Of This Flag

I am a patriot.


I love my country so much it hurts

My heart beats a rhythm I  imagine sounds just like the national anthem,and if you cut me I would bleed the colours of the flag.



Red, for the blood shed during the armed struggle for independence.


yellow for our mineral wealth


Green, for the vegetation


Black, for the majority.



The love for my country won’t keep me warm, not even If I wore the flag like a cape or draped it on my bed like a sheet on a cold winter’s night.

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But my country tells me “Who then needs anything else when you have sovereignty. we will never be a colony again.”

I love my country, this somewhat teapot shaped land but sometimes (and this is happening more) I am not proud to stand up and say yes this is my home. A country where the older generation reminisces on the good old days, days when we were under imperial colonial rule and say “yes we had no freedom then, but we never went to bed hungry; we had no freedom but we never had cash shortages never stood in line for hours to be told the bank has run out of money come back tomorrow.”

I love my country yet it scares me, every time I pass a group of riot police I feel an urge to disperse, as if I had intentions of doing an illegal one man demo. It scares me to question things because I am afraid of being labelled an activist. Activists are funded by foreign governments to cause chaos and regime change, activists tend to be spirited away in the dead of the night by “The intelligence” and never heard from again.

I have had to re-read this post many times to make sure it was politically correct because I love my life.

Pastor Evan Mawarire launched a profound #ThisFlag movement that sends a simple yet powerful message, let us rally behind the standard of our country. He urged us to have pics taken with a flag and post all over social media. They say social media cant really change the world but if you ask me the next revolution will be tweeted and retweeted, the next revolution will not be broadcasted on the radio, the next revolution will be hashtagged.

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Maybe the red is for the blood of all those who go “missing” for simply asking questions or having an opinion,

The yellow for all the wealth looted from the country,

The green for all we lost in droughts, floods and deforestation

And the black, for the darkness that is the future.

How can it not be dark, the future, when people who did not fight in the liberation war, who do not remember it, meet those who were “born free’ after the war, a fell gathering of a million men marching to the drums of one man.

#ThisFlag is my flag is #OurFlag

If could stand before the government and ask for one thing and one thing only:

I would ask for A FUTURE.



Of The Surfer

Genre: Mystery 


I am Soul Surfer.

That’s what I tell people who are not only curious but brave enough to ask.

I sit on a mat with my eyes closed and slow down my breathing till almost imperceptible, because you see every time you breathe out, you breathe away a little bit of your life away, until you exhale for the last time and then never again.

That is where I come in, when I breathe out I leave myself behind but by sheer will power alone I maintain my consciousness and can so travel far and wide and find a host whose body I will enter when they take a sudden deep breath, be careful next time you find yourself taking a deep breath, that just might be me. Later when I am done I return back to my own body back on that mat my eyes open and they are filled with that look of one who knows more than they are telling.

I open my eyes and I tell stories of places on whose shores I have never walked, where water turns to rock when it is cold and the sky bleeds white fluffy pebbles that fall on your lashes and they tickle, they are cool on the tongue but do not eat the yellow coloured ones. I tell stories of people whom I have never met with strange names and eyes the colour of gas flames that sizzle.

I stare searchingly into the distant sky and suddenly proclaim, “Today it will be cloudy with a chance of rain, carry an umbrella. It is a wonderful day to have a birthday today, your favourite team won the Champions league last night”; I see the awe in your eyes as you wonder how I know all these things I know or where I make them up from, “Stare into my eyes at your own peril I am a Soul Surfer.” I dare.

I am a Soul Surfer, at least that’s what I tell people. I am a Surfer indeed but neither of souls or oceans but of the information super highway. I surf vast streams of the internet, I catch high speed waves of bits and bytes; I surf the vast internet ocean that separates us at the click of a button.

The answers to almost any question you can think of are there, well at least what someone somewhere thinks is the answer, all the things man was meant to know available on a search engine.

Without taking a step I share cups of coffee with friends I have never met across the globe in sunny Ireland one instant, Tokyo the next, watching the sunrise of cold winter’s morning in Cape Town and spend a summer’s evening in California.Across time zones and seasons so different, they might as well as be from made up places, with made up people of made up names and handles, with a screen for a face, a keyboard for hands typing, always typing words, or maybe that’s what I am; simply a display photo and a user name. Never believe anything you read on the internet, ironically I read that on the internet.

There is a law that states:

 Sufficiently developed technology is indistinguishable from magic.

I am a Soul Surfer, that’s what I tell people, brave enough to stare into my eyes and ask me how I know all the things I know.


#Blogbattle theme Surfer

P.S never believe all I tell it just might be true.


Of Coffee moonlit nights and regrets


If you were having coffee with me we would be having a cup of coffee hotter than the winter sun. It is winter this side of the world. You can have hot chocolate if you prefer.

