Of My Ancestry And The Heritage In My Roots

Avuxesheni avuxeni (hello hello)

I believe Africa is rich with creativity, legends and history deep like the roots of a giant tree.
Come sit with me by the fire, where every good story begins, and because we should not waste such a beautiful flame,  come sit with me and lets watch this clay pot of water boil.

clay-pot-cooking
They say a watched pot never boils so while we wait for it to boil I will tell you the little that I know about my culture.

I am Machangana or Shangaan, a tribe of the Tsonga people. The origins of these my people is steeped in controversy. People use the term Tsonga interchangeably with Shangaan and to further muddy the waters the same language XiTsonga is spoken but it never quite means the same things.

Before the were Shangaan people the were Tsonga people, who hailed from East Africa part of the Bantu groups of the Ronga, Tswa and Ndau who slowly migrated south of the continent, in search of greener pastures, literally, for their livestock, they were pastoral people.

In the  1800s the Tsonga, settled South of Africa until along came the Mfecane (time of trouble/ forced migration) as Shaka The Zulu consolidated all the other tribes into the Zulu Empire, resulting in tribes migrating to settle in new areas.

Mfecana

Soshangane an army general “fled” north crossing the Zambezi into Rozvi territory (what is now Zimbabwe) with some of “his people” finally ending up in Mozambique.
The name Shangaan is derived from the name of Soshangane. Somewhere along all that, we came to be here.

tsonga

Here is a photo of my grandfather and I. He taught me some of what I know about who I am, where I come from, how I have my totem which is Fire, and the praise song for my people. I am from a long line of royalty House: VaHlengwe

generationUya chisa mlilo
Hikisile chauke
Chakungedzele ribweni
Loki uchiona chiehixele
chifile katika
Chihanya hlungwani angahlinga
Aukhosi wahina u’nzilo
Hi mina Beaton
WaGilbert
WaTsamwisi
WaMzamani
WaNdalega
waNgwena
WaMatsena
Wa Bhangwani
wakanga nzela ribwe.
Xikovele xigombeeeeeeeeee
I imagine people dancing around a huge fire as they say that.

Shangaan village

I am not entirely sure of the spellings or what that all means I know its something about an ode to Fire (my totem)

Who are you and where you come from? We are all migrants we started of somewhere and here we and here we are.

In the spirit of UBuntu I am because you are…

~B

Day 22 Africa: Stories From Home

Advertisements

Of Coffee On The Last Day Of The Year

 

If you were having coffee with me, I would say goodnight 2017 Asante Sana! (That’s Swahili for Thank you very much)

I am pleased to announce that I smashed the resolutions I made earlier in the year, whoop whoop!

  • First being to interact with more bloggers; recently celebrated having a 1000+ followers I must be doing something right….. Salute!!!
  • I now run a blogging network alongside 4 other bloggers from different corners of the African continent; you can find us on twitter as Afrobloggers
  • I am also part of the team behind BloggersZim and we will be bringing you ZimBlogging Awards….
  • And the wonderful community of the BlogIndaba, a bloggers coterie (mostly Zimbabwean bloggers)
  • I was a speaker for the first ever at a WordCamp and my presentation was titled a Website is a conversation 
Beaton Mabaso WordCamp Harare

A website is a conversation

  • Man’s International check the statistics

Becoming The Muse

Hello 2018

What do you have planned for us? Bigger and better things.

If you were having coffee with me, I would tell you that this the first year without Mugabe at its helm, we are all curious to see which direction the interim president will steer us, or will history as they say repeat itself…….

