Registered under the National Arts Council of Zimbabwe

14 September 2012

WIN Newsletter, Issue No 56


WIN Founder & Director, Beaven Tapureta
Hope we find you well and that as writers you are soldiering on with your passion for reading and writing books. Lets make it a point to read works by your fellow writer 'next door'. Read! Read! Nothing is as delightful as shutting the trouble out and getting engrossed in a book... a poem, a story,or a play that takes you somewhere you have never visited. We are each a drop of insipration to the world in the wide streams of thought. This issue of our newsletter loves you. So please, enjoy!


WIN, with its all-seasons partner Global Arts Trust, is launching a ‘3-in-1’ poetry anthology project for next year, 2013, which aims to give a voice to new Zimbabwean poets in English, Shona and Ndebele languages. The idea of an anthology of this unique type was first expressed by some of our members and was then confirmed at the recently ended Short Story Writing Skills Training Workshop via post-workshop evaluation where new writers felt they also needed a chance to display their poetic grandeur via an anthology. The anthology is open to young and old, male and female unpublished poets. This project, among other objectives, seeks to provide a springboard for new Zimbabwean poets to showcase their talents in their mother languages. The ultimate goal is to make it a school set text.

Submission Guidelines:

·         Poems must be in English, Shona and Ndebele
·         Each poet can submit a maximum of 5 poems
·        Poems should attempt new, original forms and content. The anthology is targeting secondary and high school audience
·         Each poem should not be longer than one and half pages
·    Submissions, typed or handwritten or sent by email, should bear the poet’s short biography (500 words) and contact details such as full name, email address, mobile number, postal and residential addresses
·         Poets submitting their works should at least be registered members of WIN
·         Closing date for submission is Saturday, December 15, 2012
·    Submit poems to Global Arts Trust/WIN, 168 Chinhoyi Street, Harare or email to


Title                  : The Polygamist
Author             : Sukoluhle Nyathi
Publisher        : Logogog Press, South Africa
Year                   : 2012
ISBN                  : 978-0-620-52260-1
Reviewer          : Beaven Tapureta

Sukoluhle Nyathi, may be new on the list of known published Zimbabwean writers but her gripping style of writing, complemented by a sharp awareness of issues pertaining to relationships (marriage), sexuality and power could enlist her in the pioneering group of writers such as Virginia Phiri who have candidly tackled sensitive subjects commonly known as taboos.
What makes The Polygamist such an irresistible read is no doubt its unique blend of skill and subject.
While polygamy, in its traditional times before the advent of HIV/AIDS, was at one point a cultural type of marriage principled in some societies, it nonetheless has become a delusional institution almost inapplicable in these modern days.
Men and women have now carved out a new type of polygamy in a desperate bid to justify their different situations, most of them selfish situations.
The Polygamist exposes the secrets which most married and unmarried men and women, with the nouveau riche in particular, would rather want dealt with silently or “indoors”.
In the novel there is interplay of dreams and reality, sensuality and sensibility and the conflict of these elements is tactfully presented through the characters, who are mainly four women (Joyce, Matipa, Essie and Lindani) and a man named Jonasi Gomora.
All the four women have a stake in Jonasi’s life whose transition from poverty to riches (and back to poverty) they witness each from a different perspective.
The Polygamist, written from the dramatic monologue point of view, with each chapter devoted to any one of the four women, progresses with captivating action and dialogue. Each chapter is a dramatic monologue of Joyce, Matipa, Essie or Lindani. The reader learns who the speaker is and her circumstances only from references within the monologue itself.
In this story which is set in Zimbabwe, Jonasi Gomora rises from poverty to become the founder of ‘the most successful black run business in the city’ but his rise is not without its own complications. Women, money, power soon catch up with him and what follows is an exciting, adventurous, yet touching unveiling of the characters’ hidden desires.
Jonasi’s first marriage is with Joyce, a woman who stands the hard times with Jonasi but whose harvest of joy is soon taken away from her marriage. Joyce and Jonasi  make the transit from driving nothing to driving a Mazda 323, to driving a Mercedes C-Class, from living in a one roomed cottage in Queensdale to living in the avenues and finally in a mansion in the posh suburbs of Glen Lorne.
Together in love they ditch poverty as Jonasi’s company J & J Holdings get more and more successful. However, things fall apart when enter Matipa, a woman who bulldoze into Jonasi’s 16 year old marriage at all costs.
Matipa falls in love with Jonasi, the CEO of J & J Holdings, having found a job at his company. The trio of Joyce, Jonasi and Matipa play their parts in the drama of love and betrayal, each trying to assert his/her position.
Then enter Essie, Jonasi’s first lover from his youth with whom he had a child named Sarah. As if that’s not enough for the reader, next enter Lindani, a girl Jonasi meets in a nightclub.
Enchanted by Matipa, Jonasi thinks of divorcing Joyce who refuses his bid. He abandons Joyce and starts living with Matipa whom he had promoted to Assistant Director in one of the J &J Holdings departments. Yet Jonasi soon becomes a ‘bed-hopper’, living with each of the women at different times. As the story unfolds through the women’s subjective accounts, one notices that each of the women want to assert her position as Jonasi’s wife.
In the maze of the story, children are not left out. Although the effect of Jonasi’s polygamous life upon his children is covered by his ability to at least cater for them, a reader may fear they will grow up to pay for the mistakes of their parents. Although Freedom is not Jonasi’s child but Essie’s, whom she sired with a departed soldier earlier in the story, his life of a thug and disrespectful nature heralds an unspoken contagious storm in the future of the whole Gomora family but that's for the reader to imagine.
There’s an unsatisfied ego in Jonasi but it is the question why he behaves the way he does that stands out most. Psychoanalysis may convince us who Jonasi is by looking at his early and present actions. First as a youth he raped Essie when he found out she had been impregnated by another man (the soldier with whom she bore Freedom). He next beats her up when he finds her having sex in a car with yet another man. Remember, Essie had grown up with Jonasi. When Jonasi’s mother died, four-year old Jonasi found refuge (from his abusive father) at Essie’s place and they became childhood lovers.
Could this early bitter disappointment in the first relationship have awakened his insatiable desire for women to the point that he views them as mere objects?
When somewhere along the line Matipa tells him that she has been to a doctor and been diagnosed of a sexually transmitted disease, he beats her up with a metal belt and rapes her.
"...I can see through you, but I own you Matipa. I own you. You were bought and paid for, my dear,..." (page 127).
Jonasi’s early background of neglect somehow tallies with Lindani’s. Lindani, a night-clubber who refers to the men she sleeps with as ‘fossils’, is the fourth and youngest of all Jonasi’s women. Lindani has lived through a rape trauma, drinks alcohol and goes into night clubs to prostitute. What would Jonasi, as highly positioned in society now as he was, have seen in Lindani?
Later disease and the economic climb-down change the course of things. Although Jonasi tries to live in denial, AIDS and death soon catch up with him.
As the reader pore page by page, questions arise in the mind which can only be answered by finishing the book.
The Polygamist was launched in Durban (South Africa) and then in Bulawayo before being launched at the Book Café, Harare, on August 16.
At the Harare launch, Sukoluhle Nyathi, the author, spoke of her ups and downs as a writer before reading an excerpt from her book.
Dominic Musengi, Sukoluhle Nyathi’s former workmate who also was one of the first people to read and was at the Harare launch, said The Polygamist is likely to become popular with women.
“It offers a few tips for women to abandon some of their well-intended but ultimate foolish naivety. They can learn a few things on how to try in life and minimize the chances of their men falling into the trap of the Lindani and Matipa types of ladies in this world. Women can also learn a few things on how to protect themselves from HIV (like what Joyce did) and also how their faithfulness and courage may eventually pay off,” he commented on the sidelines of the launch.
Be that as it may, men also have some important lessons to learn from Jonasi such as the dangers of adultery. The Polygamist is now available in Zimbabwe at the Blackstone Bookshops.

