Manifesto of the Unquiet Generation
The world is upside down again.
And silence has become our greatest betrayal.
We are complicit when we choose quiet over retaliation. We are complicit when democracy regresses into performance, when women’s bodies remain the endless subject of political debate while economies rot and men hide behind moral scapegoats. We are complicit when the agenda of power is reduced to fragments of what democracy once promised.
Are we angry enough?
Have we reached our breaking point?
Or are we still drowning in dead water—the kind that hides the worst horrors beneath its stillness?

The Regression of Democracy
Democracy is no longer a living system; it is a ritual. Meetings, policies, and speeches are chips from a broken society, fragments of reliance without substance. We are told to abide by laws, but where are the sonnets of freedom? Where are the letters of retaliation?

The Silencing of Women
Women’s identities are politicized, commodified, and endlessly debated. Our bodies are treated as battlegrounds while the real crises—economic collapse, corruption, and systemic decay—are ignored. Feminism is not a side note; it is the frontline of democracy.

Generational Silence
Gen Z is accused of apathy, but silence is not absence—it is exhaustion. We inherited millennial strife, the unfinished battles of those before us. History classes now read like folklore, bravery treated as disease. But silence is not consent. Silence is the pause before rebellion.

The Call for Retaliation
We do not need more formalized rebellion. We need ghetto retaliation. We need systems that do not fit us into molds but demand new molds altogether. We need rebels, knights, and valiant systems that refuse to play power’s game.
This is not a plea for chaos.
This is a demand for imagination.
This is a manifesto for those who refuse to drown in dead water.

Closing Declaration
It is 2026.
We are not silent.
We are the tide—rising, relentless, unapologetic.
We will not be history’s footnote.
We will be its rupture.

PART 1:A man smiling at a woman is sexist.

Sexism may be defined as an ideology based on the belief that one sex is superior to another. It is discrimination, prejudice, or stereotyping based on gender, and is most often expressed toward women and girls.
What is sexism?
I gladly provided a brief Wikipedia definition for the assistance of those that fail to understand the stand of it. Sexism isn’t male, that’s the first thing I need to say, sexism is inclusive and I know a lot of people who relatively believe in radical feminism will disagree with this and stand by the engineered idea of sexism being a male thing but honestly, we are not creating equality by that but rather a rivalry.

In this post, I am going to also give a small review of the movie We Care A Lot on Netflix that I watched some time ago. Evidently by what I am going to say it will be highlighted that I enjoyed the movie but it premeditatedly scared me. Like real-life spooks, with the evolution of sexism and feminism as a whole. The movie seemed to gatekeep a certain idea that powerful women become spineless vengeful and cunning lesbians. Does equality mean be a man, there has been a high rise in the idea that to be equal means we have to behave and act like men just disregarding the idea that women are individualistic.

Is this it?

Are we supposed to strip ourselves of being feminine so that society accepts us?

The second sex is one book that outlines what society defined women as and I loved the way Simone stated that women are viewed as products of men. It expresses that women have no identity outside of that of a wife and a mother. Society begins seeing women after their value has been attached to a man who is not their father and wildly this is still what we are trying to mask.
One thing I saw was in the media industry where we have the stoicism of women acknowledged only when they accomplish what men can do, why doesn’t it just get awarded to a woman because they have done well and not constantly juxtae position it to what men have done and are doing. Is the idea, us becoming men to get the respect we deserve or is it us being women and still being acknowledged with the same respect as men.

Why are we not creating our playing ground?

Why can we not write books where the hero is a woman, why do we have to force the idea on an already existing character, why not make our definition of stereotypes when we constantly acknowledge them by ignoring them? Does this feminism pave way for advancement in areas where women are still actively oppressed, is radicalism going to win in a society where child brides are its thing, is radical feminism going to eradicate the forced wearing of the hajib? We have seen these things happening yet we refuse to improvise. There are so many avenues in which change can be enforced different structures and methods can be applied to see that our fight isn’t one sided.

Will retaliation birth understanding and resolve or is there a better way to do it?

Feminism is not a new movement it was there and will possibly be there till the world comes to an end but are we not creating our autocracy or oppression where there is a pull side and a push? Are we vocal about the issues that matter or are we vocal about those that only serve the influential few the ones that are already there?
How far is our reach aiming to go or how far do we want feminism to get us?
I honestly think that at this point women now have the pedestal to reach their ultimate goal and this needs to be mentioned that in our growth to liberation are we not becoming inversely the oppressors?