How long after Christmas can you start taking down the Christmas tree and decorations, I am eyeing it for firewood for the net barbecue…

If you were having coffee with me, I would tell you that some get snow for Christmas and we get, rain, it rains every Christmas and still every Christmas we make plans to hold a barbecue….

rain christmas tree harare

Christmas in the rain

 

Tradition I guess and I love to say its because my totem is fire, that’s how we honour our ancestors they invented fire after all (if you want to read more on this curious story click here)

Smokey grill

If you are having coffee with me I would introduce a cousin, Munyaradzi on his first visit to Zimbabwe from the UK;

Munya

What better way to welcome someone than a cake with a flag on it

Welcome to Zim cake

Welcome to Zim

I am super curious on how his experience has been in his own words and so expect a guest post coming up…… this means you cant wiggle out now Munya the internet awaits your tale…..

If you were having coffee with me I would tell you to have a great year ahead…..

~B

 

PS Hayley won an award in the Zimbabwe Models Award (she features in a guest chat on a previous post Coffee with Hayley) Congrats Hayley

Becoming the muse coffee with Hayley

Zim Models Awards Best plus size Hayley Ann Carstens

and my best moment in 2017, my sister’s wedding:

Meet the fam

Mom and Sons

Of Being Me

Hello my name is Beaton but by now you should know to call me just B. no other letters, and you don’t pronounce the just. Sometimes I like to tell people that my name is pronounced, you know how in French some letters are silent like the  S in Paris is silent, well all the letters in my name are silent too except for the B……

B.jpg

I am ~B and this is day three of my blog everyday challenge

People are funny creatures, you tell someone to call you B. and next time they call you, they presume to know your name. I have been called Brighton, Brilliant, Beacon, even Brian. I mean Brian? How even? But if there is anything that grinds my gears more than my name being assumed wrong, it’s when I tell someone my name and they pronounce it badly, even when I repeat it…. And I eventually say please just call me B (and save me the drama of hearing my name being mangled) but that other part stays in my head…

Where I come from people tend to give babies names with meaning but I guess most people do to a fashion, like Tawanda (meaning we are many) Tafara (meaning we are happy) Shuvai (meaning Hope) Navelani (also meaning Hope). Most names used here, when you hear them, you understand them, you can define them, you can even find them in the dictionary.

My name is uncommon, I have only “met” one person with it, as a first name, we are Facebook friends… if you are reading this post Hi Beaton!!!!

Beaton

Beaton

When I am asked what my name means sometimes I say, “I cannot be defined because my name is not in the dictionary.” But that’s not completely true I looked up my name it means:

“From the warrior’s estate”

From the warrior’s estate wow… do not mess with me. You see, I am a descendant from a line of warriors that leads back to Shaka The Zulu. Shaka reigned in Southern Africa and consolidated a formidable empire in the late 1700s to early 1800s.

Shaka The Zulu

I don’t think my parents had this in mind when they named me, it was in honour to an uncle….  (hmmmm maybe my grandaparents when they named my uncle….)

In Zimbabwe family kin identify each other by their totems, people of the same clan have the same totem (known as mutupo in Shona language) It’s a patron or spirit animal for your people, you respect it and you are not supposed to eat it. When you have done good, when someone is thanking you or beseeching you or down right flattering you, they can invoke your totem in a clan praise name…….

My mother’s totem is heart (moyo). My father’s totem is fire (moto, mlilo)

My totem is Fire. You become your father’s people…..

 

Again this is uncommon as most, if not all have animals or organic totems. Lion (shumba, murambwi), elephant(zhou ndlovu), monkey(shoko), zebra(dube) heart(moyo) and many other totems. The people who came up with this totem thing were clever not to pick animals like chicken, cow or pig because folk would have been in trouble. Eating your totem is said to cause a host of misfortune including droughts until you appease your ancestors.

My Totem is fire…..

There is nothing I don’t eat, my ancestors “discovered” fire and I pay homage to them in a barbecue.

fire BBQ

Hello my name is Beaton and my spirit animal will barbecue your spirit animal…..

My totem is fire and I was born to be uncommon.

Mlilo, Chauke

~B

PS You can read about my how my ancestors “discovered” fire HERE

 

Shaka Zulu Image credit Source

Of Anniversary Coffee With A Writing Challenge

If you were having coffee with me……

coffee mug next to fire

I would tell you that if you haven’t figured me out by now you really should know that I am is a story teller….. I tell stories. Life happens and I tell stories.