More about the author on this blog, click text below: 

By Beaven Tapureta

In Zimbabwe Bible-reading culture keeps advancing ahead of that of general books and not only have people embraced the Bible as a source of divine inspiration but they have also gone beyond reading to writing from the Holy Book’s inspiration.
Widely self-published informative, interpretive and motivational Christian literature has emerged.
Two such books, Seasons of Purpose by Pastor Grace Jessica Chapfiwa and A Timeless Marriage by Nonhlanhla Siziba, recently hit the bookshops.
Both books tackle different issues and draw on personal experiences.
While Seasons of Purpose revolves around African Christian history, the author's participation in the liberation struggle and focus on children, A Timeless Marriage is a guidance marriage book for young and old people tackling issues such as the definition, purpose and expectations of marriage.
A Timeless Marriage (ISBN: 978-0-7974-5135-3) offers solutions to distorted marriages by comparing cultural and Christian perspectives of the subject and ultimately draws answers from Bible verses and other researches on the same subject.
Nonhlanhla Siziba says she was motivated by the increased disintegration of marriages to write her book that attempts to bring back happiness in the families. She is a member of the Apostolic Faith Mission in Zimbabwe, and is currently studying for a Diploma in Theology.

Copies of Seasons of Purpose on display at the launch in Harare

Seasons of Purpose was officially launched on August 30 in Harare at the Insignia Bookshop situated on the first floor of the magnificent Joina City, Harare.
Cde Oppah Muchinguri, a long-standing politician and a contemporary of the author, was the Guest of Honor.
In her presentation Cde Muchinguri commented Patsor Chapfiwa for pursuing her passion of child evangelism.
“If children are not taught in the godly manner, they will engage in that which destroys them,” she said, adding that Christianity is one of the values that have contributed to the spiritual development of Zimbabwe.
Cde Muchinguri urged parents, guardians, caregivers and teachers to consider the unique personalities of children when training them up.
‘Train-them-young’ is a major theme running through Seasons of Purpose, a book that fuses the author’s biography from childhood to her participation in the liberation struggle for Zimbabwe, her Christian experience and African Biblical history.
In her speech the author Pastor Chapfiwa said Zimbabweans should be proud of their identity and apply God’s principles in their daily lives.
“Let’s go back to the basics, starting with the fear of God,” she said and later went on to render a touching episode of the Chimoio attacks during the liberation war.
As a teenager, she decided to fight in the war alongside other women such as Cde Muchinguri and many others who are now government senior members.
Later she sang the song “Jesus Loves Me This I know” which she sang when Chimoio went up in flames and together with other teenage comrades she was caught up in the crossfire. As she ran away in the horrific stampede, Pastor Chapfiwa said a big snake suddenly appeared in her way and she changed her direction. This, she said, is how she survived.
She also presented free copies of her book to His Excellency President Robert Gabriel Mugabe which were received by Cde Muchinguri on his behalf. She also gave other copies to the Chapfiwa family.
In his vote of thanks renowned motivational speaker and owner of Insignia & Innov8 Bookshops, Milton Kamwendo, said he hoped other old people in Zimbabwe will follow Pastor Chapfiwa’s suit.
“What do we do with people who do not want to write their history? An untold story is a wasted life,” he said.
The launch was one of its kind as it was held in a bookshop, with guests surrounded by an aura of books.
Pastor Grace Chapfiwa is the Founder & Managing Director of Family Gate Network.


Flora Veit-Wild with one of her many sons. Seen here with Tendai Huchu, author of The Hairdresser of Harare in Berlin at the International Literature Festival. They moderated a session together.


(The short story below won First Prize in the 2012 WIN/GAT Short Story Writing Competition English Category)

