Return to the Mecca ... Letter to my un born 2

Good morning Anesu, it just me Da putting in another entry and just letting you know you’re on my mind and that I love you. There is something I wanted to share with you as your father to be,  I feel like  life’s is a big old book and we write in it  through our choices and actions, each season and cycle in our life is a  just a chapter and  often we meet people in different chapters of our life, just as you will  meet me in one of my chapters and as you start your own story, part of the secret to life is not to define a the whole book by a single chapter sometimes the intro isn’t good as the ending, and  not every chapter is action packed when you arrive here and as you get older you will understand, and the best place to start a story is at the beginning which is not with me but with your Grandparents. The greatest gift I was given and I will pass on to you is our last name it is the beginning but not the end of your identity. It is the beginning of your legacy, before I go there one of the reasons I write to you is simply because of God’s love and if something should happen to me I know he will watch over you, the problem in here lies, If you have never know the love of an earthly father, you may have nothing to compare it with the heavenly Father’s love. He absolutely adores you but we hope it never comes down to that and that we do meet in person. I guess I am one of the lucky ones as short as it was I did get to feel my father’s love and I assure it was an amazing, money can’t buy it , I remember a time when no place was higher and  more sacred or safer than my father’s shoulders. He had such a presence you could feel him when he walked into the room and you were not looking at the door. I have also decided to create a time capsule for you and in there I will place a picture of Sekuru (Shona for granddad) and Ambuya (Grand ma) a tree is only as strong as its roots and I assure you your roots are tremendously strong. You won’t have the pleasure of meeting my father until god calls us back home, but you will meet my mother hopefully. When you do meet my mother I have a disclaimer for you and a piece of advice, approach her with respect for your own safety out of love she will put a foot up your ass, then put a foot up my ass for not putting a foot up your ass in the first place, then I will have to put my foot up your ass, then you will have two feet up your ass you don’t want that. The lesson to be learnt is be respectful (laughing), seriously I grew up in a time when they taught us to respect our elders even when they were not always that respect worthy they don’t teach that much now, so I am tell you now the power of respect is not to disrespect, it sounds cliché but respect is earned and the fact that your elders have being on earth longer than you subsequently earns them minimum respect having said that, elders can lose that respect to gauge it well  as it is a thin line. Anyway let me get back to the family history/tree. When I decide that I was going to make your mother my wife which was pretty much years after we met I had known here a long time, I forget what she said but after she said it I knew she was the one , I remember telling your Uncle Tau Tau that’s my future wife  and he (Tau) laughed hard almost passed out chocking, I can’t blame him  I was in a very crazy back then, very bachelor chapter of my life at the time not meaning to sound corny (some real talk) it just felt like an angel or spirit whispered in my ear this the one, flesh of your flesh and bone of your bone that’s why I call your mom my rib, we complete each other when we are not trying to kill each other in private,its real love(laughing). Anyway after my epiphany I called up my mom, throughout my life she has being book of knowledge for me even when we went to war (that’s a completely different chapter if not a book), but up until then I hand never really asked any question about her and Da I figure it would cause ache, every time I felt the urge to ask I remember how deeply she wept on the grave every Sunday afternoon, after church when we went to place flowers by the Tombstone. It made me ask what kind of love was this that they shared that ran so deep, so committed that flaunted itself in her pain so openly a love that never seemed to age and defied time, like I said I learnt a secret about time and so I knew if I wanted to ever know I would have to chance at the risk of opening old wounds I needed to know so I asked her what it is about my dad that let her know he was the one. (Laughing) the reply was rather shocking I was hoping for some mystic deep romantic response no.

 “baby back in the day your father looked like Sidney Poitier (taking a deep breath) he was beautiful human being to look at and all the girls wanted him but I got him and he had big hands and feet you know what that means ”

 “mom don’t go there  (ugh…)that’s it mama He looked Sidney ?”