Well technically I write them, but in my head, as I write, I tell the story, and I imagine, you really are here, listening, my imaginary audience, I even imagine how you will react the way you are shaking your head right now and then reading this paragraph again from the start…. Its freaky isn’t it

I know right.

…..and there is a fire, there’s always a fire, the Story Gods are appeased by the flames, as it has always been. Fire is my spirit animal.

If you were having coffee with me I would tell you that you are a voice in my head, correction, one of the voices in my head. Don’t be alarmed I am not a crazy person, and stop It!!! Stop trying to imagine what goes on in my head.

My head for your own information is quite fine, I had it examined today even. I looked in the mirror and I thought to myself I look fine right? And my hair is quite long!!

beaton.jpg

 

My brothers agree with you too.

me and them.jpg

 

If all the people who thought exactly what you are thinking right now (yes I read minds sometimes besides you are a figment of my imagination remember) if all those people were doctors I would be telling you this story from the comfort of an asylum and I would be asking you why straitjackets don’t come in any fun colours…. A rainbow coloured strait jacket Id rock that.

rainbow.jpg

also dont believe my brothers they are no better, they just dont write

20170820_125720.jpg

If you were coffee with me I would tell you that if my blog had gone to High School it would be matriculating or writing its General Certificate of Secondary Education O levels just about now.

anniversary.JPG

As an anniversary gift to my blog I shall present it with a blogging challenge to write a blog post everyday for the month of September. The general theme of the posts will be #MyAfricaMyWords and you will get an insight into who I am, why I blog and the place I call home.

Brace yourself  and do drop by to read, hang out and encourage me…. If you would like to take part in this challenge, consider yourself tagged… You Are In. Bring a friend.

MyAfrica.jpg

Look out for the following hashtags on social media #30DayAfriwriter #BlogTemberChallenge #MyAfricaMyWords

~B

Ps I have been day dreaming on the future of storytelling I wont be impressed until someone invents (you know how some phones have that speech-to-text function) a thought-to-text function you simply think out the words and they are plucked out of your head to magically appear on the screen including the relevant images ……

You should come visit my head.

Have an awesome week.

Of A Web Well Spun

GENRE; Fantasy

If you didn’t know by now you must know; we come from a long line of story-tellers. Long before my people sat around the first fire and whispered secrets of its origins; on nights like this they sat quietly; in a circle around a story-teller; huddled together for warmth and they listened.

Sometimes the story was told, sometimes the story was within another story; other times the story told itself; it was not hard to believe stories talked because back then even the animals talked…. The stories always begun the same way PAIVAPO (Once Upon A Time) ….”

I paused as I had seen my grandfather do; when he told his stories, first you drew in the crowd made them curious what story you would tell them tonight. I glanced at granddad, it was almost imperceptible but he nodded in approval. I held my hands to the fire as and then rubbed them together and begun;

embers

embers

“Once upon a time, when animals walked and talked like you and I. The lion was King of the jungle, and all the creatures would shiver when he roared; they wondered whom he would devour next, that’s what it usually meant when a beast roars. It was a difficult time to be alive living in constant fear of being eaten. One by one the animals all decided they had had enough, all of them that is except for the lion, who had an enormous appetite.

There was a meeting in the forest and all the animals were there; except for the ones already eaten and two others. Lion for obvious was not invited to this meeting and Tsuro the hare; did not attend because he was caught in a spider web and would shortly be making a special appearance at Lion’s table as the main course. It was agreed that it was a time for change; a hero was needed to save them from the hungry lion, someone whom could match wits if not strength with the lion.

Once upon a time Tsuro the hare was the fastest animal until he lost a race to a tortoise; he would have won if he had not stopped to nap, sometimes victory goes not to the swiftest but to the most persistent. All the animals had been happy to see Tsuro lose they celebrated for many days and many nights and long after would never let Tsuro forget it. You see Tsuro was clever; too clever for his own good; we wouldn’t call him wicked but he was definitely mischievous.