If you were having coffee with me I would ask you if you saw the full moon last night, I did, I always circle the calendar on the days that have moonlit nights, I feel an urge to howl at the moon if this were a moon howling world.


If you did not know it by now I love the moon …..It looks like a diamond on the black velvet of night.

If you were having coffee with me I would tell you I submitted an article for possible consideration as a columnist for some online publication and I spent weeks anxiously waiting for a response, the details stated that only short-listed candidates would be contacted. Don’t you just hate it when they do that? How long must you wait before you decide you were not shortlisted, I think it’s just cruel and unusual torture, how hard is it to have an email template you can copy paste all unfortunate candidates put them out of their misery. I hope they make loads of money from all the money they save by sending emails to only short-listed candidates.

Sometime during the past week, while checking my email I found I had been a short-listed candidate and received the second half of instructions. They wanted to know my twitter handle, the horror *ghostie emoji*

Imagine a potential employer having a look at your Twitter Timeline and you desperately trying to remember if you tweeted anything that’s Not Suitable For Work. I had half a mind to start a new twitter profile for business and people I do not like, people whom I have to tell I don’t do twitter *Poker face emoji* but apparently they (employers) consider your follower count to see your potential reach or influence. They also wanted me to write an imaginary review about an imaginary startup company which I would pull out of my imagination and also highlight why this company would consequently fail, I was definitely out of my depth, and these guys were out for blood. Bye Bye Boss.

Imagine my surprise when I was called in for an interview. It was going great until they said that they would pay me with exposure. Does one eat exposure? And it turns out I have far more twitter followers than they isn’t that ironic… oh how much more exposure would I benefit from them, its exploitation that’s what it is, say NO to slavery. Writers gotta eat too. I guess they didn’t take my response all too kindly because………..

If you having coffee with me or hot chocolate or whatever rocks your boat, its water that rocks boats by the way, I would ask you, your thoughts on regret letters, you know the ones you get from potential employers saying we regret to inform you will not be joining our organization or publishing your manuscript. I think they should state that either in the ref or first line of the email so you do no waste time finishing reading it. Sugar coating it telling by telling you what an awesome candidate you were and how they were thrilled you were interested in joining their company or publication services *blah* *blah* *blah* but then hidden somewhere in the last line almost like a forgotten Post Script oh yeah by the way we regret to say……. *Sigh*

If you were having with me, I would tell you, I recently had an epiphany, on three things.

  • Number 1 is that I have really brilliant ideas in my head, about life the universe and everything and my writing.
  • Number 2 is I really need to remember to write in my journal or something to capture all these thoughts so I can get back to them and polish them up for all they are worth.
  • Number 3…. I don’t remember but that brings me back to number 2

If you were having coffee with me I would say thank you for the visit how has your past week been, whats good whats really good, whats really really good. Here is to a brilliant new week.

If you were having coffee with me I would show you this picture of my niece, A baby on a motor bike Vroom vroom.



Of Coffee and A Bubble Bath

If you were having coffee with me I would ask you if you had bathtub with running hot water. I miss having a bubble bath. It’s so been so long since I filled a bathtub with water and just immersed my body in it and simply soaked.
We havent had running water in what feels like ages I do not remember the feeling of turning a faucet and water just gushes out as if by magic, little things one takes for granted. There is a sign that hangs by the toilet door;

“If its yellow let it mellow,
If its brown flush it down”

Words to live by, considering you have to carry a bucket of water from outside to go to the toilet.

If you are having coffee with me, hope I haven’t ruined your appetite, but that’s ok we are not really having coffee, see, I ran out of fresh water and the bucket in the kitchen is full of water that smells like medicine, I added those water purification tablets to it and now you can smell the chlorine in it, haven’t been brave enough to drink it, I guess it would ruin the coffee. That is why we are having juice, I hope you like lemonade, I squeezed it myself.

Speaking of Lemonade have you heard or watched Beyonce’s visual album, titled Lemonade? It made a lot of hullabaloo on the internet. #Lemonade I haven’t watched it, The website it streams from is not available in my country, I wonder if all those people who say they watched it really did or they were just reacting based on other people’s reactions. If life gives you lemons make lemonade.

If you were having coffee with me I would say if life gave lemons you really need to stop doing drugs because life does not go around giving people stuff. I love the way you laugh, at least I hope you are laughing and not choking on your lemonade. Funny story about the lemonade, I bought the lemons from a street vendor with a tshirt printed LIFE at the front, isn’t that ironic. I wanted to talk to them point out the ironies and laugh about it, but municipal police arrived and chased all the vendors, because, well, its illegal to sell stuff on the streets in the CBD. If life sells you lemons buy them and make lemonade.

but if life gives you potatoes:

If you were having coffee with me I would ask you, if someone bathes themselves from a bucket, placed in bathtub, is that taking a bath or having a shower? Questions that keep me up at night. I have lots of those, I really should start a blog tag about such. But bathing from a bucket has this satisfying conclusion with the final rinse when you empty the remainder of the water on water on your head and it drips all the way down, presto you are squeaky clean.