By Karen Maturure

That morning I woke up feeling like something was going to happen, something that was far from good.
The curtain was still closed so it was still considerably dark in our room but I could hear the birds chirping outside and that told me it was time to wake up. I knew I had a strange dream but I could not quite remember what it had been about. All I knew was that it had left this bad feeling inside me. It had left me feeling somewhat tired and anxious. I rolled back to the exact position I had been when I woke up. I did this every time to help me remember. However, after a few minutes I knew this time that method had failed. Fearing to wake my eight year old sister who was sleeping like a rock besides me, I quietly got out of bed and headed for the kitchen.
As I passed through the dinning room I looked at the wall clock. It was 7:30am. Dad would be in his office by now. He would begin work at his law firm at eight but he was always at his office at this time. It took no more than fifteen minutes to travel from Malbereign to the city centre so I wondered what the point was. Being organized, he called it. Mom was worse. She was the most dedicated author I knew. She would have deadlines for her chapters and would finish way before. She would be done with all the chores by the time Tanya and I woke up when she was working from home like today, leaving no real work for the daytime house-keeper. She also had a sort of time-table, though not written. Those two surely belonged together. I found Mom standing motionlessly in the kitchen looking outside the window. Her mobile phone was lying on the floor some distance away from her. That is when I knew something was amiss.
“Mom,” I called her but she remained motionless. For some reason I became panicky as I stood behind her. “Mom!”
This time she turned around to face me and that is when I noticed the tears, the shaking and the ghostly look she had on her face. I would forever remember that look. She looked so lost, so confused.
“Mom what’s happening?!” I asked, unable to hide my anxiety.
She seemed as if she could not hear me. It was as if I was not even there. She slowly began to speak.
“That can’t possibly be my husband…I was with him just now…” I couldn’t quite make sense of what she was saying but I decided to be patient. Never had I seen mom like this. My imagination took me to a possibility that dad may have been caught cheating but no. Dad could never do such a thing. He was a principled man.
“They say he was going to flee the country…He was going to leave us behind…”
The words came out as a whisper.
“How can they suggest I have a criminal for a husband? This is him in the picture but I am sure he can explain all this once he regains consciousness.” Regains consciousness?! My heart raced. What on earth was she saying?
She lowered her eyes to look at something she held. As I walked towards her I could see it was a card. The answer to all this had to be there, I thought as I took it slowly from her trembling hands.
It was my father’s identity card. Given the name and details there it could have passed as a stranger’s but the image was my father’s. Before I could try to figure out what all this meant there was a knock on the front door and my mother hurried to open it while I trailed behind her. There were two local police officers whom I knew and I instantly knew whatever was happening was graver than I had imagined.
“Are you ready to come with us Mrs. Sibanda?” One of them asked before worriedly looking at me where I stood behind my mother. They had evidently come a while ago.
“Do not worry about her.” She said, “She will still find out soon anyway and I need her to be with me. I cannot do this alone."
She had been right when she said I would still find out whatever had happened to my father owing to the fact that he was no ordinary lawyer but a well known public figure usually followed by the press.
The police officer nodded before gesturing towards a Mazda parked in front of the house. Mom had already asked Aunty Sally, a tenant who stayed in the cottage to look after Tanya until we came back from wherever it was we were travelling to. Schools were closed for the April holiday so that would be a simple task.
It is in the car that I finally got to learn about the situation at hand through the exchanges mother and the policemen who had talked to her earlier. The other policeman remained mute. Dad had been involved in an accident that morning but not in his Toyota Camry but a Mercedes Benz. It was in that car that they had found several documents including an air ticket, a passport and the identity card that mom had held – documents that did not have his real name or details! Fifty thousand rands had also been found in the car. The police suspected that he had taken part in a robbery where a family in our neighborhood had lost about twenty thousand dollars. That would explain why he was set to flee the country in a week’s time as according to the date on the air ticket for the flight to South Africa. He had bled profusely and was unconscious but no-one knew how bad it had been and would only know when we got to Baines hospital where he had been admitted. The police had come to our house wanting to question mom about dad’s assumed crimes but that procedure would be carried out after we saw how my father was.
“You say that this is all madness Mrs. Sibanda.” The officer said, “But that is yet to be proven…”
He droned on but I was not listening anymore. Yes this was all madness but now the thought of him being in hospital was enough to deeply upset me. A huge lump had formed in my throat but I did not cry and said a silent prayer instead.
As we followed the policemen into the hospital minutes later I held my mother’s hand. She loked so weak, so fragile and someone had to be strong but no amount of strength could have prepared anyone for what awaited us there. The doctor was called and he came out of the ward in which my father was said to be admitted.
“Doctor, how is my husband?” Mother asked unable to contain her anxiety, “I have to see him now.”
The doctor suddenly looked shocked and for some reason could not answer.
“Officers can I have a word in private?”
He spoke the words after what seemed like an eternity of silence that had plunged us into deeper anxiety. As the three men moved to stand some place a few yards away, my poor mother  was obviously imagining the worst by the look of her and so was I. Threesomes spoke in hushed voices that nothing they said was audible but the sense of urgency was distinct.
Then everything happened so quickly. Mother was rushing towards my father’s ward and the doctor and the policemen were running towards her. Obviously there was something in there that we were not supposed to see but now it was too late. She was already inside by the time they got to the door. I followed them as they also ran into the room. There was a tear-faced womwn who sat next to my father’s bed and next to her was a small girl of perhaps ten years or so who was a spitting image of him. I wondered if mother had noticed that girl. For a moment no-one said a word and it was my mother who broke the silence.
“Who are you?”
The other woman stood up slowly after noticing me and kept her confused eyes on me as she lowly responded. She must have seen much of my father’s features on me.
“I am his wife.”
There was a lot of confusion in the room as my mother collapsed to the ground. She was rushed to another ward where she was given too much attention for someone who to me had simply fainted from the shock. Several minutes later I sat besides her trying to believe that everything that had occurred up to that point was real. It was a few minutes later that I heard something that upset me further. I was coming from the ladies when I overheard the other woman talking to my mother’s doctor in the passage.
“I understand your need to get a grip of the situation,” said the doctor, “but we cannot afford to have her upset again because she has a weak heart…”
“The doctor stopped as he noticed me as the woman’s attention shifted to me as I passed. When I got to my mother’s ward she had awakened.
“So you knew you had a heart problem and you never told me?”
Though I knew she was not to be upset I could not help but ask as I sat beside her. I could not help the tears either, as I wondered how serious this was. I knew that many people died of heart complications. Later I would find out it was not something fatal but that time I was unaware of that. She struggled to find words but before she could speak the door was swung open.
 It was my father! W e had seen him unconscious and bandaged up all over a few minutes ago but here he was without a scratch! I felt as if I have seen a ghost. I thought mother would pass out again but she did not.
“I know you are in shock right now and have been through perhaps the most stressful day of your lives. I have gone through a stressful day myself,” he went on without sitting, “but I now understand what is going on. That man who looks exactly like me in that ward is my long lost twin brother. I have found out through his wife and the private investigators he hired but we are yet to have a DNA test for confirmation. He flew in from South Africa to look for me and he discovered about me through the private investigators. Ruth you know I was adopted by my parents after my biological mother dumped me and now it turns out that she dumped my twin  brother at a different home where he was adopted by a couple who moved to South Africa. Chido I am sorry you had to find out like this. We were going to tell you about your grandparents and other things when you were older.”
In all my fourteen years I had not known this about my grandparents. I wondered if I was going to hear more shocking news. What I felt was a mixture of disbelief, anger, shock and pain. They had kept so much from me- so much that mattered and it had taken just one day for me to find out. However it was relief that finally overshadowed everything else. My father was not unconscious, was neither a criminal nor polygamist who survived by double standards as we had all almost believed. It had all been a matter of mistaken identity.
We made the front page of one of the local papers the following day. The word PANDEMONIUM stood out in capital letters as part of  the heading. Never had I come across that word before but I was certain that what we had gone through the previous day was beyond the meaning of that word.
(Copyright-Karen Maturure)

(The short story below won First Prize in the 2012 WIN/GAT Short Story Writing Competition in the Shona language category)