Once upon a time while playing with Mr Dovi The Peanutbutter Man; Tsuro said lets eat each other. Mr Dovi got eaten and was soon finished The End.

Not long from now Tsuro would also soon get eaten, but all the animals were in agreement that Tsuro was only one who could best Lion. They asked Spider who happened to be hanging around the meeting to tell Tsuro that if he could defeat Lion then they would crown him King of the jungle.

Spider noiselessly descended on his web right down to Tsuro’s ear and informed him of the animal’s decisions.

“Good” said Tsuro “I have a plan; first loosen the web trap around me then listen carefully” Tsuro told Spider his plan; just before lion arrived all set to feast on hare.

“Wait” said “Do you want to know my fur is always soft, why I never age, why I am the cleverest there is?”

“Tell me, what will you charge me for this secret; to be the strongest and cleverest” roared The Lion.

“For you, no charge, you can even eat me after I am done. Ok; every night I cut off my head so that I sleep soundly and recharge my soul; in the morning I stick my head back on and am as good as new. I will show you how; then you can try it also. Quick give me a knife”

“You are trying to trick me into giving you a knife” said Lion

“Fine then, ask Spider to come and cut my head off” You see Spider was the king’s henchman, he did what he was told and no more.

Lion agreed and Spider cut off Tsuro’s head.

Then Tsuro held his head and screwed it back into place.

“Ta-da!”

Lion was amazed.

But of course he didn’t know Spider had only pretended to cut off Tsuro’s head and Tsuro pretended to put it back.

“Come and cut off my head!!” Lion roared to Spider excitedly

Lion died and Tsuro became king

The End.

Endings are always beginnings.

Once upon a time when Tsuro was King of the jungle; change had come and it was exactly the same; he declared that his name was now “All Of Us” He threw a feast in his honour. All the animals contributed in making the feast for many days and nights. Finally feast day arrived and they couldn’t wait to eat, but Tsuro stopped them and asked whose food this was, the animals all replied “All Of Us!

“Yes!!!! and I am “All Of Us” and this food is mine; you will eat after I am done”

Tsuro ate and ate and ate and then he picked his closet friends to eat and then finally let everyone else eat what was left; which wasn’t a lot

This happened all the time; everything belonged to “All Of Us” and animals not close friends with Tsuro were growing thinner and thinner, they complained bitterly that life was better when Lion was King at least they never went hungry and food was always available, change they decided was bad. When they asked Tsuro about it he would have a clever words in reply words like did he not get them freedom from the hungry lion that oppressed them, should “All Of Us” not feast as a reward did they not ask him to be King, that is democracy. Democracy is for “All of US” and “All of Us” should make the Jungle great again.

Once upon a time; King Tsuro got caught in a spider web’s trap. He yelled for help but no one came. A hunter who was trying to find his way home came across Tsuro; he carried with him a snail’s shell and contained within it was a glowing ember. He thanked his ancestors and used his ember to start a small cooking fire, and after slaughtering the hare, he cooked and ate it; then when went on to have a nap. He had a dream that all the animals in the forest were celebrating and that a spider watched over him as he slept or maybe it simply waited….web.jpg

 

The End

I finished my story and took a deep breath and blew softly into an old snail shell, then I put it up to my ear and listened…. I picked up a red hot ember and placed it into the shell then I walked into the moonlit night.

Always leave them wondering; another lesson from my granddad. I did not say another word that night……

 

THE END

~B

My blogbattle entry prompt Change.