 “Yes that is it do you want me to lie to you?” (Of course she was messing with me)

Anyway your grandfather had many outstanding qualities very intelligent, warm generous, funny when he spoke well and was extremely protective but a quiet soul, he didn’t like to go to church much but he was a very spiritual being and deeply respected the ancestors. He didn’t call my mom by her name; he called her mudikanwi which means “loved one in Shona” and twice a year or more he would take her travelling to some distant part of the world he was never afraid to spoil her. Apparently he was a good dancer, and I personally will never get it but he had good hair I will never understand what that does for women, but I have the same thick hair  as well so I guess it works, we don’t have to worry about balding as we age it’s not in the gene’s. He was very stylish a trend setter if you will (that gene seems to have skipped me). Nothing was more important than family to my father he invested in the people as well as the land he was from, he was very gifted at managing money but he didn’t care so much about it (money) but in the well fare of the people, we used to make 4 to 5 trips to his tribal land (kumusha) every year with car full of  food and gifts. I could go on and on and on, nobody I met had anything bad to say about him even his enemies had praise for him. When I was growing up I remember under achieving on purpose because the bar had being set that high and I had no idea how to get there  absolutely clueless and I guess that’s one of the problems with being fatherless the lack of direction, and I figured if I hide my gifts sooner or later the expectations of greatness would pass me over me , the wind without focus is harmless at best chaotic  but never a force, and I think it was TD Jakes who best captured it when he said “energy not used will turn on itself” I am a living witness that statement is true which will explain that period in my life when I was very lost. Without direction without my compass (my father) my wrestling match significances and self-worth began I had to figure out who I was, I was an artist with a brush and blank canvas and no muse  but a urge to draw .. It was a mess. To be the son of “Samson Munengami” was pressure to achieve great things, these were dark and hard chapters of my life people say I don’t regret , rubbish I regret that phase of my life. Hiding my gifts caused my mom heart ache through disappoint because she could see the potential even though she didn’t say it very often she believed in me and I begin to understand the pain I caused her as you make your journey into the world , I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did, you have 2 generations of gifts fire and intelligence and the heart beating in your chest and  in your veins don’t hide it, master it through confidence and humility and know the difference between confidence and pride,  be the best you can be, at whatever  you choose to be, don’t get distracted, for many years I would be lost not living my purpose on a detour that road was rough, a battle with alcoholism  that would almost kill me 5 or more times, having said that I just want to tell you right now! You might find this hard to conceive but you’re my hero the idea of you kept me going through the darkest of nights, and when it looked like I was going to lose my battle with alcohol  along with my mind ,and the sins of the father would visit you, I saw your face in a dream and kept swinging and I still am and I won’t stop, where ever you were in the ether the idea of holding you or missing the chance to hold you become my souls fuel to live the option of suicide became an impossibility( any and every man who has lived past the age of 25 has contemplated suicide at least once). I realized my decisions now will affect you latter although my father was a good man and he was not abusive, but I always felt he chose the bottle over me, and I let go  and let God be my father and stopped trying to do things in my own strength and be in control, a complete game changer for me I have mixed feelings about bringing life into this world because humanity is ugly sometimes. The scriptures which will be your friend say we came to bear witness to dying world, but my love for you over rides everything else I feel and the more I let god love me the more I know I will be able to love and protect you even when I don’t now how, so before you come into the world, thank you for being my hero. I just want to say to you ,have no doubt that I will wage war for you to at least be breathing when you are born, and if anything should happen  to me I will find a way to keep you from the other side because even I cannot defy gods will, sometimes …. Sometimes I feel like there’s force protecting me and I like to think it’s my father both of them , because with all the crazy shit  I done in this life time I should be dead. Anyway my craziness runs in your veins as I explained before, coupled with your mother craziness I have a feeling I am going to have to be firm open and tough love with you, do you  know  what that means I am tear ass up you act a fool (laughing). Before I babble on to long let me share with you my three favorite activities I did with my father.