Kukurukura Hunge Wapotswa
  By Ali Simbi

Ndisati ndadya ndakanyumwa, kwaitove kunyengedza neruvara rweshato semhembwe. Hakuna sango rinopa zviwanikwa zvaro nyore. Zvaitoreva kuti ndaive ndazviwisira mutswanda, ndaive ndabatwa nechibato nemafufu segonzo. Ndakaita sendadyiswa moyo wembwanana ndokusaona seri kwakoni. Saka mdakadya kudya uku ndakaputirwa. Asika zviviri zvakaita ndigodya, motsi inzara yandaive ndonzwa, piri ndakafunga kuti shoko raizosvitswa nemhepo muvanhu, ndikazosekwa kuti ndaiva muvhimi nhando ndakakundika kuuraya ngwarati ndakapakata pfuti. Nyaya iyi yakamira sokudai. Ndaive ndakazorora hangu muimba yandairoja kuBudiriro, ndaive ndichiverenga bhuku rakanzi Tambaoga. Ndirimo ndakanzwa kugogodzwa kwegonhi ndakanotarira ndokuona ari Florence musikana wangu wandaidana naye. Ndakamuti apinde ndokugara hedu pamubheda.
“Ende nhasi wandijuma, kuuya usina kufona,” ndakadaro.
“Ndizvo zvandinoita , ndaida kuona kuti ndini ndoga musikana wako here?”
“Waigozviona sei?” ndakabvunza.
“Deno takawanda ndaisvika uine mumwe musikana muno.”
“Saka waonaka ndakavimbika, handisi tsotsi yerudo zvino ndichazivawo sei kuti ini ndini ndega pauri,” ndakazodaro ndokumugumbatira.
Pandakamugumbatira zvakandinetsa kuti sei tisina kuburana, nekuti ndaiziva haazvifarire. Nyangwe havo Florence aiuya kumba, handina kana zuva rimwe chete zvaro randakamugumbatira kana kumubata mazamu sezuva iri.
“Kana ini Hardlife handisi mbavha yerudo,” Florence akadaro ndokundigumbatirawo zvakabva zvapa ropa rangu kumhanya mhanya.
Ndakamutsvoda ndokurovera moyo padombo ndikati, “kana chiri chokwadi chawareva, nhasi tomboitawo bonde mudiwa.”
“Hapana chakashata Hardlife.”
Ndakashamiswa nazvo kuti chokwadi Florence airevesa nemoyo wake wese here, asi ndakaona kuti aitorevesa. Saka bonde takarirova. Zvechokwadi Florence waiva mugwagwa usati wafambwa, patakasangana rakave bhora rembabvu randakazonwisa ndadikitira.
Asi shure mebonde ndakavhunduka Florence ave kuramba kudzokera kumba kwavo.
Ndakazomuburitsa nechisimba, ndokupfiga mukova mukabudapo. Ndakatozodzoka Mauro chaiwo ndikaona munhu asiipo.
Hama dzangu kana musikana wangu zvaivanetsa kuti ndaitorepi mari. Hakuna kana mumwe chete zvake aiziva basa randaiita. Ndainohoda mabhero embatya kuMozambique kundohodha. Rwendo uru rwakandiomera chose kupinda mazuva ose andaiendako. Masango aive matema, zvandaive ndafambira aingove machira chete. Zvakandipa kumbeya neMozambique yose kuti ndiwane chandingadzoke ndakabata mumaoko. Izvizvakabve zvaita kuti ndipedze chipo chemwedzi chaiwo ndiriko. Ipapa ndipo pandakazoigochera pautsi. Florence zvaakadzoka kumba kwavo vakazomhan’ara kumapurisa pamwe nambuya vake kuti ndakamubata chibharo.
Mapurisa vakadoedza kuchaya nhamba dzangu asi handina kubatika, kumba vaindivhima vachindishaya. Saka yakabva yakora muto zvichinzi ndatiza mhosva. Florence akandonotarisw navana chirembe ndokuonekwa kuti chaive chokwadi kuti tainge tasangana. Zuva randakasvika pamba kwaive kuma 11am, foni yangu yakarira ndokudaira
“Halo,” ndakadaira
“Makadini henyu?Ndingataurawo naHardlife,” nyakuchaya nhare akadaro
“Ndiye Hardlife ari kutaura,” ndakadaro.
“Ndiri mupurisa ndafona ndiri paMufakose Charge Office.”
Hana yangu yakati bvundu ndakatadza kuziva kuti mupurisa uyu aidei.
“Kwakanaka here shefu?”, ndakabvunza.
“Mhosva yako unoiziva. Svika iye zvino kuMufakose Charge Office pasina kukundikana.”
Ndakati zvino ndapererwa nemashoko, mupurisa uya ndokuti “wandinzwa here shamwari?”
“Hongu,” ndakapindura.
Runhare rwakabva rwadambuka, ndakatura mafemo, ndakashaya kuti ndaive ndaparei iyo yandainge ndafira ndisingazive, nyange hazvo ndainzwe nzara samba rokudya ndakarishaiwa. Sekutaura kwaive kwaita mupursa kuti vaitondida ku charge office, ndakatora makombi emutown, ndavemo ndokuzotora makombi eMufakose uko kwandaidanwa. Deno ndakadya zvaive nani nekuti uku ndiko kwakave kuenda zvachose.
Nenyaya dzandakakura ndichinzwa nevaya vaimbenge vapfuura nemumaoko emapurisa. Zvakaita ndive munhu anotya kupara mhosva,nokudaro handaiziva kuti chakamira sei? Kana musuo we charge office handaiuziva zvekare. Macharge office andaiziva, ndaimaziva nokuaona nemeso kwete kusvikapo nekuti ndaitya. Musi wandakadanwa nemapurisa diro rakave zuva rekutanga kupinda mumaoko avo.
Pandakadanwa ndakaita bvepfepfe kumhanyirako ndisingazive kuti nhamo huru yainge yakandimirira mberi sembwa zvere. Zvakaite kuti ndimhanyeko ndakafunga kuti handini munhu wavaida zvichida mazita bedzi aingove afanana, uyewo ndakatya kuti ndakazononoka ndaizotosvorana navo.
Handina hangu remuromo. Hongu hazvo ini handizive mutemo kana mashandiro anoita mapurisa, asi mabatirwo andakaitwa aive asina kururama, ndakabatwa rhafu chaiyo.
“Tingabatsirane sei vakuru?” ndakabvunzwa ndichangopinda mukamba pasina kumhoresana.
“Ndadanwawo kuno, ndinonzi Hardlife Nhamoinesu,” ndakadaro nezwi nyoro, ndakafunga kuti kuzvininipisa pamwe nokutaura zita rangu, ndingabva ndabetserwa pasina kunonotswa.
“Mhungu shamwari,” mupurisa wandaive ndataura naye akadana mumwe wake shure mekunge ndamupindura.
“He-e,” vamhungu vacho vakabve vadaira.
“Douya pano shamwari.”
“Musungwa wako uyu, auya ega”
“Upi wacho?” Vamhungu vakabvunza.
“Uyu amire apa,” mupurisa uya akadaro zvekare achindinongedzera.
“Iwe benzi iwe! Unonzi ani? Ndivo vaMhungu vakadaro kwandiri, ndakashaya chokureva ndokuramba ndakati tuzu maziso sechembere yapererwa noupfu kumusha.
“Shamwari!Shamwari! ndiri kutaura newe, ndati unonzi ani?” vaMhungu vaya vakadaro nehasha.
“Hardlife Nhamoinesu,” ndakapindura ndaona kuti nyaya yacho yanange kwakashata.
“Yaah, nhasi unochiona, ndiwe munhu wandiri kutsvaka nemeso matsvuku. Waivepi mazuva ose?”
“Ndaive kuMozambique.”
“KuMozambique! Waive watiza mhosva yako nhai. Nhasi uchademba vakafa.” vaMhungu vakadaro ndokuvhomora mboma mune chimwe chibhokisi ndokuuya pandaive. Varume ndikati ndakarohwa ndinenge ndisina kubaya dede nemumukanwa, asi ndikatoti ndakapunzwa ndinenge ndanyotsoti dyo-o, ndakatanga ndichati, amai, baba, mbuya, sekuru ndokuzoguma ndave kungogunzva pamwe nekugwesha pasi, nyama dzangu dzakati tonho, pfungwa ndokumira kushanda. Pandakazoregedzwa ndakanyatsonzwa kuti zvedi ndapondwa. Foni yaive muhomwe yakatsemuka ndokuparara. Ndakabva ndakumuriswa mudhebhe wandaive ndakapfeka ndokusara nechikabudura chemukati, shangu ndakakururiswa zvekare pamwe nejasi randaive ndakapfeka. Ndakatinhirwa muchitokisi umo mandakasiyiwa ndasungirirwa gumbo rwerudyi necheni kune mamwe mazisimbi aivemo.