PS Purely a work of fiction any resemblance to real life purely coincidence… loosely adapted from folktales I heard growing up and legends from my ancestors; also inspired by Anansi Boys a book by Neil Gaiman because all stories are Anansi’s:

“Stories are like spiders, with all their long legs and stories are like spiderwebs; which a man gets himself all tangled up in but which look so prettywhen you see them under a leaf in the morning dew, and in the elegant way that they connect to one another, each to each…”

“Much of what a spider does is waiting”

 

 

 

 

 

Of The Flame Keeper’s Tale

Of The Flame Keeper’s Tale

The night was dark. The night would have been dark still had the moon shone bright and stars long since dead just the dreams wished upon them twinkled. The night was dark and the only light was from the dying embers of a once great bonfire.

“Gather around.” The old man spoke “Gather around and let us witness the dying of the fire, gather around and I will tell you one last story” he spoke, in a voice above a whisper but less than a shout yet it carried past, over and through you, it surrounded you. You drew closer as you would to the warmth of a fire or someone about to tell you a secret or maybe both, someone by the fireside telling you a story most rare.

He idly reaches into his pockets, pulls out a snuff box, polished bone that reflects a dull red in the embers. He tips it gently into his palm, takes a pinch of the snuff to his nose and snorts it deeply, first in one nostril and then the other. He sneezes three times and flicks the remainder into the embers and they burst into flames with an orange and faint blue glow. He begun to speak, as he tapped at the glowing embers rekindling them to a crackling warm blaze.

“Fire the most primal need of man, from the time we stole from the Goods, it has been a basic representation of our basic desires, hunger and need. Feeding greedily on everything we give and still taking more until it consumes us leaving nothing but cold ash and darkness.

I remember the day The Thief of Fire returned. It was a day of great jubilation when he brought the First Flame to our village, we called it liberty, we called it many names and we proclaimed it the Eternal Flame. As for The Thief, well we made him Chief. Remember when we would sit by the fire on nights quite unlike this and he would recount tales of how he found fire and tamed it, how he outsmarted Gods and stole their fire. Each time he told the tale, it grew taller than the last until no one knew exactly what the truth had been; but it didn’t matter. He spoke with such conviction that he believed himself and we believed in him.

I have never seen a dragon but he saw it, a fearsome fire breathing God that can burn you to a crisp and then swallow you up in one gulp. Looking it in the eye instantly blinds you and its ferocious roar will make you go deaf, and he faced it and stole from it, fire for us. We didn’t ask him to but he did it anyway, and well there was nothing else we could do but say, you are welcome. We made him Chief and looked up to him with almost God like adoration.

His homestead became the Royal House, and in the middle of it that’s where we lit the Eternal Flame. We took turns tending to the fire to make sure it never went out, we cooked for him cleaned for him and he in turn bestowed upon his wisdom and amusing tales each night while we sat round the fire. Some older folks much older folks than myself mumbled something about tyrants but one by one they got silenced or disappeared, no one noticed or we chose not to.

Life was great. A large barn was built at the Chief’s homestead we called it the Reserve Barn and everyone would collect firewood and store it there, safe from the elements. When you wanted some fire for you own use you would go to the Barn and get some wood and have it lit at the Eternal Flame then take it back to your household. It was perfectly simple but when you were done you had to extinguish it to preserve firewood. We chopped trees down and put them in the Reserve Barn because that way, or so we thought, when the trees ran out we would have an endless supply of wood, as it was trees we getting harder to find you had to journey a bit further each day.

They say perhaps we angered the Gods by stealing their fire and they sanctioned us by stopped the rain from falling and scattered the herds we used to hunt into the plains and made the trees stop growing, and turned the landscape into a desert but that was alright we had our barns.

You have young eyes I have seen much more than you, there was a time this land didn’t look quite as bleak, the were mighty trees that grew tall as giants and little streams trickling around them and if you threw a spear into the bush you would startle game to hunt, but now, your young eyes see are yet to see and mine have seen enough to know what comes, I long for the peace of endless sleep.