If you were having coffee with me I would ask if I can take a bubble bath at your house, I promise I am good at conserving water and I will even bring my own herbal foam bath with essential oils. If all you have to bath with is a bucket full of water, its not a good idea to add bubble to it because how will you rinse up, I have seen this I have done this you dont want this.

If you were having coffee with me I would show you this cute picture of my niece (she will kill me when she is all grown up), a baby in a bucket.




Thanks for the visit.

Of A This & That Book Tag


I was tagged in the This and That book tag by Mable. I am quite honoured more than little flattered and your secret is somewhat safe with me. Thank you for the nomination and the other thing, I do not know; do I pretend I did not see that? or, as That Writer Chic would say it’s complicated. Again many thanks Mable ^_^

Alrighty then lets get to it;

Wherever it’s comfortable and I can read in peace. But on lazy days of binge reading, for a change of scene, after I fall asleep reading a book in bed, in the morning I will drag my duvet to the lounge. Lounging on the couch, book in hand, a cup of tea getting cold on the coffee table and the TV watching me, as it makes background noise.

Male main character. A man of action, few words, but witty, like Bruce Willis meets Batman meets the guy from The Transporter movies and the new James Bond. No drama. Books with main female characters tend to get a little chick flicky but there are always exceptions; who kick down doors and take names and throw witty retorts while they at it… Jack Daniels from J. A. Konrath novels.

Salty snacks. Salty snacks with cheese. Spicy salty snacks with cheese. Snacks one can have with a chilled intoxicating beverage.

Hmmm one of my all-time favourite books is Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy. A trilogy in four parts. Riddle me that. 3 seems like a nice solid number of books to have but 3 or 4 small difference if the story is good enough to carry through why not? I am currently hooked to a series with ten parts and I am half-way through book 8, started Book 1 a year ago….

I read when I can. At night there are less disturbances the “normal” people are sleeping, and in the morning when I wake up, I can continue from where I left off first thing before the world intrudes and demands I get out of bed.

I love first person point of view, makes you feel like these thoughts are your thoughts that you are part of the story. But some stories call for a more dissociative observation from the reader, you are just a passenger in the story watching where it leads.

What are bookstores? Are those shops that sell books? Bookshops? Well, where I am from Bookshops are more of glorified Stationery shops and most books they stock are educational text books, and a few novels that are recommended for literature students. Why one would want to spend time in there beats me besides there is nowhere to sit too. If looking for novels you have better luck checking out roadside vendors, one can find surprisingly good gems, even bestsellers.
That leaves a library. But the libraries  we got left are more for educational needs than just reading for pleasure so it’s no fun reading in there unless you have a due assignment or exam. I would rather take my book and sit on a park bench.

Why read a book that makes you cry, that’s just torture, I read to escape I read for fun, I read to laugh.
So I would not willing pick up and read a book that plays with my feels and gives me chest pains, I am all for comedy.
Even the stories I write always have a spark or a blazing conflagration of humour because why cry when you can laugh.

My Blog Nominees for the Book Tag are

Some String Of Words  Because haven’t heard from you in forever and this is a warm friendly nudge.

Diary of a headless chicken I recently stumbled on this blog and I have thing for chickens, so headless ones are a curious oddity I that I can’t deny.

From Tokyo To The World  sometimes lives under a rock, a very interesting one but comes out to now and and then and because I cant wait to read the answers he comes up with.

Drops Of Sunshine because we all could do with a drop of golden sun, winter is coming.

Cathleen cause just read something that was plot changing.

Pineapple Unscripted because pineapples are great except on a pizza

Samira Isimbi   a new blog just started; show some love, here is to reading more of you ^_^

Makaitah Rogue because she said she was back from a sabbatical but hasn’t posted anything in forever, ok it’s only been a few weeks, but hey.

Afuaawo one word; poetry ^_^

hazvinei cause always has interesting views on stuff

The Bantu Voice  because something something, Chicken. but do you read?

Now if you should choose to take part in this challenge the terms and conditions are simple
The rules are;
1. Thank and link the person who tagged you.
2. Answer the questions asked.
3. Tag other 10 bloggers to do same.


