Of The Gift

Genre: Mystery (of sorts)

It was the eve of Christmas Eve…..

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She lay in bed trying to sleep tossing and turning, but sleep was playing hide and seek with her. In hindsight, watching a movie called The Nightmare before Christmas had probably not been the wisest of ideas and drinking a cup of coffee while doing so, had not helped matters. The eve of Christmas and the only movie on the box that had not been a feel good Christmas movie was a horror flick so she had watched it, though most of it had been viewed from behind a pillow.

She had stopped believing in Santa when she  was six when she caught him at the mall drinking a nip of whiskey from a hip flask while crouched behind the Christmas tree. He took a sip, then put back his beard back and winked at her. Santa was a creepy man with a fake beard simply posing for photos and giving gifts. She ran all the way home.

The Christmas Spirit might as well as have been the shot of whiskey she had poured into her coffee hoping it would help her fall asleep. Sleep was being evasive; she could not get her mind to shut down and the neighbour’s Christmas lights seemed to flash directly into her room, right through the flimsy drapes playing rainbow shadows all across the room. It made the room seem like a set of a horror movie. She imagined there was something beneath her bed waiting to grab her ankle as soon as she fell asleep, so she securely tucked her legs beneath the blankets nice and safe. The Thing from under the bed could not get you if you were tucked in, everyone knew that.

She thought she heard a creaking sound, the Boogeyman from the closet was coming for her. She covered her head with the blankets, the boogeyman did not get you if you hid beneath a fortress of warm blankets, everyone knew that the boogeyman was not very bright. She giggled.

From beneath the blankets she heard nothing but silence it was eerie there was only silence even the neighbour’s annoying dog was not barking maybe the boogeyman was out there somewhere. She was just about to peek out when she definitely heard and felt a boot scrape on the bedpost.

The blankets were pulled away from her and a huge hand clamped around her mouth before she could scream. A portly figure in a red outfit loomed over her briefly and then something was wrapped around her, then there was darkness as she was shoved into a bag or something.

It was not totally dark in the bag there were glittering lights, Christmas lights, and by their light she could see it was surprisingly roomy, there were gift wrapped boxes that looked suspiciously like presents. Looking down she noticed that she was also covered in a sparkly gift wrap with a bow around her waist.


Suddenly she remembered, the last thing he had said to her, when she asked what she could get him for Christmas….

All I want for Christmas is you…..


~The End

I think it’s a pretty lil mystery, for my #blogbattle entry theme GIFT stay festive ^_^




Of Christmas Eve

These are my confessions…..


Until fairly recently (recently being relative) I used to think Christmas Eve was The Evening before Christmas.

Christmas Eve is the whole day before Christmas. (Just like New year’s Eve is the day before New Year)

So if a story being told  was about the evening before Christmas it would so begin ….

“It was the eve of Christmas Eve…..”

If I ever made a wish that All I want for Christmas is you, then tonight is when a Santa sneaks into your room, grabs you, ties you up with a ribbon  puts a cute bow around your waist, then places you in a bottomless pit with the rest of the gifts and takes you to the North Pole.

Christmas is infectious me thinks. Even if you said “No, I dont want to catch the Christmas spirit” and wore Hazmat suit, you would still catch it. The same way if a toddler gives you a toy phone and says “Its for you.” No matter how gangster you think you are you will answer it.

Its Christmas Eve and the Christmas spirit must needs be shared, when someone smiles and says “Merry Christmas” you cant help smile back and say “Merry Christmas to you too.”

And suddenly you look forward to Christmas day even if there are no presents even if you dont believe in santa or anything just spending it with all those people who mean the most to you, that is the Christmas Spirit.

Happy Holidays Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year

merry xmas


Ps the Christmas Spirit tastes a little bit like a vodka and lemon cake you can find the recipe here


Of Christmas in Zimbabwe

If you were having coffee with me…..
we would be having tea served with a tray-full of bread slices spread generously with red mixed fruit Sun Jam and that is what Christmas tastes like.

What does your Christmas taste like?

Compliments of the festive season

B ^_^


Solveig Werner


Christmas in Zimbabwe by Beaton

I know it’s Christmas when I walk down First Street and the Christmas lights are strung up and lit. On the official switching on ceremony there is a carol by candlelight night, a night of Christmas carols.
I know it’s Christmas time when the Africa Unity Square Park is full of lights and the fountain is painted and spouting water as it should.

merry xmasChristmas lights beaton.png

Christmas is never Christmas until Mariah Carey released a Christmas album…. “All I want for Christmas…..”

