dear readers, I’m back. hopefully to stay this time

I started this blog for many reasons, major of which being that I missed my mom. I was reminiscing about the person she was and could have been and I coined my first (of three posts) appreciating how I owe my curious mind to her teaching reading and writing. I have grown lazy to keep up with the blog (hopefully the dry spell is over). But since today is the day she passed away I at least have to cast away the laziness and do – see she still has an influence, always will

On this day 22 years ago I saw my mother for the last time, breathing at least. I was a preteen then and struggled with grief and only managed to actually cry about it 11 years later, story for another day or story – wink wink. I bottled up a lot and lived on auto pilot for too long. I guess my mind didn’t fully acknowledge my predicament to protect me from the hurt until it just couldn’t anymore.

But I have missed her at every turn in life. And somehow as I grow older I keep realising how much I lost on that day and how much different life would have been right now. As a child free by choice womn I find myself asking if she was happy as our mother, if being a hustling housewife was enough for her. What it is that she had truly wanted for herself before becoming a mother at 20 and leaving the earth 20 years after that. I will always have those unanswered questions and an undying wish that she at least was happy

I often wonder how our relationship would have been like. Seeing myself now we would have had our differences, but then again that womn was definitely a girl’s girl so we would have found each other – after all the headaches I would have caused her. Above it all I hope I would have a good daughter she would have been proud to call her own. The daughter that could be her own person. Stand by her truth, find her own path

In an attempt to hold on to the little time and memories we shared, I vowed to stay in church as that had been part of our routine. Even when she was bedridden she made sure we went to church. So a part of me felt that I needed to honour that. Made myself believe I could be a good Christian girl. Until I couldn’t keep lying to myself and made peace with the fact that church and organised religion just wasn’t for me. That was definitely going to be a bone of contention; African mothers and religion. But we were going to find our way around it, she was a kind soul that one.

In her honour I am trying to be a good womn. Not in the patriarchal sense of course, but the womn who supports other womn and girls, who’s a girls’ girl. A womn who will say for this and the next generations of womn and girls I will avail myself unconditionally. That is a girl she would have loved to raise.

I don’t remember wishing her a happy mother’s day (I mean it wasn’t as popular back then), we all forgot her last birthday with us. There’s a lot I’d go back in time and make right, but I was only a child watching her mother die away and still prayed she would live forever.

So today I celebrate her life for:

The wholesome womn she was

Her positive impact in lives of those lucky enough to have known her

The life she gave me.

The love she gave me that stands true till date.

The sacrifices she made for her family that I will never know.

The silent battles she fought while still being a mother.

The good genes to passed on to us

Thanks mum

Growing up African is a fulltime unpaid job, kind of an extreme sport really. Some instructions, manners and expectations are laid out clearly, no shades of grey. And on others you’re expected to cross the road without being given the green light because well you’re old enough and should know. A simple example is how growing up most kids are under strict supervision from parents to make sure that they eat their veggies first and have the meat last after actually being told you now can eat it. I’m sure most of us can identify. Gradually you get to eat it without being told to do so as you’re considered “grown up”. A similar concept is used when it comes to courtship. At one point you’re considered too young for that and the next thing they’re expecting you to be married and having kids. Is that not a bit extreme though?
The craziest part is very few are taken through the courtship process really, besides not indulging in sex only. At the same time you are expected to find a suitable life partner and “do the right thing” but what is the right thing? The nearest you get to talking about relationships is reprimands when you get home late and you told if that boy of yours gets you pregnant your life is over. Classic being every comment about household chores gone wrong being “is that what you’ll do at your in-laws’?” Better still all you’re told is their expectation of a future partner are the don’ts and in that maze you’re supposed to infer the dos. Don’t date outside of your culture, religion (church denomination even), and race. Don’t date a single parent. Don’t date a divorcee. Don’t…..whoa, where are the dos dear black parents?
At 23 someone wanted to wife me up. Yeah me… Well 23 is a decent age for marriage but that’s a story for another day, or post. Everyone was pretty cool and happy with the idea of Chypo getting married and all and were looking forward to it. Well I told him I wasn’t ready and so that did not happen. I didn’t give it much thought then but thinking of it now I wonder what miracle my folks were hoping for. That I would figure it out and just be fine? They didn’t prepare me for no courtship what more a lifetime commitment like marriage? Wait did they even prepare me for life? Damn this is confusing
I mean dressing “decently”, waking up early and doing household chores is no preparation for marriage, working as hired help maybe. Was I not supposed to be taken through what it means to be married? How that would change my life and decisions after that? The emotional investment and how to love another really, yes African parents we do have emotions you know. Was it enough to be able to iron his shirts well and please him in bed?
All that isn’t why I said no by the way. I was just fresh out of college and not even sure where I wanted to go next, if I wanted to put the degree into use or not and so such a commitment wasn’t on the table. Looking back I look at myself and say you did the right thing Chypo. Imagine me being one of the many who think marriage is the worst thing ever, all because I was grateful someone wanted to wife me up and so I blindly let him put a ring on it. I loved him by the way and we still good friends
How about we take up active than reactionary measures in building our children and ourselves and see how that goes for once? If it doesn’t work out let’s ditch it and find an alternative. Things don’t do themselves, action does
PS now that I’m turning 30, them folks still asking when I’m getting married and l still haven’t been taught life, but l figured it out thankfully
And yes, Chypo said it…