We are playing the victim card when the world has been making inverse strides to make us get the rights, we deserve recognition, acknowledgment, and respect. From my standing, we are there politically and economically we have been given the right to make ourselves the best we can be. The world has made it a safe space for women to feel the pressures of becoming influential and powerful women. Yet we still crave more which is right, it is our birthright to be honored and given the unlimited recognition of transcending into this beautiful utopia in which we heavily way our dreams.

I have written countless articles on gender on being a woman of more than just a label. A label that holds a lot of us, victim, to prejudice and stereotyping, a woman cannot be a high achiever, a woman cannot have it all she cannot be a mother and be a top efficient high rising beast in the world of business.

Are you a feminist or opportunist?

“There is no life without death”

I am not sure who said this but it only feels right that I use it here, to say with death we celebrate a life, we celebrate love that we gave, we celebrate what we where given and we mourn what we have lost, but above it all we hold on to something that lasts forever the memories of our heart and mind.

A golden leaf fell with grace from the loose twig on the tree, the sun shining on its delicate from as it traced its soft and swift movement. It seemed to smile as the wind brushed away its memories, with every blow it seemed to dance. It was the beauty that shadowed a believable demise. One could believe it was death whilst the other could simply believe it was the beginning. I watched to as the leaf fell, I watched with awe as it glided down to fall on the mound that was a grave freshy dug and there on the tombstone these words were engraved “Gone to her creator. A loyal servant”. It was the harmony of death and absence that made me come to the distant realization.
There I was an observant, I watched and tried to acquire the answer, to get the final say to the voice in my head. My memories brushing against each other like the congested sidewalks at a store before a big sale. Like the customers they where eager, they wanted and urged to be plucked at on by one. These where the memories that had made me. I had my spirit yearn for something that was still unanswered but certain to me. I finally had the chance of knowing who I was.
In my efforts to taunt myself with my mind I saw a light that spoke to me. “If you want to know who you are, I will show you, you are me and I am you. I am the one that made you and all that is around you, I have lived as you and you once lived as me, ‘A loyal servant’ you are.”
There I was again watching again, this time I was watching a man his back was turned to me he sang a hymn as he jabbed at the sky blue 1990 Mazda pickup. He wiped the sweat from his eyebrows and went into the car to try the engine again he turned the key and the old car busted and let out a hacking cough, then there was smoke. “For Christ’s sakes just start already,” he put the shifting spanner into the back of the reclining seat of the blue Mazda and rushed into the house. His strides where rushed and anxious and the still his face was a mystery to me. I watched with wonder why was I here, who was this man and who was I. The mystery that surrounded me at that moment was pain, I was still the observant looking watching and not knowing. I broke from my thoughts once more when I heard a wail come from the house, it was a woman her voice was drenched in pain her cry echoed and drew me to the little window that peered into the house. I could see the man rushing in the room with panic in his eyes, there was something about his deep brown eyes that spoke to me. They gave me a settling warmth that calmed me from the screaming woman and the old lady that was kneeling between her parted legs. She said “Push my child I can see the baby’s head push”, the woman that lay with her back on the floor painted, screamed and groaned. She cried for the Lord, she called out to her ancestors as if she was saying a remnant prayer. The ground trembled at her power she was fulfilling the undying covent, her paints were now faint and her strength seemed to sip away into the earth. She grasped the cold floor as a cry came from between her legs. I could see her spirit her beautiful spirit with her black hair natural and her eyes that looked like they had belonged to a gullible infant, she smiled. She was beautiful her eyes happy but sad looking at the world for the last time, but to my amusement she felt no pain she was at peace. Her smile seemed to mirror an unexplained understanding and content. I don’t know why she was happy, happy for lose or happy for gain. I stood there mesmerized and overwhelmed what I had seen I could not explain.