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Of dancing with the stars

Genre: Romance

A tiny lil lie that’s what I said.

She asked if I could dance I said yes.

Before I knew it, I had been invited to a Christmas ball with carols by candlelight and yes there would be dancing, ballroom dancing to be precise.

I had to learn to dance before then. Which is why now I was binge watching episodes of Strictly Come Dancing and Dancing With The Stars. If the internet had been working I would have just googled how to dance like a Star. I missed the internet.

I practised my dancing with a broomstick as a partner.
The thing about broomsticks. They would not step on your toes but they could poke you in the knees when you tried to swirl them around or dip them.

I was attempting to poke my eye out when I was startled by a polite cough behind me. I stopped in the middle of a pirouette I was executing badly to find my observer was the lady who came to help with the cleaning.

“I have been looking all over for the broom, Sir” she said. There was not a hint of mockery in her voice but one can never be too sure so I asked
“How long have you been standing there?”

“I watched you try to do the tango”

“Oh?” I said feeling heat rising to my face.

“Don’t be embarrassed you have a natural grace with a bit of instruction you could sweep a lady of her feet” she said pointedly not looking at the broom

“So suddenly you are a dance expert?” I said scathingly.

To be honest I knew nothing about her,  except she came to clean. I had never said anything more than hello to her. She kept to herself only cleaned a room when you left it and if she got in and you were in it she backed out before you even noticed. It was like having a silent poltergeist that tidied up,  you never saw her only the results.

“I took dancing lessons, I wanted to be a dance instructor but then the tango never put bread on the table no one would pay to learn, not in this country anyway, so I do the odd cleaning jobs but music, it speaks to me in the language of dance. ”

“0h.” I said again wondering what to say next. “You could teach me, something simple.”

“On one condition,  you must not tell anyone my silly dance dreams.”

“I can keep a secret,  it’s the people I tell who can’t keep it to themselves.”

‘I am serious” she said

“Cross my heart” I said “When do we start?”

“Now” she said as she put down the dustpan and feather duster she had been holding and kicked off her shoes.

“First I’ll lead and you follow then you try to lead and I will follow….
Put your hand in mine and the other round me on my back, I won’t break,a bit lower,… not that low….”

We stood there and I asked “What about the music?”

“Oh” she said

The end

My #blogbattle entry theme Tango

A continuation of sorts


Of the flames of a revolution


Waiting for a friend in a seedy bar in an obscure part of town.
Strange thing about having locks as a hairstyle, people tend to be all one love want to share their ideas and booze and weed (if any police persons or parents of mine are reading this, I have never smoked ever)
Having small talk with this guy who I just passed this Hari Yemadzisahwira (A Calabash for friendship” as it is known. It’s best shared.)

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He downed its remaining contents in two successive swallows, belched, and resumed talking about current affairs.
The economy, electricity shortage, the banning and unbanning of some things, terrorist attacks.
I made the appropriate responses but did not commit to any opinions. It’s generally known that having public opinions is bad for your health, people have been known to go missing simply for far less.
So this acquaintance of mine was saying we must just get up and riot…

Which had me thinking……

RIOTS  And Revolution

If you’re upset about
something, instead of reasoning it out….
Just start rioting,
run through the streets,
bust your way into stores,
Watch people start panicking,
Loot something,
take back what you never had,
destroy property,
set things on fire,
People are things too,
statues must fall,
Everything must fall,
Rocks must be thrown,
Call it geology as you throw rocks,
Barricade roads,
You can come only if you join
But no one must go,
Aren’t you all sick and tired of being sick and tired,
Well here is the cure for the sickness,
Bold man take action,
throw rocks at the police because they should be protecting and serving YOU
Protest is your only voice,
Or your favorite choice,
That makes you EVEN
Even with The System,
the police,
the government.
Because they failed.
When the ones who are suppose to keep the peace disturb the peace.
When they go back on the promises and lies they told to get votes,
When public funds disappear and designer mansions and luxury cars appear,
When they say be patriotic, yet their kids learn at institutions abroad,
When they take away with one hand what they gave you with the other.
When they will not listen to you unless you speak loudly and brandish a large stick,
And even then their answer is to hold an even larger stick to firmly resolve issues.
when they make you disappear for calling them out,
And every day,
in the TV on the news,
you see them,
On the radio every hour,
You hear them,
telling you everything is fine
And you are in the living room watching like what did they say?