1 My father loved to go fishing I hated it, fishing that’s is I hated the smell and disliked worms (we didn’t have fancy bait back then) and honestly, when I was that young fish scared me anything that wriggled scared me snakes worms fish spiders etc, but I enjoyed the time alone with my father it was sacred and his presence made me brave so my fear of fish temporarily disappeared. He gave me two of the greatest gifts then, I have to this day the ability to sit in silence and enjoy the presence of someone else without frivolous conversion just the occasional pat on the head somehow that kept me silent or is long finger pointing at a spectacle of nature like an eagle flying overhead or what he called gods finger at dawn as silver line reseeded on face of the lake. He also taught me how to still my soul umm its complicated to explain but its allowed to develop my third eye and my sixth sense  earlier than most my father said it allowed to see the spirits of and in  nature and the ancestors. The coolest thing about Da is from about the age of 5 he spoke to me in a way that was simple enough for me to understand but as an adult, we would be walking through the bush and out the blue he’d stop kneel down to my level look me in the eye and say something like this “mwana wangu mu upenuyu usa vimbe nechinu chisiri chako” (my child never put your faith in other people stuff just your own). I felt like a Grown ass man and I still miss him. My second favorite activity with my father was that he used to love to take long drives to nowhere in particular and listen to music international and local he had particular liking for Bob Marley and the Eagles when you’re old enough Google them, and locally Mukanya and Tuku. Back then we had tapes and tracks in cars you had to listen to the whole dam album, there was none of the I-pad or phone. I think these long drives where supposed to be his alone time from my mother which every man does despite how in love you are. Lord knows she had her moments, and one when he was leaving I cried so hard for him to take me along with him and would he cave in. There was a condition to me going along with him where ever we went I couldn’t tell my mom, it is here I got to see the other side of my father in modern day terms I guess it would be either him cutting loose with the Fella’s not a care in the word discussing politics and football and the likes, or he would drive out to a quiet place  and there was this one particular hill let the music play and enjoy a few beers and just let go of the world, I would inherit  this particular quality to spend large amounts of time by myself  sipping and listening to music  in my own world.

Last but not least my third favourite activity with father was the swings and gardening. Our house had a design that had a bar literary a bar that looked out on a raised veranda which might go far to explain our alcoholic tendencies, on each side of the Veranda was a set of step leading down to the back yard on the right was rose garden my father had  planted with bare hands for my mother always the romantic, the garden was  gorgeous in the season of bloom and to the far left  was vegetable garden which we actually ate from fresh and healthy, despite all the education and having travelled the world my father was an earth man he never really forgot his humble country beginnings  and when he felt sick or stressed he would walk bare foot in the garden and feel the earth in his palms and toes somehow  he felt that connection to earth to the ancestors he called it grounding our people are referred to as “Vana Vevhu” children of the earth his ceremonial earthing actually seemed to work. It was in this garden my father started to teach me to appreciate the value of hard work and to take time to appreciate nature  for not only would life be my school master but nature as well, he used to say “if god made it then it can teach you”. My father was the kind of man who would get annoyed by a half ass job , he would rather I do it wrong but give his my best and with that he started to teach me the art of craftsmanship hidden in simple things as planting a seed trimming a bush and paying attention to details. He taught me the concept of relationship as the water needed the earth the earth was in need of the water for needs somewhere to fall and the other needed to drink. And after a long day of work in the garden my reward whether I deserved it or not because honestly I think I got in the way more than I helped , especially in that last year of sickness before he passed , was to have him  push me on the swing . My tiny little lungs squeal with excitement “looks dad I am flying”. He had this way of looking at me and my brother that said “right there that is mine” despite his sickness I had never seen him bitter.