A suckling cry came from the little pile of bandaged towels in the mid wife’s hands, the little girl’s eyes sparkled with innocence and she let out a silent but yet loud chuckle. “It’s a girl” said the reluctant midwife “your wife has given birth to a strong baby girl.” I carefully watched as the man still unanimous to me but very familiar stepped forward to hold his wife’s hand. He kissed it passionately and whispered to her, it was faint and not audible but the look in his eyes showed that he was giving her the world. The mid wife placed the crackling baby in the cradle and went to attend the women on the floor. I watched as they treated the corpse as if it was alive, they had not seen her sip away as they rejoiced in the new birth. They had failed to see what I had seen, the old woman knelt down beside the new mother. She saw the pale skin and felt the body now cold as stone, her face went white she got the painful realization. Her daughter was lying there idle, her body had become a tombstone. The old women sat there whilst the man stood by the cradle gazing at the life that had been brought into the world. There was peace in his eyes, he had joy sipping through him and into the world, the atmosphere was beautifully placing its self and the world was ululating to the breathing child. Yet the ground was heaving for the dead. The silence and the peace were distorted by a cry, it was heart wrenching, it was heavy to the ear and it was empty. It was pain embodied in sound and dressed by hopelessness. The old mid wife sat on the cold hard ground and wept she cried for her child. She cried for the child and she cried for the husband. The walls felt the pain and the shadows cowered away. It was grief that gave room to realization.
I stood there and stared I watched as the world turned violent, the sky that was blue and became overshadowed by grey. Death had brought pain yet life had brought death. My soul cursed at the unknown and looked at the man’s eyes. I watched the hope turn to resentment, I saw the joy turn to hatred and I felt his love turn to bitterness.
He took himself to the side of his dead wife and uttered “My love, what has this world done, why does it get away with causing heartache and pain. Is it the same God you knelt for everyday to pray for, why has he put this upon me? Had you not been faithful, had you not been kind. Had you not loved Him and thy neighbor…. Then why has he chosen to take you from a world that still needs you. Why has he decided to curse you and our child? Was he not the one that promised us joy in his son, then why has he brought this sorrow? How shall I find comfort in a God that has taken so much from me? You, my world taken from me.” It was the sight of me that gave me an idea of what it was that I had felt. I had felt joy and death. I had felt creation and execution in one blink of an eye. I had felt love and hate, I think what I felt was the world.
I saw this and felt pain I couldn’t explain it. What was this and who could have made such a cruel world, how could anyone or anything let such misfortune come upon them. I felt the sudden urge to yell at something I did not know. Something I had never seen. I felt the urge to speak but I had no words to remind me of who I was or what I was. Was I just a bird in the sky or was I someone? Had my being get taken from a world like this? Why, had I also left behind pain and misfortune? Who had I left bruised and hurt?
My head span and I felt my being explode I had been torn into pieces, my memories where there they scattered around on the ground before me and I saw a man. I saw the man his brown eyes where there looking into mine. He whispered the words “God made me for you and you for me” I felt his touch and I saw him there telling me he loved me, I saw him standing at the church sweating to his hairs in front of the local priest. I saw the church I had gone to since I was a child, I saw my father live my mother and watched as my mother cried her sorrows and put the blame on me. I saw my hopes and my pains. I saw the days I would spend lying in my cold bed crying and wishing for death. I saw the comfort that the world gave me and I saw more than I wished I could believe. I saw the days when I was to weak to walk alone where I was carried by my faith and belief, it was all there I was there.
My life had been put before me like a book, every second I felt alone I could see the angels that guarded me. I now aligned myself with my belief, I never truly understood but I knew that something was there for me and it seemed distant but it was there. I came back to the memory I had just seen, the birth and the death. I saw the love that belonged to the world, I saw the pain and I felt how it felt to be the outsider. I was the spectator to my life watching it unravel before me and feeling the pain for those around me those that I had not known. I was like God for a moment, I watched over, heard the prayers and watched as we made our choices. He, guiding us and giving us free will and conclusively it was beautiful to be there but painful to watch, in my mind I had become God for a memory my human memory as my life ended and as a new one began.

