. In my righteous imagination, I thought that around this time of the year, I would be running from one ward to another, doing my student rounds, or what they call being “on-call!”

It really is so easy to share stuff from the good book when you are far-detached from the story, when it’s a mere recital to someone, without an ounce of empathy. It is totally a whole different story when the advice is repeated to you.

And so today, on the eve of my 24^th birthday, I can safely say that I learned first-hand what it means to submit your plans to God, I learned first-hand what the Bible meant when it said “as the heaven are higher than the earth, so are my plans higher than yours.”

I can’t say I completely understand why it happened, neither can I completely say I’m happy with how it happened; however, the only thing I can say with certainty is that He couldn’t have brought me this far to leave me because somewhere in the good book, He said “I know the plans I think towards,… plans to prosper you.”

And so, He may have called me to give up my dream, and it hurt when He did, but I trust that ALL things are working for my good because what He promised, He is also able to perform.

On graduation, a good friend of mine sent me a message to say:

“Remember how hurt you were about not studying medicine, yet today you are graduating as the best student in law school. God had a plan!”

And so today, I remember that God had a plan, and He still does. I may not see it, I may not like it, but He still has a plan. And I would be damned if I didn’t believe that it has “for Madaliso’s good” written all over it!

Are You Done? (Sequel to 'Answer Her Lord')

Are you done?

Do you still need to speak further?

I’m really not so glad that this is how we get to meet. I have been longing to have a conversation with you and when I thought I finally had the chance, that I finally had your attention…. You spoke. As usual, you didn’t hear me out. You want me to answer you but you never cease speaking. Perhaps therein lies the problem. Would you please try to listen?

I know you are hurt. I have done certain things or allowed certain things to happen to you under the proverbial “God knows best!” I know that is perhaps the last thing you want to hear and quite honestly, I don’t blame you. I mean, I am God, you are man, my precious little girl who doesn’t see me living up to my role any more.

But here is the thing: when it hurts you so bad that you feel enveloped in gross darkness, that you feel I’m not there anymore, I am there with you. Hurting with you.

Why don’t I put a stop to it, because I’m God right? Well guess what, I love you too much to let you be “the spoiled brat!” so because I love you, I let you go and grow through this because I trust and know that you will pull through.

I may have seemingly failed you a number of times but one thing I just ask of you is to trust me. It may not make sense and it may be way easier to throw in the towel and give up on me but trust me child.

So I ask you to trust me. Through the storm and through the pain, just trust me.

You remember when I said all things are working for your good? I meant it.

I don’t want to bore you with theories and stories but I ask is that you trust me. Just one more time!

Running On Empty

It was a great purchase. Pricy but still great anyway. Somehow, the manual is forgotten and it becomes a matter of trial and error. Given your level of ingenuity, you figure it out. You were created with intellectual capabilities anyway, so it comes naturally for you to eventually figure it out after exercising your reasoning powers.

You seem to have it all together, and for a while it seems to be working out just fine. Until one day, you hit a wall, a brick wall and that’s when you are reminded of how clueless you really are, that you were actually running on empty, and that what you thought you knew was actually bits and pieces. It suddenly hits and you go around looking for the manual. Oops! Why you looking for what you never had?

For a while, you had trusted your ingenuity and forgot about the manual. In other words, you are dealing with a complex machine and you don’t know how to operate it simply because you were too foolhardy to forget the instructions. So you are stuck, as you should be. The maze of life!

The machine called a human being. See somehow, I got stuck and confused because I actually don’t know how to operate myself. For the greatest part I had thought that I had all my stuff together, that I knew how to handle me, that I possessed so great ingenuity to leave behind the “manual!” woe benign, I was too foolish. But, as all fools do, I ran on empty, deceived by the false mirages of succeeding at little things so much that I became completely oblivious to my goal, my purpose and all the big things I could actually succeed at if I had the manual! Damn!

I read somewhere in the Good Book that I was created for His glory but honestly, as I look at the mess I have created, I fail to see how that glory is being depicted. I see how I fall short of His purpose but why, oh why did it take so long for me to notice and wake up from the miasma?

And so I pull whatever strength there is left and run- not run on empty this time- but run to the Designer, the Person who actually made this machine before it crumbles and a life that could have been well-lived passes by into nothingness. I carry myself to Him, asking Him to pilot this ship, else I’ll sink it.

It’s so easy to get caught up in routine that it becomes so hard to tell whether you are in motion or progressing. Know the difference!

Desiderata

Something to chew on....

Answer Her, Lord.

I am seated in the corner of my room, surrounded by a deep darkness… a darkness of soul and body. I am failing to comprehend how a God many refer to as being Father, Friend may be so heartless, and so distant when needed…

How is it possible that you choose to stand by while one person you claim to be your child, gets wounded, hurt and bruised? Does your love not hear or sense their cry for help? Are you suddenly too busy to notice, too busy to care?

All I ever wanted was some reassurance, to know that you are near… but it seems the more I asked, the further you stepped away… you just left nothing but empty pieces of a broken heart, all because you chose to stand by and watch me burn!

Each time I cried to you, it almost felt as if you turned a deaf ear to my cry, and you chose to cover your face because the sight of soaking face seemed to displease you…

My entire life has been a torment, a torture- I can only look at what I want from the lenses of others. In all these, I begged, pled and entreated you to take it all away, but no! You just stood still, silently still.

They said I should keep trusting you, that you are there in the storm… honestly, is it so hard to just pop out your little finger as a means of reassuring a despondent child that you are there? I tried to tell them that what I needed was not their empty words of encouragement; what I needed was Him! But He never came through. So I am here wondering what was meant by ‘seek and you shall find’ because I have been seeking alright, He just chose not to be found!

And so my pain, anger, confusions, emptiness carry on, while you just watch!

I try to exercise faith and lean on forlorn hope. I get up and try to believe that you still care. I push myself to the altar, hoping that this time I will find you. Staggering, I carry myself, with a glimmering faith… but like a little child whose father keeps breaking promises to, my heart is wounded again! It seems the more I try, the more you walk away, and bombard me with more hurt. Tears are definitely my language, and I hope the sight of my little face makes you happy!

So tell me, what did I do wrong that you hide your face from me? Are all my ‘am sorry’s’ not good enough? Should I cut myself, go on a pilgrimage just to show my remorse? Carest thou not that I perish? Do you not see my tears? Why do my pleas for help seem to fall on deaf ears? Why do requests seem to go unattended?

I stare in the blue sky, and ask myself where I got the idea that you are looking down on me, because honestly, blue sky is all I see… and feel!