Nhamo yandakaona muchitokisi, yaive gomo risina ukwiriko. Muchitokisi macho maingove zimukumbuku redima. Kachiedza kaivemo kaipinda nepamwe pakaburi kadikidiki kaive kakaboorwa nechekumusoro. Vamwe vasungwa vaivemo zvaitaridza kuti vaive vatojaira handi kufara kwvaiita, asi ini ndakasemburwa nezimweya raisimukamo ndimo maive nechimbuzi zvekare.Ndisati ndagadzikana mupfungwa kwakauya umwe musungwa pandaive ndakasungirirwa ndokusvikoti,
“Mhosva yako ndeyei?”
Ndakaona kuti kusapindura ndaizotambwa ugede, sewandakambotambwa ndichitanga fomu yekutanga.
“Handizivi mhosva yangu ini,” ndakadaro
“Hauzivi mhosva yako?”
“Saka unodei muno? Kana usingazivi mhosva yako isu tese tese tine mhosva, ini yangu ndeyekuponda munhu.”
Chokwadi ndakabaikana pamoyo kuti ndaive ndasanganiswa nemhondi here? Midzimu yangu ndakaituka kana yamai vangu zvekare.
Musungwa uyu akandisiya pandaive, ndakacherechedza ndokuona kuti pavasungwa vese vaivemo ini ndoga ndini ndaive ndakasungwa. Kagwanza kaipe chiedza kakagumise kasisape chiedza, muchitokisi makabva mat indo-o kusviba zvaitotyisa, handi ruzha rainge rwoitwa nevasungwa, kwaiti vanoimba zvenyadzi, vanotaura, vamwe vaitonamata. Ruzha urwu rwakandinyangadza zvokuti fe-ee.
Ndiri mukunyangadzwa kudaro ndakasvikirwa nevamwe vasungwa vatatu. Mumwe wavo akataura achiti, “Shamwari kotama ipapo pawakasungirirwa.”
Ndakaramba ndakati zivha segondo, handina kukotama sezvandaive ndanzi ndiite
“Ho-o haudi nhai?”
Ndakagarwa nembama kumeso zvakabva zvaita kuti ndikotame nekukasira. Ndakakotama kudaro ndakatanga kunzwa kubatwa batwa, ndokuzonzwa ndakumurwa kachikabudura kandaive nako. Mumwe wavo zvekare akati, “Nhasi uri wedu, ndiwe unoita nekuti uchangopinda.”
Ndakabatwa ngochani vese vari vatatu vakandichinjana, ndokuzondirega ndakadaro, vakazosiya zvavo vakandipfekdza kachikabudura kangu.
Shure mechinguvana ruzha nemheremhere zvaive muchitokisi zvakati tonho, magwiriri evanhu ndiwo bedzi ainge ongonzwika. Ini handina kushanyirwa nehope, ndaive mukufunganya nyaya yaive yaita ndipinde muchitokisi iyo yandainge ndisingazive.
Ndakatoshaya kuti ingava nyaya yei, zvakandirwadza chaizvo, uye ngochani yandakabatwa yakaita kuti moyo wangu upise.
Nhamo huru yandakazosarirwa nayo mupfungwa imwe chete, ndakaedza zvekare kufunganya nezvayo ndokukanda mapfumo pasi. Hama dzangu dzose amai kana baba, hakuna aiziva zvandaive ndakatarisana nazvo, kana deno ndaizopfigirwa mutirongo hakuna aizoziva zvekare, nokuda kwaizvozvo misodzi yakatanga kuerera, kuti chokwadi mudzimu yandifuratira zvakadaro.
Inguva huru chaizvo yandakafunganya neremangwana rangu, ndikatanga kujekerwa kuti hupenyu hwangu hwainge hwatoguma, uye hakuna chimwe chandichakwanisa kuita zvekare. Mhere mhere neruzha zvaive zvatonhora muchitokisi zvakabva zvatangisa zvekare, ndakashatirwa zvisingabviri kufunganya kwangu kwakabva kwadamburirwa. Vanhu vainamata ndivo vakanyanya kundinyangadza. Vainamata vachiti “Mwari tiregerereiwo takatadza nekusaziva.”
Nenguva diki diki kubve zvakatanga mhere-mhere neruzha urwu, kagwanzaa kaye kaipa chiedza kakatanga zvekare kupa chiedza, ndakaziva kuti kwainge kwatoedza.
Kwakauya mumwe mupurisa ndokumira pakawindo kadiki diki kaive pagonhi rechitokisi akasvikokavhura ndokutanga kusheedza mazita evanhu vaive muchitokisi. Munhu ainge adanwa zita rake aibva apindura achiti “Zuva idzva.”
Shure memupurisa uyu, kwakauyawo umwe zvekare uyo akasvikopinda mukati chaimo ndokusiya andisunungura cheni, ndakatanga kunzwa kurerukirwa sezvo ndaive ndabatwa nechiveve.