The End…..

I wrote this in 2020 and I never put it out there I am not certain on how well it is or how it resonates with you but this is the first prose I had ever written on death. It might be vividly confusing but when i wrote it i wasn’t in my head but i was engraving words that I felt from my soul and it has been long since i heard that voice in me that whispers to me every line i wrote. I am a writer and I hope this touches your soul because I put a part of my soul in this.

In loving Memory of my dear sister you are my star and I look for you every night in the dark deep blue skies. You stay forever a part of me, my muse.

I stood in a never-ending line for 3hrs last week trying to pay for my education. I stood there and wondered if this was what I was working for and if this was all worth it. Instead of sleepless nights, I was having a restless day and a night that was not long enough to teach myself how to become a graduate. I know it’s a pandemic and all but have I employed myself now or am I on some unknown payroll of some sort. I am going to seemingly blame the failing education system on the pandemic for now.

It’s funny how covid has brought with it these horrible teaching methods.

It’s even funnier how it has created a space impossible for open dialog between a student and their lecture in tertiary institutions now.

It’s just ridiculous how it has become the self-taught graduate system and when they mark us, they do it like we had 6 hours of teaching.

We are being deprived of a right.

 It’s pretty still odd to know that in a world where education has become the pinacol of development. Its common knowledge to know that for one to advance and bring the change they have to be well aware of the world around them and how to tackle the problems that come with it. So why is it that someone sees no necessity in allowing everyone to be equipped with this mega weapon?

I would like to think that anyone that believes a person can be deprived of their right to education is committing a crime against humanity. Everyone deserves the opportunity to have a basic education, it should not even be a luxury because education in its manner is the solution.

“If you are planning for a year sow rice, if you are planning for a decade, plant tree; if you are planning for a lifetime educate people.”

Chinese proverb

Educating someone isn’t just a one-man investment, it does not just feed into one thing it feeds into countless necessities and people making life the growing cycle we have now. It pushes the need for progression. Through mechanical evolution we see how we went from man power we had the engine and from that engine, we are having electrical stuff. This is all coming in the name of learning when one is given the chance of being able to attain a certain level of education but is this right to die for education to remain wanting for that which you have paid for.

I have come across countless misconceptions on education some say you don’t need it in this country of ours but yet we see how they say education is the key to success when a whole CEO of a marketing company only has a Bible studies diploma to their name.

What does it have to say to me, the hopeful something-year-old teaching myself through a pandemic, grading my performance based on a video I came across on YouTube. Is it right that we are left wanting to proceed yet we see no near future where we succeed at what we are fighting so hard to attain? Lets go back to the day where you stood there with the admin door slammed shut in your face with the black bold letters that shout out NO FULL FEES NO REGISTRATION, and there you are standing with that financial statement in your hand that says your remaining balance is 20 bond. You curse at the system because you know you have that pocket change in your right back pocket but now you are going back to that endless line in the blazing sun and no sight of Freezits to quench an unfamiliar thirst of regret and envy. Is this the education so many of us dream of, hoping that one day you will have that hat placed on your head bestowing wisdom which is pretty ironic as it slowly turns into some type of jinx for the rest of your life? 

It’s sad how we have become accustomed to begging graduates, they say go to school work hard get your degree or diploma, and then you will be free. Giving us false hope of a dead system that paints red on all the heads of our degree holders. Well as for me I am sitting here giving myself one on one lessons on an unknown topic and feeding myself these academic STDs then at the end of it all I am judged by the works of what my hands were supposed to produce with reliance and aid.

Teacher teach me something.

I have my book opened on the first page,

It is blank and eager on receiving my tainted wisdom.

I am biting down on my Eversharp blue pen and staring down at the dead cold screen.

It shows me patterns of jargon that taunt my desperate mind,

Like a baby, I cry for it to feed me and allow me to suckle on it oozing knowledge,

But like a blank mind on a blank page, I desire guidance.

I look to my right and my left with the hope of being greeted by familiar faces,

But yet I am confined to my room and it’s a cold room filled with ignorance.

I sat there for hours looking at the Latin phrase vis major.

This reminds me that it is just me and the screen,

I dread clicking the glowing red button at that corner that says exercise.

What are we exercising, is it our right to not knowing being published and established by our own accord?

Now I go back to the lines that winded around in the parking lot like the intestines of a bloated giant.

This is what you get for having an outstanding balance of twenty bonds.

Pocket change I say but they say

NO FULL FEES NO REGISTRATION.

Now I am registered into an institution of clownery, bring out my pair of boots and a pink wig.

As stare back down at the blank screen urging,

Teacher teach me something before I conceive a child based on two fool’s fornication.

All_Humain

With this I conclude that we are the bearers of our education and future and we should stand for it advocating for the education we deserve.

Oppression, becoming.

Part 1: The Age of Covid.

It has been nearly 2 years since the world heard about the coronavirus, we were uniquely introduced to it as the temporary flu that was just passing by in countries beyond our borders, and honestly, that’s all we saw. It was a genetic flue that will eventually die down like the normal outbreaks that have occurred throughout history. We thought this was another Ebola and yet here we are almost about to mark our second anniversary with this deadly virus, Covid 19. At the start of it no one knew about it they had ideas but not convictions, people especially here in Africa could only understand that it was a virus and it killed but with us having the greatest disease of them all poverty we gave a blind eye.

I really sat down and got thinking what will happen after covid or is there ever going to be an after covid.