I have watched firewood became such a precious commodity that people became that people killed for it or died protecting. Guards were posted at the Royal Barn and it was always locked so no one could get in. The Chief told us that because the wood was “depleted” that each one could only get a ration of a single half piece of wood each day because of the wood shortage. It was barely enough and some of the villagers did not understand how this was possible since they had been bringing in cartloads each day, where had the wood gone? How come the Chief and his Council Of Elders enjoyed lavish bonfires each night? The Chief said he was entitled to it since he had after all fought Gods for it. Some young overzealous clansmen tried to challenge him to return the Royal Flame to the Gods so they could go and try their luck in getting it back but he said they were possessed by demons bent on sowing seeds of discontent into their village and had them exiled or executed same thing because they were never heard of again.
I have watched over this flame ever since the first day it was brought here, I have kept its secrets and I have seen it consume everything leaving nothing but ash, and today I managed to take a look in the Royal Barn there is no more wood left. This is the last of it. Tonight we sit by this fire and tell stories but tomorrow night, if nothing gets resolved the darkness comes. Tonight we witness the dying of the fire, sit with me and let’s watch embers turn to ash.” The last words were almost a whisper, he spoke them as he prodded at the embers again rekindling into flames. The night would have been silent, had it not been for the crackling of the fire.

The End
~B
This a blogbattle entry Themed: A Tall Tale. This is a work of fiction any resemblance to characters and incidences real, implied or imaginary is purely coincidental.

 

Of A Fiery Adventure

 

 

Fences are for keeping intruders out, but they also keep you inside, it took me a few years to realise that. The boarding school I went to had no fences only boundaries, and all boundaries can be transcended.

I guess the school being in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by a forest they figured there was nowhere to go, although students were strongly advised to stay within the school boundaries. The were no fences anywhere except the girls hostel which was fenced off with barbed razor wire, and the Sister in Charge kept rabid dogs which were rumoured to bite anything in a pair of trousers. The message was clear girls’ hostel was forbidden forest to all boys.

This also implied that everywhere else was fair game. Every weekend my friends and I would walk a little further into the surrounding woods to see how far we could go before we were called out, for going out of bounds. There was always three of us, my two friends who will remain nameless and myself. We explored every nook and cranny of the forest surrounding the school and so much more. We called these trips, expeditions, even drew tiny maps, so we could remember places of interest, like the leafy glade where you could rest all day and study or not if you so chose far from scrutiny of nosy folk, and the cave with rock art, which could easily be over a hundred years old. In hindsight perhaps we should have told someone about that cave it could have been a cultural heritage site.

If you walked far enough there was a section with no fence, where one, whom, if was so inclined could get in or out of the girls hostel but that is another story altogether.

I know a shortcut…” Those are the words that mark the beginning of an adventure or a very long journey. We decided to use our knowledge of the local terrain to see if we could find a shortcut to the nearest town which was some twenty kilometers away. If shortcuts were as good as they are purported to be they would not be called shortcuts, they would be the way.

We would have walked forever taking shortcut after shortcut into dead-end routes going round in circles, had it not been that one of my friends noticed a wall of smoke in the horizon. We were unconcerned at first, but the smoke steadily got closer and it seemed to be enveloping us, as hot breeze blew at us. That’s when we realised that we were smack dead in the middle of the path of a veld fire. We made a hasty retreat as the wind suddenly kicked up several knots like a air of bellows fanning the flames. Chasing us was tongues of fire as tall as a man standing on another man’s shoulders (which was was the length of the grass in some parts of the forest) I could feel the fierce heat baking me alive as my clothes got drenched in sweat, no, that was not sweat, that was my body crying.

Either we ran in circles or the fire encircled us and was slowly closing in for the kill because everywhere we turned there was flames to the front of us. The only way to make it out alive was to break through a wall of fire and hopefully head in the direction of the tarmac highway. It was now nearly impossible to tell directions because thick black smoke was caressing us intimately coiling around us like a boa constrictor making it hard to breathe or think. We broke a bunch of tree branches with plenty of green leaves and used them to beat a path through a section where the fire was not to dense. It felt like stepping through one of the circles of hell in Dante’s inferno, you did not pause to think, you kept moving forward, as you breathed in the acrid smoke and all you heard was the roar of a thousand tongues trying to lick you, and all you thought was this is it, the final curtain is a blanket of smoke. Surprisingly we made it through, whole, except for the soles of my shoes which had melted though I did not notice at the time.