Sezvo ndakabva kumba ndisina kudya, shure memazuva maviri ndiri muchitokisi mudumbu mangu makatanga kurwadza, nzara yaive yadzika midzi. Vamwe vasungwa hama dzavo dzaivaunzira zvekudya vachipihwa nguva yekunodya.
Ini husngwa hwangu hwakave tsuro yamukira mumakumbo, hakuna aiziva kwandaive, saka yakave mhezi yavavira mumoyo saka nzara ndiyo nhamo yandainge ndave nayo zvino, chitokisi pachacho ndaive ndajairana nacho.
Mumwewo akauya zvekare pandaive ndokuti, “zviri sei shamwari?”
“Hapana iripo,” ndakapindura
“Mutupo wako chii?” akandibvunza
“Ndiri soko Murehwa”
“Uri hama kana neni ndiri soko merehwa.”
“Ho-o nhai,” ndakadaro
“Kana zvakadaro ndafara kukuzivai.”
Munhu uyu ndiye akava weketanga kuva shamwari yangu muchitokisi. Tiri mukukurukura akandibvunza mhosva yangu, ndokumutsanangurira pandindiro andkaita muchitokisi, iye akafungira kuti zvichida pane muvengi akanditengesa achiti ndiri mbavha, zvekuti neni ndaive ndototenderana naye. Takakurukura nyaya dzakawandisa. Ndiye munhu akazondinunura panzara. Hama dzake padzaiuya nezvekudya taidya tese.
Akazondizivisa kuti chitokisi handi jeri, mukufamba kwenguva ndaizondotongwa akandizivisa matips ose ekucourt zvakunoitwa. Uye akandiudza kuti vese vaunoona vanotorwa muno vanenge vachitoenda kundotongwa, uye vasingadzoki vamwe vacho vanetenge vatonopika jeri asi vame vanenge vabatwa vasina mhosva ndokunosunungurwa.
Ndakafara chose kuziva zvinoitwa mukoti akazoguma ondiudza mhosva yake kuti iye ainge achipomerwa kupaza panext door pavo. Takazopota tichinamata nevamwe kuti Mwari vatinzirewo ngoni panhamo dzedu. Imo muchitokisi macho zuva nezuva maiuya vasungwa vatsva.Ndakacherechedza kuti musungwa aipindamo kekutanga aisungirirwa sezvandakaitwa handizivi kuti mapurisa vaizviitirei, uye musungwa wes e aipinda kekutanga aitobatwa ngochani sezvandakaitwa zvekare.
Mumwe wangu zuva raaenda kukoti haana kudzoka zvekare kuchitokisi, ndine chokwadi chekuti aive asunungurwa nekuti sekutaura kwake mhosva yake yaive isina kunyanyokura.
Ini ndakazopedzawo vhiki ndirimo, mumwe musi ndakaunzirwa mudhebhe wangu kuti ndipfeke ndakabva ndadana mucharge office navaMhungu. Zvandakaona mucharge office nameso handina kuzvitendera. Ndakaona Florence pamwe nambuya vake vagere pazibhenji.
Ndakafunga kuti zvichida Florence aive aroteswa namweya mutsvene kuti ndinge ndasungwa, nekudaro akauya kuzondiona nambuya vake.Florence wacho akadanwa mberi ini ndokugariswa pasi. VaMhungu vakamubvunza “ndiye munhu akakurepa here?”
“Hongu,” Florence akapindura
“Akakurepa rini?”
“Musi wa 11 October.”
Zves zvaaitaura vaMhungu vainyora. Hana yangu yakati bvundu, nekuti ini naye taive tabvumiran pasina zvemutsindo.
Dhoketi rekuti ndakabata chibharo rakabva ravhurwa. Florence naambuya vake vakanzi vadzoke kumba asi vagozouya mangwana mangwanani zuva rokuenda kukoti.
VaMhungu vakasara vobvunza ini vachiti, “Munhu uyu unomuziva here?”
“Hongu,” nfdakapindura
“Wakamurepa hee?”
“Kwete,” ndakaramba
“Saka chii chakaitika?”
Ndakatsanangura zvose zvakaitika musi wandasangana na Florence. VaMhungu vakati deno ndakabatika musi wandaitsvakwa vasina kuvhura dhoketi vakaita kuti ini naFlorence tiwirirane. Zvino painge pasisina chokuita nokuti musi waitevera ndaizonotongwa. Ndakadzoserwa zvakare muchitokisi. Pfungwa zvino dzaive dzati barara. Ndakaerekana ndati, “Florence adarirei kundibatisawo vhunze remote,” Ndakazama kufunga kano nekako kangandiraramisa panyaya iyi ndokushaya.
Sezvo ndaive ndambobatiswa zvinotwa mukoti, saka mumaziso angu ndainunoona koti bedzi.Ndiro zuva randisina kushanyirwa nehope zvekare sezuva randakatanga kupinda muchitokisi umu. Mhosva yandaifunga yaive siyo. MHosa yandaive ndakatarisana nayo yaive hurusa uye yaitoda nyasha dzaMwari.

Ndakafumotakurwa kuendeswa kukoti. Ndakaiswa mubhokisi roufakazi. Florence ndakamuona amire necheparutivi, handizive kuti ainge asvika nguvai. Koti yaive yakati ta-a kuzara nevanhu zvinova zvakapa hana kurova.
Mukutonga nyaya yangu Magistrate akati, “Hardlife Nhamoinesu une mhosva yekurepa Florence Mpofu, unotenderana nazvo here?”
Ndakapindura pasina kukakama, “Hongu” misodzi ndokutanga kubuda.
“Une chekutaura here kana kwete?” Magisrate akabvunza.
“Handina chandinga taure sezvaada kuti ndipinde mujeri,” ndakladro misodzi yatowedzera kubuda.
Magisrate akambomisa kutonga nyayaiyi, ndokuti mutongo waizopihwa mushure memahour mavira. Ndakabva ndapinzwa mune kamwe kamba kaive kakazara vaive vakamirira kutongwa. Ndiri imomo ndakabata rushaya neruoko rwerudyi, ndokufunga zita rangu rekuti Hardlife, ndikaona riri munyama chaiwa. Ndakazvibvunza kuti sei baba vaive vandipa zita iri vaive vaonei chaizvo.
Ndakafunga pamusoro pesurname yangu zvakare iko kuti Nhamoinesu zvairevei? Ndeipi nhamo yaitaurwa.
Nguva yandakange ndataurirwa payakakwana ndakadzoserwa zvakare mukoti. Ndave mubhokisi Magisrate akati “Hardlife Nhamoinesu haachina mhosva, nyakumusungisa ati timuregerere.”
Ndakadzoserwa mukamba kaye zvekare, zvichinzi mapepa angu aive kumapurisa atange adzimwa.
Shure mechinguvana ndakaburitswamo ndokunzi ndichiendfa kumba. Ndave panze pfungwa dzakaramba kushanda ndakabva ndagara pasi chaipo ndokukotamisa musoro. Ndakazvibvunza kuti “Chii chaive choda kuitika chaizvo?”
Simba rose rakati hwa-a kunditiza. Misodzi yakatanga kubuda zvekare. Ndigere kudaro ndakanzwa kuti pane munhu asvika. Ndakasimudza musoro zvishoma nezvishoma. Pakutanga ndakafunga kuti handiye munhu wandiri kuona ndakapukuta kumeso asi ndakaramba ndichingoona zvimwechetezvo.
Munhu uyu aive Florence. Akabva apfugama mberi kwangu ndokutanga kuchema akandigumbatira. Akazopukuta misodzi nechishirt chaive netsvina chandaive ndakapfeka, ndakabva ndashaya kuti zvairevei.
Handina chandakataura kana naiyewo haana chaakataura akazonditambidza kabepa kaive kakapetwa petwa kaakatora muhomwe make ndokubva aenda. Ndakapedenura kapepa aka ndokutanga kukaverenga.