So much has happened during the time of its reign that we might just end up with a shamble of a world highlighted by warfare and pampered suffering. We start by looking at how the economies have halted. The majority of us being hand-to-mouth workers and when  W.H.O shut down the world many of us were left jobless and hungry. The pandemic is surely going to leave its mark on the world.

Starting with the unfair negligence of human rights and dignity, the current strides taken by the world to push the proper expression of human grievances in a nation, were put on hold in the majority of African countries. I might be pan-African but that doesn’t make me remotely blind.

Are we advancing or being retrogressive?

The pandemic did not just bring the death of the body but of spirit, we see how we had a growing platform of activists who demanded change for our nations by calling out the hidden transgressions that were being faced by people. This was all moving smoothly before the lockdowns. We saw how these lockdowns were weaponized to create a breach that enabled any political movements or dialog. This was happening in Uganda where the rising leader Bobby Wine was deprived of his right to campaign and share his vision with everyone because rallies were against covid regulations.

Oppression, becoming.

I remember watching in awe at the Ugandan elections taking place at a time like this and thinking how did manage to pull this off, I could see the civil unrest that swept over the whole country from the arrest of the opposition leaders’ wife to the kidnappings that took place. This was just the chip of a larger iceberg but still, the world went on and Africa seems to be standing still with democracy now slowing becoming a distant echo for some countries, and autocracy is becoming the new thing however smoke screened by backyard elections that crush more spirits with every ballot. It’s sad how we are looking forward to the betterment of our nations when we have created a mirage of comfort in poverty, men fighting for scraps to survive and with all honesty Covid 19 has made it so easy for us to be passively hopeless and enjoy nothing.

The streets were empty at a time and so were a lot of people’s stomachs, we had heart-wrenching headlines of mass suicides and what we could call mercy crimes. Many were seeing death as the only way out as they saw poverty knock violently on their doors. Some resorted to crime as they saw that they had no Robin Hood but themselves, they say steal from the rich they will get more. I always wondered if it was justified to commit a crime because of circumstance. I remember one of my first lectures on criminal law we were asked why do people commit crimes. I was quick to say because they are criminals before I knew that no man is born a criminal but the world makes us criminals. This pandemic surely showed me this, it has chosen new paths for a lot of people that many never dreamed of. It has left us swimming in poverty and searching for lifeboats that well, were probably stolen and stocked away somewhere by bigger sharks, and now, they watch us tear each other apart limb from limb. It’s all hypocrisy laced by slogans, false teachings, and donations.

All I can say as my country turns 41, happy independence to us a day that the literal shackles were taken from us. The day we were given the taste of a life of freedom, a life of not being owned until poverty took the crown from our oppressors and deemed itself a worthy successor. Honoring the ones that fought and died to make sure we had the country we deserved.

Is it wise or woke?

I have a lot on my mind usually it bounces between race, gender, and equality. I listened to a podcast a few days ago where Maya Angelo was being interviewed by Oprah. She was a phenomenal woman to have been graced by Martin Luther King (the one who believed in resolution without war or peace without war, he reminded me of Jesus) and Malcolm X (he believed that there is no resolution without war which easily made me think of Peter. This makes me believe in somewhat a reincarnation of character but not spirit, I will talk about this in another day). She lived her life as it came and she was wise, well she was my wise. This then takes me to the idea of being woke and being wise is there a difference, wisdom is an experience that resonates into action and words whilst woke is the mentality that becomes a thesis it’s independent thinking that we magnify and try to make fitting for everyone.

Am I woke or wise?

That’s one thing I will never know but it won’t stop me from saying this about what I have seen and experienced.

There is no dignity amongst the poor, this is something that has been left on hold by a lot of people because it doesn’t sit well with them. It is insensitive to their comfortability; it doesn’t bother us so we turn the other way.

For so claimed Christians we do more devil work than good amongst ourselves, we are the priest and Jews to the man in a ditched robbed and bleeding.

Is it my place to judge us or is it my place to speak beyond my capability, who am I to talk about this, who am I to say stop or to tell someone to go? I am probably just another self-proclaimed saint that romanticize hypocrisy with phrases like

“I cannot do anything.

It is above me I am not in the place to do anything.

I don’t have the right.”

I might be just that sideliner sipping my cold cup of freshly squeezed orange juice being comfortable and loving the sun another brainwashed elite with books and knowledge but not ground.

I might just be a hypocrite.

So now let me romanticize my hypocrisy.

