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Between Two Worlds: A Seer’s Quiet Burden

I don’t always understand it, but I’ve come to accept that I see things before they happen. Sometimes, it comes in dreams, vivid, detailed, and impossible to shake. Other times, it’s just a knowing, a deep, undeniable sense that something is about to unfold. I used to find it strange. Now, I treat it with reverence. There was a time when I went a whole month unable to focus. The dead wouldn’t leave me alone. Every night, they came to me, not with fear, but with urgency. Faces I’d never seen, voices carrying messages that weren’t meant for me. They pleaded with me to find their loved ones and speak for them. It was overwhelming. I tried to carry on with normal life, but my spirit was somewhere else straddling two worlds. I’ve looked at people and simply known. I knew that something was coming, good, bad, life-changing. In the beginning, I’d be consumed by fear. But over time, I learned to pray. I realized that perhaps knowing wasn’t just for knowing’s sake. It was an invitation to inter...
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Calling on Our Ancestors

When I think of prayer, I remember that the African way was often through calling on our ancestors. Long before formal religion came to our lands, our people believed that those who had gone before us still walked with us, standing at the threshold between the living and the divine. Ancestors were not distant shadows but custodians of wisdom, protectors of families, and intercessors who carried our cries to God. Whether through libations poured on the earth, whispered names in the quiet of the night, or ritual gatherings around the fire, prayer in Africa was deeply relational, a way of keeping the bond between generations unbroken. I never imagined I would one day find myself reaching for that path. But when my niece lay in a hospital bed, and doctors struggled to find a clear diagnosis for her discomfort, I felt powerless. That night, my sister sent a message saying the doctor suspected a heart defect. My younger sister and I had just left Gertrude’s Children’s Hospital around 3 a.m.,...

The Day I Let It Go

I met my mother-in-law in 2018. She was warm, charming, and generous , the kind of woman who always had a thoughtful gift in hand and an extra seat at her table. I thought I had won the jackpot. Free lunches, laughter, and a sense of belonging that felt genuine. I grew fond of her, and honestly, I believed she felt the same way about me. We were family or so I thought. But 2024 opened my eyes in ways I didn’t expect. It wasn’t one big betrayal, it was the slow, painful realization that the kindness had come with conditions. That behind the smiles, there were whispers. I discovered she had planted someone in my home, a house girl ,who fed her stories. False ones. And from those stories, she built a narrative: that I was a mother who hated her child (my husband), all because I was trying to balance motherhood and a demanding career. It didn’t stop there. She and her two nieces, her inner circle, decided I was worth investigating. They quietly went behind my back, digging, questioning, wa...

Five Scars and a Breath

 Some stories find you and change you. This one did. In today’s post, I’m honoured to share a deeply moving account of pain, survival, and unexpected grace. It's a story of resilience, recovery, and what it means to return from the edge with five scars and a breath. Shared with permission and written in her own words: Five Scars and a Breath " At the beginning of last year, I became fluent in the language of pain. I knew the routine by heart - walk into the hospital, wince through registration, and recite my prescription like a nurse: Start with 40 milligrams of Nexium, top up with another 40 if the pain doesn’t retreat. I wasn’t a doctor, but I played one with practiced confidence. Until one day, the pain didn’t follow the script. They gave me 80 milligrams of Nexium, then paracetamol. The pain remained, stubborn and screaming. Then came the opium. Relief arrived cloaked in a darkness so absolute it stole my sight. The pain retreated but not without a warning. I finally surre...

Seal the Sand on Me, but Don’t Seal Me

 Part 1 "Peter! Peter! Light the bonfire and open the gates. It is time." Mama Lushana called out to the farm boy, her voice carrying the weight of tradition and loss. The title Mama —a sign of respect in her community—had been given to her by the church. It meant "Mother" and was used by everyone to address her, though not all knew the trials that earned her the name. Flashback Lushana was born in the 1940s, one of only two children her mother bore before tragedy struck. Her mother died in childbirth, leaving Lushana and her younger sister to navigate a harsh world under the care of their stepfamily. Determined to provide for her sister, 13-year-old Lushana agreed to marry into a well-off family. Her dowry would allow her younger sister and step-siblings to afford an education. Her husband, Habbu, was an evangelist, often away on preaching missions. While he spread the Gospel, Lushana stayed behind, carrying the weight of countless household and farm ...

Hey Mr. Mood!

It is Saturday evening and I have a feeling that I recognize all too well. It comes suddenly even after I have had a lovely time earlier in the day, I call him Mr. Mood. I am writing this article while seated beside Mr.Mood so as to easily describe him because once he is gone, all I am left with is a sigh of relief to not think of him. Writing this post with Mr. Mood is not easy, he keeps pulling me and I keep trying to push myself away from him, and when we reach a stalemate, we tango till one gets tired.  Mr.Mood sometimes likes to make me feel sick giving me a headache, forces me to crawl in my bed and not to leave unless answering nature calls, to lose my appetite, or to be nonchalant when forced to interact with people. And when our fight for control begins, he holds power over me when he causes me to be stuck in a never ending negative thought process pattern: ‘I HATE MYSELF! PEOPLE DON’T LIKE ME! I CAN’T DO THIS! GIVING UP SEEMS EASY!’ But then I take the power back when I m...

Take a piece of my land

  I need milk My cow is no longer producing any milk Minister Agriculture says, ‘I have a solution!’ ‘I am going to Zim, I will feed the cows there to start producing milk then we export.’ I need food This cost of living is making it hard to feed my family Minister Health says, ‘I have a solution!’ ‘If we reduce the number of deliveries, we can then have fewer mouths to feed.’ I need fuel for my car It is now too expensive to drive to work Minister Energy says, ‘I have a solution!’ ‘From now on we will use our own currency to buy fuel from Russia!’ I need sleep Am too stressed with how hard life is to have enough sleep to function at work The Vice President says, ‘I have a solution!’ ‘You just need to wake up like I do and go to work, see it is easy!’ I need a job I keep applying but am not being selected, is my name an issue now? The President says, ‘I have a solution!’ ‘Maybe if you change your surname and be my tribesman it would work!’