Of A Shark In A Suit

Genre: Suspense

Duplicitous; the word left a bitter taste in his mouth that all the finest whiskey in the world could not wash out. He was not duplicitous, he was a businessman, an entrepreneur he thought to himself as he calmly folded the business section of the newspaper and slid it across the solid mahogany table; to land in the chrome-plated trash basket. Papers should stick to what they know best, reporting the news and not feature articles about business reviews, calling he him a shark in a suit. He smiled at that image well the corporate world was an unruly ocean and he was a shark, a shark in a suit.

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His leather executive chair creaked slightly as he reached with a well-manicured hand for a button on the intercom that signaled his P.A.

“Sir?” A female voice inquired.

“Can you find out for me how much the Resonance Times is worth, annual profit projections, and readership numbers…..oh! And its key board members.”

Sir it will take a mome__

“I will have a file on Resonance Times with my morning coffee, thank you very much.” He said dismissing his P.A. He would teach them, calling him a duplicitous businessman, oh they would learn he could be far worse than duplicitous, he was a shark in suit, their words, well little fishes musn’t swim with sharks.

He hadn’t gotten to where he was by letting people write bad reviews about him. He had the president’s private number on speed dial, considering he had almost single-handedly bankrolled the president’s campaign; the least the president could do was pick up when he called him; that was power.

Growing up his father constantly said to him “One cannot earn respect by standing around with one’s hands in one’s pockets” and each word was punctuated with a smack to the back of the head. It didn’t hurt much, physically, but the humiliation of it brought a sting of hot tears to the eyes, and boys were never supposed to cry. He learnt his lesson and he learnt it well, after several chastising.

Respect is earned not by standing with your hands in your pockets but by being able to put your hands in other people’s pockets. No, nothing as crass as  being a common pickpocket even if you were skilled like the Artful Dodger, oh no, they dipped they own hands into their pockets and gave you all they and even called you “Sir” while they were doing it. That was respect.

His father the sentimental old fool, had given him the best education money could buy, and an exposure to the modern world of luxury that he had no longer been content to go back and settle in the countryside, to live the simple communal village life. His father was the chief and being his father’s only son he was heir to the chieftaincy, but how could he, with his modern overseas education, waste his business acumen sitting on a leopard skin throne, that reeked of cow dung, addressing people whose language he could no longer speak fluently, though he could speak perfect English. An old English teacher once had said to him, “If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine, I am speaking to a native European” the whole class clapped because the teacher gave out compliments as would a miser who carefully counted from his hoard, before picking the least valued coin, to give away.

The day he came back from his studies abroad and told his father that he no longer wanted to succeed him as chief was the day he broke his father’s heart. But his heart was set, he wanted to live in the big city where the bright lights shone brighter than dreams, turning night into day and no one ever seemed to sleep because money just like power never sleeps.

He had two sons now, hopefully X with a little tough love and mentoring could one day takeover his empire, and the other one could follow the footsteps of his grandfather and take over a different empire all together, that would be perfect and perhaps his father would forgive him finally for walking away from culture.

After a soft knock the frosted glass door to his office swung open silently on well-oiled hinges and his PA walked in carrying a silver tray with a single china mug of steaming hot coffee. She placed the tray on his desk and as if by magic conjured a folder marked The Resonance Times from beneath the tray and placed it squarely beside the tray.

He smiled like a benign shark, all teeth, a shark in a suit.

“That will be all thanks”

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~The End

My #Blogbattle themed Duplicitous


This is a continuation of an ongoing series of stories which are linked in various sometimes not so obvious ways, I recommend you catch up by reading giving feedback if you would be so kind:

Of The Summoning

Of Building Homes

Of dreadful intentions

Of The Muse In You: message in a bottle

Welcome to this interesting journey where you muse me:

The story so far…..

I sat at my laptop, about to press the delete button on an email from an unknown number but the universe spoke…. Take a chance

So the decision was unanimous Take A Chance (thank you all who voted now we proceed)

Just as I was about to press the delete button, I realised that I had been humming along to a song playing on the radio, a golden oldie classic by ABBA, Take A Chance On Me. What further sign did I need from the universe?
Here goes nothing, I thought as  I clicked open the email. I paused a little bit, half expecting my antivirus to pop up a notification with a red alert sound warning announcing threat detected. I really should mute that option, it had gotten me into several awkward situations, but again it was another one of those things I meant to do but never did quite get round to, anyway all was quiet on my antivirus front so I guess it was safe enough.
I quickly scanned through the email, then read it again slowly.

Hi Stranger
I randomly entered your email address and hit the send button. Think of this as a message in a bottle.
I will understand if you don’t reply I am not asking for much all I want is simply a friend to talk to. I hope you reply
Nya Chiuta

I stared at the screen wondering what I should do…..
1 ignore the email
2 delete the email mark sender as spam
3 forward it to my know-it-all friend
4. Google the sender and email address to check if they not listed under any scam artists
5. Reply to the email
6. Other…. comment your suggestion