It’s funny how a pandemic is a thing that has taught us that the right to life is for the rich and the poor well they have no right to life they have the right to let time pass them by. They have the right to be used disregarded and put-on hold. Poverty is expensive, whatever has led us to believe there is pride in absence of basic needs? What has led us to think that living comfortably is a luxury? We see how health care is alien to most and public services are circuses. There is now the inadmissible line that we all can see of social injustice. What are we becoming as a species prioritizing self before others? A genetic human flaw, I guess.

There is this undisputed wokeness that is shadowed by misunderstanding and not knowing bring me back to wisdom and wokeness. I have seen we have grown to be tolerant to the intolerant and thought that it is being understanding that evokes wokeness or reason.

I had a conversation some time back with my friends about a ‘Make Zimbabwe Rhodesia again caption’ on a t-shirt. I believed it was racist not only because of the phrase but also the context that lied behind it, but my counterparts saw no wrong in it they believed that it was appropriate. I could never understand the reason behind it maybe it’s because I am too African to the bone, I lack that sprinkle of Western fineness. I was made to believe that I am an unpolished insecure black girl because I believed that a historically insensitive phrase is racist.

I parted ways with my reason my ability to separate the logic from the fact. Which is both good things that lack drive or passion. So, from this, I learned a new thing Racial insecurity that’s what I was alluded to for saying that it was not right for a person to sell shirts that highlighted the time when the black man was surviving without living.

I might seem too sensitive but I am.

So, I don’t know how to end this one, I should probably say Goodbye catch you later but I want to leave you in awe. So, I will say peace be with you and your spirit, spread love not to hate, and make yourself the embodiment of greatness.

I am dripping melanin and honey. I am proudly black and unapologetic

Upile

I don’t know why I start my blogs so abruptly. I should introduce myself before I can get your attention because if I don’t do so I would be rude or uncultured some even go far as to calling it characterless. I will be unfair to myself and my readers.
‘

Hello, my name is Vanessa April Jones;’ ……….

This was what I wished I was called when I was a young whitewashed black girl child who wanted to look like all those pretty girls I saw on the Disney Channel and Nickelodeon. They always had the contradicting color to mine they were lighter way way way lighter, they had straight long hair or wavy curly and long hair. I always looked at myself and wondered if I was enough if my skin was the ‘IT’.
At the age of ten I was slowly getting indoctrinated into the idea of not being enough I was unaware of myself because they didn’t teach me to love myself at school. The white family in all my books had nice things and the black people had the average things. They didn’t teach us to love being black no they taught me mathematics and history about baboons and how they were so closely related to my blackness ;
‘Africa the Cradle of life’ they called it
‘The first Homo sapien skull discovered in Tanzania’.
That is exactly what I was taught, that our closest ancestors were Apes and we are the evident proof to the realization of this theory but hey this is a story for another time.
I grew up in some way inferior with a lacking identity or individuality so again I am going to introduce myself.

‘Hi, my name is Tarisai Nyamuranga;’

it is not easy of the tongue but you have to learn like how I had to learn to say, Mitchel or Francis.
No one wants to feel less or little of who they are but I was programmed by what I heard and saw to think that I wasn’t. I remember how all the black girls on the famous 2000s hits were always light and had straight hair and perfect bodies.

The truth was that they looked like the closest thing a black woman could come to being white. Look at the mirror at that time the black woman would have resembled the emblem at that time of a white woman. It always bothered me, was my skin not worthy of television or billboards and magazine covers.
Yet yes times are evolving, yes some pay to look like us and others well they appropriate to feel like us. I appreciate what our pop culture has started to do, ‘they have begun the movement’. They have created the representation a black boy isn’t that curly-haired light skin anymore there is more representation of the dark chocolate boy. They now have the ‘I can’t run my comb through my hair mom’, kind of girl, they have the chubby bubbly sweet brown skin little girl with a bright smile being the lead. Despite this, I still see the difference in the division.

I am very proud to be black, but black is not all I am.