When we finally got to the the highway the Priest-In-Charge of the school was there, leaning on the door of his pick-up truck , which was full of the other boys and they were all applauding. We just sheepishly walked to them, with our smoke blackened faces showing nothing but smiling white teeth as we tried to figure out if they were happy because we had been finally busted for going out of bounds.

It turns out, that day we single-handedly saved the school from burning. You see, as we were beating a path out of the flames we inadvertently doused the flames headed towards the school premises. We were hailed as heroes and that day supper was a special dinner held in our honour.

No one asked what exactly we had been doing out there and we did not tell. Everyone assumed that we had seen the smoke and set out to put out the fire and we let them believe it. The school needed its heroes and who were we to stop them, everybody loves a hero.

~The End

 

My first entry this year for the #blogbattle this is a memory from HERE

oh how I missed the internet ^_^

~B

 

Of Being Loyal As A dragon, Creative and Fireballs

I have been nominated for the The Dragon’s Loyalty Award by Krista Kemp which is an award for the loyal fan/commenters, whether the recipient is a fellow blogger or just someone who follows and comments regularly. Me thinks this means I am a stalker, but a loyal one yes I will protect you with flaming fireballs *insert dragon roar*  Thank you very much. I happen to really like dragons (they are like living-Fire-breathing flamethrowers even if they don’t exist in the real world in my head they do ^_^ ) So thank you.again Krista and ya’all go check out her blog she got her hands on typewriter at age eleven, I would love to say and never looked back, Cheers Krista.

dragon's loyalty

And then just as I was posting it up the award Simon nominated me for the Creative Blogger award. He says; “the things that go on in this guy’s mind 😀 “ …(alluding to the things that go on in my mind, I have no idea what this means but I hope its good things, so I”ll take it Thank you Simon) Considering he has managed to answer some of my questions and with a straight face, yeah I’d say the things that go on in his head too…..  😛

Creative Blogger

Both awards have the exact same set of rules so I had light bulb moment and thought hey two for one special.

So I am creative and loyal, whoop whoop but you can call me B ^_^

Five things about myself…..

Gosh what can I say

1 I am from Zimbabwe, Africa. A number of people have asked me where I blog from. What’s Zimbabwe like some of you are wondering, well please do read this post Of the place I call home

2. I really really really do not like snakes you could call me Lack Toes Intolerant

3. My totem is fire. True Story.
Legend has it that one of my ancestors discovered fire (well they discovered it from someone else who discovered it by a freak lightning accident but that’s not important)
4.I really wish totems were like a super power. You know if your totem is Lion you say Lion and you roar like a king become a formidable beast. How about Fish and you can swim like one or breathe underwater. An Owl and wisdom you have got.
And me, I would be able to say flame on and burn things with fireballs. That would be awesome ^_^

Flame On

Flame On

My totem could totally barbecue your spirit animal but I guess the only one who could stop me is someone whose totem were water.
When fire meets water. hmmm somebody say story idea.

5. I wouldn’t say I am arsonist as such but I love watching things burn. Leaving nothing but ashes.
I think it may have something to do with that my totem is fire.
But if I could be anything in the world I guess I’d be a flame

Flame

This flame and I are not so different:
it comes into being from nothingness;
it eats and grows,
It gets angry, destroys homes, consumes flesh.
The brighter it burns the faster it’s consumed.
Sated, it becomes calm, retreats into embers, smoldering.
It chases the shadows away and stands watch through the night.