Don’t forget to wear good running shoes,
a face mask for the teargas,
and bring a lighter to burn your OWN city down…
Watch it all burn

You made it to breaking world news,
your protest will be televised,
and people will tweet about it,
And now you have successfully raised awareness on your plight,
never mind the cost,
never mind that at all never mind that it got
A little out of hand,
Never mind that it all kinda escalated,

Lilies will sprout and mankind will lock arms and sing kumbaya joyously together.
Your victory stands before you or rather it lies crumbled around you,
Nothing but rubble
maybe the world will help you build a new city, a better city, from the rubble,
Maybe they will just watch and tweet about it,
To build a city from rubble first you need there to be RUBBLE……

maybe we do not need to build a new world simply fix the one we have,

revolution is a  fire slow to start but once it flames it wont stop burning leaving nothing but ashes.


~images courtesy of Reuters


Of Building Homes

 Genre: mystery



“Nothing but bricks” The Chief exclaimed as he pointed at the smartphone, “well without the internet that’s all it was really, just a brick.”

“Dear boy, do not look so worried, bricks are a good thing. You see stones build houses, but homes are built by bricks”

“I do not understand grampa”

“Remember when you let the cattle graze in the headman’s field?”

I groaned, how could I forget that? I would not easily forget and it was barely a few weeks past, it had been an incident to say the least.

“You were doing something on the twittergram or is it the Whats Up?  That’s what you youngsters call it when you are just staring at your phones and laughing with imaginary people.”

“It’s simply called twitter grandad, and they are not imaginary they are online people on the internet”

“So this internet-web does it catch anything,  the way a spider’s web catches insects?”

I guess it captures attention” I mumbled too embarrassed to speak up.

“Ah,  I see now” grandpa said after a moment of reflection. “And now that internet is gone, you people do not know what to do with yourselves and your attention?”

“Yes grampa”

“And these clever phones of yours, they are all dead?”

“Yes someone sabotaged the network that gives the internet world wide, they are trying to fix it but so far haven’t managed to do anything”

“Well if I was in charge I would make sure they never fixed it, when was the last time you spoke more than two words to me?”

“Erm… “

“You cannot even answer, yet you came visiting so you could learn, about the old ways but all the while you were here you have been busy on the phone… googling. Now that the internet is broken, Google me this, why did the cows you were supposed to be watching stray and end up in someone’s field?”

“I think it was because I was not paying attention granpa”

“See this Google of yours does not know everything. You were simply a cog in a machine you have been negligent in learning about. What can you tell me about Mbudzi?”

“I know it’s the month of November and the name mbudzi also means goat and that you are not supposed to do marriage negotiations during that month.”

“Good what happens if one does do marriage rituals?”

“I,  I do not know”

“It is good you admit you do not know. Any breaking of this law of the land results in the ancestors punishing us. It can be anything from a drought, a flood, wild animals stampeding into the homestead or livestock grazing in your fields while someone is supposed to be watching them. That is why you were not reprimanded for your negligence.

You see the headman without my knowledge had begun marriage talks with a chief from beyond the hill so that one of ours, possibly you, may marry his daughter, and tie our clans with blood.”

“Me? But I don’t love her, I have never seen her, I don’t know her, I mean marriage___”

”Slow down son of my son, the talks begun at an inopportune time and that you were the instrument of the headman’s punishment is a sign not lost on us. Like I said to build homes you need bricks, and good bricks are tempered with blood, handover that phone of yours.”

I handed him the phone, wondering what if he was taking it away from me forever but he only punched a number into it then gave it back.

“It still makes phone calls right?” he asked and I simply nodded my head.

“Excellent” he said clapping his hands “There is the number for the chief’s daughter, call her sometime walk her to the stream, help her fetch water,  invite her to the next full moon dance. We will tell stories then, and who knows one day you might be the chief of two lands. Now run along.”

Clearly I had been dismissed. The headman showed up from where he had been hovering in the background and waved me away on the pretext of having business with the chief.

I stood outside staring into the horizon and there was a distant rumble, it could have been thunder but there was not a cloud in sight except for some hazy wisps of smoke over the mountain Zanje, it would rain soon, today even, it always rained when the mountain rumbled.


~The End

This week’s entry for the #BlogBattle theme Bricks

a continuation of sorts from here  mostly and also here  and maybe here