Denzel Washington

I truly started seeing it when I was 11 I grew up around black African Zimbabwean people; the, everyone older than you is your father, society. I remember the first time I learned that I was black, we had gone for a netball match that was away. We had played the sport well like how we had been taught maybe even better and we won. We won the match that day but lost our integrity, yes we were young but I learned a valuable lesson that day that haunted me to this day. Black had been averaged to failure by some sick ideology. One little girl in her innocence ran to her mother crying and shouting
‘Mom we lost to THEM’

I then started seeing the segregation our bags had been placed a few meters away, they refused to shake hands to honor good sportsmanship. There weren’t any straight looks but side glances, no laughs or smiles.
‘Difference’ it oozed out into the atmosphere I tried not to care but it was so dense it choked. That was when I realized that I was black and that wasn’t some underlying condition or bold patch I could cover up with a cap it was all over me everywhere. I was confused, but in my confusion, I felt the pride in me grow. We were taught to be inferior to the color of our skin is bad, for example, Blackmagic and the black zone these are all thing characterized by evil or some crazy idea of impurity.
I looked at my little brown hands and told myself I would have been damned if anyone tried to pry that from me or if I could think that I could be any different.
I still had my wide nose, 4c brittle hair, and my pigment. I was black, am black, will be black, and die black. Black was my pride and my identity I wasn’t going to let history stay unwritten and not moved.

If you’re white and you’re wrong, then you’re wrong; if you’re black and you’re wrong, you’re wrong. People are people. Black, blue, pink, green – God make no rules about color; only society make rules where my people suffer, and that why we must have redemption and redemption now

Bob Marley

There is more to being African or black than just our color we are a close but distant future.
All this came to mind when the black lives matter movement arose. I didn’t want to write something because I felt I was also a hypocrite shown in my previous blog. I didn’t want to create a false forced ideology I didn’t practice like the Pharisees, but now I want to say something about being BLACK. Let’s make black the new white.

Do you think the world or universe cries?
After the events that have been happening all over the world, I truly believe it is. It is weeping mourning to the injustice of man and crying for the liberation birth of independence.
From the man with murderous intent to others with scrupulous visions and motives, it hoards them like vile swine. The world cries for the unknown unnamed and believed to be disposable. It cries for our freedom.
What freedom?
“My definition of a free society is a society where it is safe to be unpopular.”

• Adlai Stevenson (31st Governor of Illinois and United Nations ambassador 1961
  1965)
  I do I think that when it rains those are the tears that will be falling on us. I think it cries because of us we make the world or universe cry we hurt it with our ways of creating the imbalance that comes from the mind of man.
  Yet we denying ourselves the right to being human making us lose our humanity.

We were never made to be alone, that’s why if someone stays alone for too long they may become insane. They create designated consciences of themselves and break themselves apart as a way of running away from that lonely individuality.
So where does the self-absorption come from this god syndrome that devours us whole?
Is it an entitlement to the belief of superiority yet your mind is clouded by adherence to inferiority? It’s the feeling of not being enough that makes you nest unwanted hate and belief into your head and justify it by individuality yet you will be weak. Unable to decipher the beauty of the world without hate in it. This made me think of a poem I wrote,

'The world hurts those that don't hurt it.'

The world you hurt doesn't hurt you.
It hurts the ones that still believe in a storm the sky can still be blue.
The world you hurt doesn't hurt you.
It spits in the eyes of those that smile at Satan's men.
It never touches you.
It would never break your bones and tear out your soul.
For you were born through its violent groan.
That world that you hurt would never hurt you.
It preys on the ones that love to quick and take long to forget.
But yet still it bleeds off you poisoned wounds.

The world you hurt would never hurt you it stays away.
It would suckle you with Jezebel's tit
And combos your hair with Lucifer's fork.
It would dine on the head of the 12,
Dancing on the tongues of the faithful.
It chokes on the beauty of horror.
It feeds off the silence of torture and yet.
The world you hurt will never hurt you.

We still live in a world of bad people. I remember saying the one thing I am most afraid of on this planet pr universe is a human being. I am afraid of myself and all those that are like me. I fear the human mind, how it can easily devise hate, love, grief, and pain. That’s scary, well this is me not you.
I even have nightmares about humans that look and sound like me chasing me around like a chicken on Christmas morning. They reflect me they moved like me and dressed like me they were the most human things I had ever seen. I watched them catch and devour me these were people. You might probably call me crazy but yes I might just be.
We are the ones that bring about war, racism, sexism. Why are these things even there?
I never understood the art of war who decides that this person is wrong. I drown in my naivety that people can be good and contradict myself by saying people are evil. I almost believed that the devil wasn’t real and was a fable made up by people who felt too guilty and couldn’t take responsibility for their incompetence to be divine creatures.

Yet I believe he is there.
I believe everyone is fully capable of committing an act of superior evil.

I believe this because we are human we are bone and flesh crafted together into this human.