 When I remember  what I saw that disease do to him I marvel at how I myself struggled with alcohol for so long maybe I was that lost because men we don’t do pain very well , but I am grateful  that I beat  it and like I said thank you for being my hero and helping me through . Your most probably wondering why I am telling you about your grandfather simply because the 3 of us are connected, you are where he is right know and coming here and I wanted you to have a clearer idea of the calibre of DNA that runs in your blood and how life can be simple and complex in the Same heartbeat. One day you will come face to face with your own complexities I just want you know you’re not the first to face it and you won’t be the last, it’s confusing but normal  and you have my words to help you through, aight  where ever you are I will catch you at the next inspiration

Intro: Strange fruit letters to my un born

He is internally bleeding to death on the floor of cold holding cell from the injuries he received after a vicious phone book beating provoked by a long and strained racial conflicted relationship with a certain police officers which finally crossed the line, it had previously being mostly humours  banter and empty threats up until then a nonviolent battle that was started by the clash of opinions’, the police officers racial slurs and socio economic profiling versus his quick wit intelligence and un repentantly humorous emasculating tongue. His mind and spirit travel to the Ether to avoid his physical pain of dying slowly where he is confronted by “Azreil” angel of death to whom he makes a request knowing his last rites as a Christian.

 Ta asks to send his loved ones good bye letters in the form of dreams, unfortunately Azreil cannot grant this right so he transfers him to Saint Peter who handles such divines matter. Peter needs a justification for such a request and so Ta our victim tries to justify the request by saying “strange fruit is what brought me here, it’s what I am,  I just want to leave some normal fruit ?” and so he takes  us back to the start of his life in post-colonial Zimbabwe a time of so called integration, a time when inter racial relationships that we take for granted today were a taboo approached with caution and distrust, it was also a time when children were seen and not heard . A time before Facebook and twitter where people just did not say whatever they wanted without thinking of the ramifications of their words “what happened in the house stayed in the house”. A time when Children did not speak back to their parents or else they would face the wrath of a leather strap or worse . We are taken into a world of two young lovers and the “wolf pack” where their innocence struggles to breathe and is seemingly being stripped from them painfully  and slowly, he is African and he has lost his father young and struggles on the path to masculinity as well as the natural challenges of going through puberty and the complexities that arise from his home environment as his mother attempts to find the right way to raise them alone  as well as the complex process of  integration going  at school. Detta is white and she has also lost her mother to breast cancer, her guide to her femininity she faces the same challenges as he does accept that after her mother’s death her father has become emotionally vacant and withdrawn, they are drawn to each other’s brokenness seemingly unaware of each other’s race, very aware of I am a boy and you’re a girl and this strange feeling they have for each other. At only 12 years old they trying to deal with not only their past’s, puberty, and present but the issue of identity created by the new independent Zimbabwe and people constantly imposing their values and opinions on them that contradict the feelings they have for each other, and so they struggle with their parents “do as I say not as I do” attitudes. They hold onto each as they wade through the fog of change as they try and figure out what traditions to hold onto and leave what new things to embrace and leave while dealing with the fear of the walk into the unknown with the knowledge that time never moves backward. They face 3 realities how they see the world, how people in world see things and what’s really going on minus the bull shit in between. Along the journey they joined by the “wolf pack” a brotherhood of friends who confide in each to retain their sanity from their home lives, a family away from family.

Funny a times  and painfully honest  looking at issues people would rather sweep under the rug out of shame escapism or the simple fact  that to confront the issue would force them (the adults ) to take a very good look in the mirror.  The Strange fruit is simply the bi products of the situations they are forced to adapt to and evolve around and how it affects their adult lives in the latter years. They are the strange fruit and if you look in the mirror maybe just maybe you are to?