Hardlife Mudiwa
Hardlife undiregererewo pane zvese zvandakakuitira nokuti kwaisave kuda kwangu ndimbuya vakandifurira. Ndinoziva chose kuti waindida zvekuda kutondiroora chaizvo. Paya patakaita bonde tese ndimbuya vakandituma kuita izvozvo vaive nechinangwa chekuti ndikutizire, asi zvawakatsika madziro vakabva vati tochinomhan’ara kumapurisa kuti wakandibata chibharo, asi isu taive tawirirana pakuita bonde iri.
Moyo wangu warwadza kuti uende kujeri iwe usina mhosva mudiwa Hard, nekudara ndazoti nyaya yako ngaichiregedzwa, saka undiregererewo chose ndakumbirisawo chaizvo, uye ndichiri kukuda.
Chisara hako

Ndini wako wepamoyo
Florence Mpofu

(Copyright- Ali Simbi)


Indlovukazi Yami
By Tsitsi Nomsa Ngwenya

Baqinisile abadala
Uma bethi
Induku enhle iganyulwa ezizweni
Lakanye ngayigamula ezizweni
Ngenina lami
Umageza ngochago wami

Ekhuluma kamnandi
Amaphaphu ethule zwi!
Kanye labazali bami!
Abafowethu bengabakhe
Odadewethu ungathi baphuma thumbu linye laye

YiNdlovukazi yami leyo!
Mhla ngimbonayo
Ngakhudumala emathunjini
Ngaphelelwa ngamathe
Mhlawumbe wangisa ezacutheni
Ngoba ngatsha amathe
Ngehluleka lokuphendula
Kulowo owayengethula kuye

UMasitshela wami
Amehlo akhe agcwele uthando
Ubuso buyisimomotshwana
Iqolo yilonyovu
Ihlabusi kanye!
Ngafisa ukulibamba ngezandla zami zonke
Imbala yakhe ibutshelezi
Ilolongwe ngumdali
Esifubeni ame mpo!

Angani azange amunywe
Kazipendanga  njengabanye
Kayisuye walowo mkhando!
Linina lami lelo!
Uma ngicabanga Indlovukazi yami
Ngeke ngikuzwe
Noma ungaze uqoqode njani
Ehofisini yami

Zicombe nkazana!
Zifafaze,uziqhole ngamakha anukelelayo
Phinde ngikunake!
NgiloMasitshela wami mina
Intombi emhlophe
Engahlaliphansi, umadidizela
Engalali lesikhwili
Engavuli makhalekhukhwini wami
Kanye lencwadi yami yobuso
Kakudingi engakwenza ensitha

Yiyo Indlovukazi yami leyo
Ngayilanda kweleMatobo!
Ngiphuma ezweni lenduna yabeSuthu
Lika Sekhukhuni eLimpompo
Uma esemkulwini,uqhatshi luphapha lweqe
Umbelo womuzi wami
Lumeme omakhelwane
Ukuzithoba kwakhe,kubiza abangane
Abafisa ukuba bafane laye
Indlovukazi yami!


Award-winning author Christopher Mlalazi 
Christopher Mlalazi's 3rd book, Running With Mother  (published by Weaver Press, 2012)

Unsentimental and unselfpitying, this short but powerful novel by Chris Mlalazi vivifies an account by Rudo, a fourteen-year-old school girl who observes the terrifying events that take place in her village. Running with Mother provides us with a gripping story of how Rudo, her mother, her aunt and her little cousin survive the onslaught.

(Blurb adapted from Weaver Press website)


Kwiitwa Kwamali
Ngu Rev. Jeffrey Muleya

Mwapona nobabali bapepamakani  eeli.  Sunu ndiyanda kuti twiizye aatala amali. mubuLeya biingi besu tabachikwizi pe kuti mali muchisyobo yiitwa buti akaaambo kakuvwelengana kapati abamwi kaubula malembe aliwo aamba zintu eezi Mboobu zimpanzi zyamali muchiTonga;
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Ndalumba kwasunu.
Ndailajatika a +263 712 764 039 aa +263 773 507 435 aalugwalomulilo:


The Legend: Dambudzo Marechera (1952-1987)

Q&A: The Undying Legacy of Dambudzo Marechera
(This article has been widely published online)

 Dr. Dobrota Pucherova (pictured above) and Julie Cairnie co-edited the book titled “Moving Spirit: The Legacy of Dambudzo Marechera in the 21st Century”.

Moses Magadza interviews DR. DOBROTA PUCHEROVA, editor of a compilation of essays on the late Zimbabwean writer Dambudzo Marechera.
Legendary and controversial Zimbabwean writer Dambudzo Marechera, who once famously told people to let him write and drink his beer, has been dead for 25 years. However, interest in the life and work of the author, who has become a cult icon to aspiring young writers in Zimbabwe and abroad, will not die.
His work continues to inspire authors and readers alike.
Emmanuel Sigauke, a Zimbabwean poet and English teacher at Cosumnes River College in the United States, is a student of Marechera’s work. He tells IPS that many people are drawn to the famous author because of the way he exercised his art, the risks he took, and his total commitment to writing.
Indeed, critics hail Marechera as a genius. His most famous book, House of Hunger, won the prestigious Guardian First Book Award in 1979, making Marechera the first and only African to win the award.
After being expelled in the early 1970s from the University of Rhodesia, now known as the University of Zimbabwe, Marechera was admitted to the University of Oxford in the United Kingdom. But he was expelled from there too for unruly behaviour.
He died in Zimbabwe at the age of 35 after spending most of the last five years of his life living in the streets, writing furiously but publishing just one more book, Mindblasts.
Now a book on his life, soon to be released in Zimbabwe, provides new and interesting insights into Marechera’s personal and professional relationships.
Dr. Dobrota Pucherova and Julie Cairnie co-edited the book titled “Moving Spirit: The Legacy of Dambudzo Marechera in the 21st Century”. The book, published in Germany in May, is a compilation of essays by various writers that focus on how Marechera continues to inspire others.
“I believe it provides many new insights into Marechera’s relationships with his contemporaries, with other authors, and with his fans and inspirees. For example, Carolyn Hart’s essay explores Marechera’s relationship with African-American postmodern writers, while Katja Kellerer’s piece examines the intertextualities between House of Hunger and Ignatius Mabasa’s Mapenzi,” Pucherova says.
She holds a PhD on southern African writing and studied Marechera’s writing as part of her thesis. She also lectures on his work.