On one of my expeditions (chasing the buck in this instance) I found myself at a traditional ceremony I kinda looked forward to for a while. I happened to be wearing cargo shorts, well every female does anyway, right? NO…. Not at a traditional ceremony right in the middle of the rural areas. Here I am going around in my cargo shorts, it was hot by the way so they were very airy and life was good.

This female police officer calls me up to say you can’t be around here in those shorts. I’m like nigga say what? First mistake, she asked where I come from, yes my rural area. Well they don’t make Everlast® cargo pants in Shurugwi so what’s your story woman? What’s the link? Anyhow, she went on to go on about how tradition doesn’t allow me to be at the ceremony in my shorts blah blah blah. Well here I was trying to act well attentive (hard thing for me to do by the way) and not start judging her as she is saying her incoherent stuff.

Don’t get me wrong, I have so much respect for culture and tradition. I am African and old school like that. But now here is the thing. This is a traditional ‘’free for all’’ festival meaning you are expecting people from all walks of life to come and have a taste of your culture. You have your ways you wish to keep going but is it not really ignorant on your part to think everyone is aware of them? And well the way you reprimand someone plays a major role. Greet me nicely, welcome me to the event, admit my pants are pretty (I know they are) then go on to tell me they are not allowed at this particular event and state reasons. You can then go on to advise me to find something to wrap over them and I would politely turn the offer down and go back sit in the car. Fair transaction where there was mutual respect hey, yes?

Same things applies with religious institutions as well, somehow as a first timer dressed ‘inappropriately’ you are quickly offered something to wrap over whatever it is you are wearing. No, I’m here to fellowship not to be judged and made to feel out of place. My visit to the Zanzibar old slave market was a different feel all together. Even though I had to cover my upper body because I was wearing a boob tube, the whole concept was explained to me (I hope it was purely out of courtesy not because I had paid entrance fee and contributing to their GDP). Because it is an Anglican Church owned/run pace and so we have to dress a certain way.

So now my understanding of most cultures is they want to be understood, accepted and embraced by other people but won’t reciprocate that. How then do we progress as a people if not in celebrating our diversity? If not in addressing each other the same way we wish to be addressed? Are we not creating the same resistance we are trying to avoid? Anyway after resisting this forced conformity I enjoyed the day. Could probably do it again next year, in a new pair of cargo shorts

Till next time, Chypo said it

Teach your kids yourself

Kids always look up to their parents from a very young age. Their parents are the best in everything (in their sweet little heads). They will do everything just to be closer to them and please them. Sadly that narrative changes as they grow older they start thinking they know it all

There are things I was taught by my mum and the other women in my life that I still follow religiously up to now. The best thing my mum taught me was reading Yes READING. The reading you doing right now. Anyone could have taught me the skill, reason we have educators hey. But everytime I enjoy a good read I thank heavens mum taught me reading and writing.

I never attended preschool, something I’m strangely proud of. And so I spent that whole year with my mum in the rural areas. There she taught me all a 6 year old could really, forced me to eat all sorts of stuff of which only pumpkin leaves made it to my favourite list. Some I’ve forgotten really. Also because I knew we were going back to the city soon and resume “normal life”

I’ll however not forget the day I bought my first note book. A 32 page A5 with standard lines. Shopkeeper asked what grade I was in and a quick “grade 2” came out of my mouth. Ran home and was ready to learn “grown up stuff” like my older siblings you know. We started with letters of the alphabet, each repeated to fill a page. Then to my name and those generic words like; mother, father, tree, book… you know the drill

I then just grew up with a reading culture that never really left me (high school doesn’t count). It dawned on me one day that this is all because mum made reading such a beauty, a marvel, such a pleasure. So much so that like a flower by the river it grew, bloomed and refused to wither away. She gave me a gift no one can take away. The basis of life which has a major influence on my choice to be an academic… let me stop because this is a story with no full stop.

But just imagine if an event of over 2 decades ago is still manifesting itself in the present, how much more could the world be a better place if skills, principles and habits were taught and learnt with love. How more meaningful life would be for kids, and consequently the adults they become, if they had skills set learnt and adopted from parents and guardians. Why wait for “professionals” and life to do it for you when you can bring up and build your child in the way you want and actively taking part in that. Love being the spice of course

Till next time
Chypo…

The name is Chypo, or but the government calls me Chipo Moreblessing Mawarire (I don’t like my middle name much) . My mind is always playing with words and ideas that are just too many for social media and so here we are blogging. l have too many unpopular opinions but someone has to say them right? that person could as well