Ps: This book is not a biography but it is based on real life events, some I experienced myself and some passed on to me by counterpart’s family and friends.

i ask the look in my own eye's

They are the very people who would smother poetry the part of me which never wakes , for it always dreams , I had to tell them that , that which has a soul can not be killed at best condemned and that’s still my choice. I ask the sadness in my eyes “will somebody pray for me “(did I really want the answer?) Silence and solitude is where I am, caught in this world full of people (so anything is possible ), noise, tears, my favourite smiles oh yes crocodiles smiles. I turn and walk away from it, and back up where I was before alone, (haha ironic), but I am used to it that. Try and consul my self smiling different smiles in the mirror, the childish vanity, I smile with lips could never understand or see, but maybe god see?, nah he always see … … may be those who love like me ? I begin to feel sad and I don’t know why and I don’t want to..?.. I cant breathe, its gonna be alright? ….Right? (The echoes empty halls).

Anybody, even if its not true tell me so… as I sniff my tears away I realize how I miss the faith of being a child that made everything alright , some times I forget to smile, ….. ummm ummmm trying to live life body and soul , looking back at the ruins of war we call our past, shake my head and smile , wondering I survived ? I listen as I watch my body and my soul separate (madness’s slumber ) “then I think to myself what a wonderful world” what made Sachmo say such a thing when he sang , was he crying or smiling, talking?.. .. oh yeah he was singing……..wasn’t he? Sad by my self was I even listening they say the good die young so the mystery of my continuous existence way solved, it crazy in my smiles and tears, …. As if they mattered, my picture of love? Don’t really have one? Picture of love that is so what do I tell my soul if I don’t get see my dreams. (So much pain at such a thought, I close my eyes if only to remember I can not fear the darkness know) I know, I was blind? hmmmm will I believe me? Doesn’t matter what you tell me, as I bear the pain of their conceptuality of me in other words breathing and perception, I would be smiling like an idiot smiling , why rogue …….why do you smile with that sadness in your eyes. Some things will never change.

Agape

god

Snippet- "strange fruit" -chapter letters to my unborn

To my unborn


The Sound of a scribbling pen

After my father passed away it would be the last time in my life that my mother would physically pick me up from the ground if ever I fell down unless it was a life threatening injury, those years were hard for me because I was young and didn’t fully understand but don’t get it wrong she did this out love, there was a hidden wisdom she knew a secret that in the absence of a man I would have to learn very early in life how to pick myself up and keep going, I would have to learn to be my own cheer leader and motivator and I would have to teach my mind to go ahead my soul to provide the energy and my body to follow, my grind would have to be more potent more relentless and to this day I thank her for it. I look at my generation and my counter parts and many men have fallen over and they have stayed there waiting for someone to come and pick them up, they have become baby hooeys’ boys in men’s bodies and sadly I have to let them know no one’s coming to pick you up so get up or go home this is just life. It’s tragic that we now live in society where the men gossip and complain more than the women do, it’s tragic that these very men can be out worked and out endured by the women they aim to dominate when they should be partnering up, and now that I know that you are coming into this world my unborn from eternity into time, I don’t know if you’re a boy or girl but if you are a prince forgive me now, for after you turn age of 7 I will do as my mother did to me because I love you and I want you to be strong and not to get lost on the path of masculinity and I don’t want to make you a cripple in a cruel world,you can cry but you are going to get up on your own. I will pick you up with my words but not with my hands, and if you’re a princess daddy will always be there to pick up when you need me just call.

Allow me to introduce myself I am your father but you can call me Da and you, well you’re not born yet, whether you’re a boy or girl your name will be Anesu which in Shona means “god with us”. I hope and pray to God to live and grow old and grey with you as I have asked to do with your mother ,to guide and watch you become everything you can be but alas the times we live in are crazy and my own heart speaks against me, they say if you have faith then you shouldn’t have fear but I do have one fear that is the sins of the father will visit the son and so I have chosen to write these letters to you so that if anything should happen to me at least I leave you a blue print and in some strange way we have this relationship and you would have less questions as you grow older. I need you to know that I thought about you and loved you before I even met your mother (laughing) you were the subject of many a conversation between me and this guy called Jesus, often I would watch the sun fall wondering where you were. So know that when you are born you are more than enough and everything you do after you breathe well that is just a blessing even the mistakes there just a chance for you to learn you have nothing to prove to anybody accept yourself just know that you are loved. If I have any choice in the matter and I do, I hope to love you both the soft and gentle as well as with the tough love which only time will explain to you because at the time you will think I am unfare as I did with those before me, that tough loves a hard one because you will most probably at the time think I am crazy but when you will get it when your older I hope you understand.