Excerpts of the interview follow.

Q: What drew you to the Marechera phenomenon?

A: Marechera’s writing expresses very well the desire for mental freedom that concerned me when studying southern African authors. He believed that overcoming oppositional identity discourses and freeing the imagination to create space for individual reinvention could achieve true liberation from oppression.
At the same time, Marechera’s vision of the political as sexual and the sexual as political provided new insights into power relationships in colonial and post-colonial conditions. Last, but not least, his flair for language and his infectious humour make his books very pleasurable to read.

Q: What inspired this book?

A: When I was writing my thesis chapter on Marechera, alongside I wrote a play based mainly on (his novel) Black Sunlight. To me, this novel is immensely comical and at the same time sophisticated. I felt that it has been misunderstood due to Marechera’s unwillingness to edit his work, as (leading academic publisher on Africa) James Currey has documented.
In adapting the novel for the stage, I wanted to bring forth its audacity and deeply sophisticated comedy. And so, when I decided to produce the play at Oxford, I felt: ‘Why not organise an entire festival on Marechera?’
The festival, which took place from May 15 to 17, 2009, was an international multi-media event that included film, theatre, fiction, poetry, painting, photography, memoirs and scholarly essays – all inspired by Marechera’s work and life.
The book is the proceedings of the festival, with a few additional pieces. Julie Cairnie, who has co-edited the book with me, was a participant at the Oxford Celebration.

Q: Essays by Marechera’s contemporaries like Musaemura Zimunya, Stanley Nyamfukudza and Charles Mungoshi are conspicuously absent from your compilation. How do you explain this?

A: The majority of contributions in the book were presented at the Oxford Celebration. The people you mention did not respond to the call for papers, which was widely distributed.
Q: Some people think this is the chink in this book’s armour. What impact do these omissions have on it?
A: No book on Marechera can possibly be complete. There are other famous contemporaries of Marechera who are not included in the book.
Q: This new book comes with rare, archival materials that include audiovisuals such as Marechera’s address at the Berlin Conference in 1979, and the speech on African writing that he gave in Harare in 1986. How important is it?
A: This material shows Marechera in various periods in his life. For me, seeing Marechera interviewed by (veteran journalist) Ray Mawerera in Harare in 1984 was a completely different experience than watching him drunk and deeply depressed in the London squat as he appears in Chris Austin’s film (based on House of Hunger). In the Mawerera interview, Marechera is an entirely different person – calm, communicative and composed.
Q: After this book – which is complete with archival material, footnotes, references as well as German scholar and Marechera’s former partner, Flora Wild’s, contribution – what else remains to be learnt about Marechera?
A: I believe no book on Marechera can be complete and I am sure there will be other books on (him). Helon Habila’s biography of Marechera is due to be published next year, and I look forward to reading it.
Q: What, in your view, sets Marechera distinctly apart from his contemporaries and today’s writers?
A: Marechera reacted to the Marxist and nationalist tradition in African writing with cosmopolitanism and post-racialism at a time in Zimbabwean history when it was most controversial to do so.
He described the violence of the colony and post colony with a liberating laughter and dared to laugh even at the power presumptions of the anti-colonial struggle. Identifying language’s key role in upholding systems of power, he explodes language to create new meanings and paradigms.
Moreover, Marechera dared to go to those places in the human psyche where no other black African writer before him had gone.
Others have done so after Marechera – of these, I would mention Yvonne Vera and Kabelo Sello Duiker, who similarly explore the dark spaces of the mind and whose highly poetic but authentic language sets them apart from other African writers. It is very sad that both of these writers have died young, just like Marechera.


Be there! I will be there! Be there! We will be there!


THEME : “African Literature In The Global & Digital Era”
ZIBFA invites all respective and interested parties to participate in the special two-day event as follows:
 28 – 29  September 2012
VENUE: Mutare (Queens) Hall

                                 ACTUAL EXHIBITION                  0900-1700hrs
                           CHILDREN’S READING TENT    0900-1700hrs
                            LIVE LITERATURE                       1000-1600hrs
28  September 2012
VENUE: Turner Memorial Library

The Writer and the Computer in the Global Era
The Publisher, The Writer, The Bookseller and Book Piracy in  Zimbabwe
The View from the Book Shop: Observations of a Book Seller
The Challenges of Licencing Copyright
Current Challenges for the Zimbabwean Librarian
 The Challenges of the e-technology Divide

If you wish to participate please register for the workshop by 18 September 2012 to avoid disappointment!!
For further details contact us at ZIBFA Head Office on: 04 702104, 704112, 702108
04 702129, Email, events,


Zimbabwe/Nigeria Literary Exchange

In Collaboration with

Call for Submission

For Young Poets Residing In Zimbabwe And Nigeria

The idea behind this collaboration is to create a literary and creative exchange between the young poets of Zimbabwe and Nigeria. The project is also geared towards publishing the unpublished poets residing in the both countries.

Aims of the Project

To network and link young poets from both countries together.
To enhance, hone and sharpen the literary creativity of the people involved.
To discover new literary talents.
To produce an anthology (Both in Printed and E-Book Format).
To share literary custom, tradition, ethics, history and culture through written poems.
To promote the spirit of literary unity in Africa


Language Medium – English
Poetry Type – Any.
Participants should be between the ages of 10 and 35.
Poems should be between the minimum of 10 lines and maximum of 50lines.
Entrants should include the followings alongside their works – Country, State, Age, Location, Short Profile, Where you heard about the Call for Entries, Tel. No. and A Sentence of not more than 50 words describing the poem.
Permission to publish your work among the shortlisted entries.
All entries must be submitted to: and copy to, latest by December 31st, 2012.
Any signs of plagiarism may disqualify the contestant.


Award of Certificate of Participation to all entrants
Award of Certificate of Excellence to all shortlisted entrants
All shortlisted poems will be published (Printed and E-book format).
Automatic Membership into the Society of Young Nigerian Writers

For More information, please contact:
Wole Adedoyin – SYNW (+23472673852) or Mbizo – GCCC (0734332309)


Profile of a Gifted Actress: Samantha Ndlovu

 Actress Samantha Ndlovu (second from left) with fellow actresses

Writers Urged To Be Business Minded

Renowned dub-poet, writer and musician Albert Nyathi was one of the presenters at the ZWA (Zimbabwe Writers Association) Writers Meeting held on September 1 at the British Council, Harare. The meeting was held under the theme 'How Writers Can Make Money From Their Writing'.

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