It’s really scary to think of it but it’s my crazy paranoia, the evil that lies within all of us. I stopped being surprised when someone did something bad to me or hurt me because I was able to see the imperfection of me my flaw. Which is being human. This complex but yet simple specimen built of self and greed, that’s is why I never want to sit before someone and say I derived my inspiration to impact something because that would be a lie. I would just say I wrote this to see if I was any good a writer or not by the way you react. It would comfort me.

I do believe in passion to be passion in self, we are truly not as selfless as we want people and ourselves to believe. We do things for praise and satisfaction, we do them for our gain. You are probably reading this and denying it and saying I am not selfish I donated or gave someone something a week ago. That’s what selfishness comes from the urge to not forget what you did because you want to pat yourself on your back every time you realize that; you are that human. I love the idea that we are so imperfect it is beautiful and I would love to embrace it as much as I do in my head.

This pandemic has turned our heads upside down and our bodies inside out. From leaving others homeless to others being left hopeless. It has made sure to give us a run for our money, in this world of uncertainty it has iced this disaster cake with grief and suffering.
I hadn’t been in any classroom setting for 6 months. I was sweating I am anxious credibly fearing the unknown, I can say I was faithless if there is a word. The girl that was sitting in front of me had small little hand notes and looked so organized yet I was there another hopeless student unaware of what was going on. I was panicking I knew absolutely nothing; I was going in blind. I had never understood anything from last semester and till now I still don’t get it. I was thinking about the hours I would spend in front of my laptop taking notes and reading things out loud, actually looking at those things now they look like they were written in thirty minutes.

I was panicking and coming back to earth and the I realized that there is no way out its either you give up and drown instantly or you keep treading water until your knees give in and you drown. Is there any way out of this system a mentally enslaving system that prey on flickers of hope yet feeding into uncertainties? We are all may believe philosophers pushed to dream and think but there is no place to place this belief. We are indoctrinated to surrender before we have begun because the system gives you no room for hope or belief. You push it pulls it’s against your being, but well what do I have to say to believe that I live a dying lie a bad aftermath of borrowed ideology that regulates the lives we claim to be ours.
Still, governed by old beliefs and doctrines how do we evolve when we still run on steam engines when the whole world has gone electronic? What is the whole point of living isn’t it to adapt to the radical change that occurs globally. I am in a pandemic and I have to adapt to the system that will suit the situation but how do I suit a situation one has never countered. We were not ready and we didn’t know what to do to seem ready. I overthink yes but without overthinking there wouldn’t have been these phenomenal breakthroughs, like the guy with the light bulb he probably got sick of staying in the dark and thought a bit more than the normal man because if he did everyone would have come up with that idea. So I will overthink this situation as an unfair obstacle that is like a relative maze.
Why then settle really?
Are we ok, they won’t give us a break until we are broken and still we will be exploited by the society that made us.
It all starts at a young age, you are taught to write your name before you are told why or what it is. I always wanted to ask my mother why did you give me this name. I was bullied for three years because of it and I felt like I deserved because I had such a name I didn’t know what it meant, where it came from and how it came to be. I didn’t have the basic foundation of owning it and knowing it. In living you never ask the difficult questions the why’s, who’s and what’s. Yet these are the things that add the unwanted explosion at the end of the road because our equation lacked the need for the reason of wanting to know why? Programmed and disposed of now we running on outdated software can we trying and look for a loop that can accommodate incapacity and incompetence.
I once passed through Mbare I had been to Mbare but never really been there. I was greeted by the insinuative mantra that robbed the place of any kind of peace. I recall clinching on my purse, I don’t know what made me feel unsafe I kept looking behind my shoulder trying to look composed or blend in.
That was when I knew that everyone is capable of some stereotypical mentality. I looked past their poverty and backstories and in my head, I saw danger I was afraid of those that didn’t have any physical weapon except their plight.
I still question myself and ask how I could overlook the burst sewers and the desperation in those Mbare valets, “Dollar zvero mhamha (only a dollar ma’am)” is what one said and I froze because this was his job, it was terrifying. I stayed there still and watched as a military car passed by and the soldiers screaming go back to your homes. I watched all the hawkers yanked their belongings and hideaway in the corners.
I stopped myself to check my privileges as I drown in this hellish paradise. I noticed how all had gone to waste the paintings on the Mbare flats had begun to fade away the smiling faces along with it.
The disease came with pain it washed away all the hope one had and also created hope for others. It made us feel like trapped rats in this atomic bomb self-made I like to thing. We are suffocating in our breaths choking each other with every draw and wasting away without a sound. This might as well be the human ending as we are just like plastic pots in this pandemic.