My nominations because I smile everytime I see your name on my notifications

*Drum-roll please*
Colleen

Redrebel 

Khaya

Sarah

Barbara

Simon

Bobbibowwoman

Participation is absolutely optional that’s just me saying glad to know someone reads these my scribblings cheers and I guess you can pick whichever award you feel like accepting because if you are loyal and you hang around my here blog you are a creative, yes ? whoop whoop.

and should you accept the nomination THE RULES

*Thank the person who nominated you and post a link to their blog.
*Share 5 facts about yourself.
*Nominate some bloggers in return and notify them of their nomination.
*Keep the rules in your post so it makes it easy for everyone to know what to do.

It’s been a riot

~B

Of the secret to flying

Genre: Fantasy

image

Falling. He was falling from the sky. Mlilo could easily imagine the ground beneath him rushing to embrace him, in a fatal embrace.
Splat.
He pictured the red smear his body would leave, well on the upside he would most certainly leave a mark on the world, an exclamation mark even. If he could, he would have laughed at his own morbidity.

When you are already falling, it is a little too late to wonder if there was better way to fly or even if there should be safety regulations. A seat belt? But that would be absurd where would the seat belt be attached to, pinned to a cloud?

Cloud riding, that’s what Sekuru had told him it was called. You simply lay down on the soft brown earth, stared at the big blue sky, looked at the marshmallow like clouds then picked one that was shaped like a bird’s wing that’s the one you would ride. Sometimes you would have to wait for hours to find a cloud with the perfect shape, it was the one rule that you followed, without question.

Curiosity that was his downfall, no not a downfall, at least not all the time, that’s how he got to ride a cloud in the first place. He had watched birds fly, and wished it too, tried it even and fell, many times. That was when he sought Sekuru, for it was said Sekuru possessed many secrets about many things and for a secret, he told you a secret, that was the price. He had found the old man scratching strange symbols in the dirt and then rubbing them out with his bare feet.

“I want to fly”
“One secret I will keep, for one secret I will give, young Chief” Sekuru said without even looking up.
“I know where the moon’s missing bits can be found, when it’s not quite round” Mlilo answered.
“The moon is due, to be full today and I know what colour it will be when it is not blue, the colour of blood that’s the clue and the missing bits they will be that too.” Sekuru replied somewhat cryptically.
“I know the true name of fire, there is power in knowing it.”
” Yes, young chief that is a worthy secret, one I will keep for one secret I will give.”
“I am named after fire, Mlilo, that is what my name means but that is not it’s true name” he begun “Fire is an animal, that feeds leaving nothing but ashes, and to call it’s name is to bind it to your will but only for a while, never speak its true name above a whisper, listen closely.” He leaned close to Sekuru and whispered very softly and for awhile it seemed life stood still, as if the world had taken a breath then held it. The breeze sighed softly and life resumed.
“Yes my chief, there is power in the name, more than you claim. To balance the trade I will tell you a secret for a secret, and also a favour for you my curious delver, when your nose winds you in a bit of a pickle simply sneeze and you will be out in a tickle.”

Sekuru had told him the secret it was childishly simple; imagine, believe, wish and a little faith.

He had found the proper cloud,  imagined himself riding it, believed it was possible and then wished. Just like that, he was there, among the clouds, seeing the world through a wispy mist. Do clouds taste like marshmallows, he wondered as he scooped a handful of cloud to his mouth, some brushing his nose, as a lingering doubt came into his mind. He hoped that his actions would not change the shape of the cloud.
That was when he started to fall, do not eat the cloud you are riding should be one of the rules he thought, as he plunged to the ground.

He sneezed and a familiar voice spoke to him, but in his mind. “Young Chief, the favour I promised, you fall not because your faith is all out, but you replaced it with doubt, to turn this around remember Falling is flying if you never reach the ground.

Mlilo imagined he would keep falling, he believed it, and wished it, to fall, on and on, it was better after all than to go splat, like an overripe tomato.

That was when he realized it, he was not falling, he was flying, he was really flying.

~~
The end

My entry for this week’s #blogbattle

The theme Ride.

🔥🔥🔥Fire is my spirit animal

~B