One of the reasons why I write to you now is simply because my father died when I was 7 years old. He was a good man for all that I know and I can remember... when he died something happened to me I am not sure what it was exactly, but what but I do remember I was a very lost little boy in the dark trying to fill a void it is here I learnt to cry like an adult with a false sense of dignity and not like a child with all emotion and hurt such as to take my soul to laundry mat as god had designed tears for, I learnt one of the great lies of being an adult while I still 7,how to be a true thespian to look normal and well groomed on the surface while my soul was in torment walking the on coals of hell searching for significance and self-worth, when you arrive in this world and live long enough there are things that you will go through that words will fail to describe some of them good and some of them well you will figure it out , these moments will be yours and yours alone, these moments will be the places where people fail to understand you and often you will be aware that you walk with god and god alone all your life... and my father passing was one of them for me. Anyway the problem is that I knew him (my father)as a child would know his father, pretty much as a super hero with a cape and spandex an immortal who could do anything and the only other true father I knew was God and I assure that has being a very complicated relationship for lack of relationship, Who in himself is perfection? The dilemma for me came as I grew older, there was not only a need for guidance but a need to understanding my frailties and shortcomings as well as my strengths and gifts, my quirkiness, the heart inside of my chest that seemed schizophrenic one day it wants to lay down and die and the next moment it was defiant fiery it would lift its middle finger at life and says bring it on. One of the hardest things to achieve and master in life and I can warn you about it now is balance I know because I am still a student of balance as I write to you, it is something I still struggle with today and I am sure I will until I am called home by the lord, the loss of my father also caused me to grow at a rate faster than my counter parts again with little guidance I found the scales tipped and I stumbled feeling my way through life never truly knowing whether I was right or wrong ( alight sigh) all I needed was a nod or pat on the back a little affirmation. In it all I soon figured out I had soul that didn’t compromise , a mind that rarely slept and heart that was driven and hardened with callus on the outside but very tender inside ,for most of my life I pretty much walked alone even thou I wasn’t.. I think I am doing better now but along the way I made a lot of mistakes ... and I assure this world is very unforgiving and I had to learn that one’s mistakes do not define who you are, and I had to learn how to forgive myself because if you don’t you become a cripple and a puppet for Satan.

I really hope you get to know me as a man, as Mandela once said “in my strengths and great victories as well as all my weakness and failures.” You need to see me 360 degrees in all my seasons somehow it will help you understand yourself better what I call our complexities, I hope to be a book of knowledge for you as those who were before me were to me my parents ,your grandparents . My swagga is imprinted in your veins it’s just gonna come out you it might even be surprised hopefully in a good way(laughing) but there a lot things I will teach you intentionally like words this world doesn’t use any more like “integrity honour loyalty self-worth self-sacrifice family purpose long suffering to mention a few” having said that I am a man so from observing me you are going to learn what to do and what not to do because I have flaws I can admit that openly, you see how you have me teaching already because real men and we are a dying breed we can admit when we are wrong actually it’s a strength the part of you we will work on its called developing character, and hopefully you are a faster learner than I was because I was hard headed and have the scars to prove it. Secondly the ability to admit you were wrong with an open mind and sincere heart allows the capacity to learn faster than those around you. I don’t know why it’s so heavy on my heart but I feel I have to pound this into your head your coming into world where everyone got a get rich or die trying mentality baby if you can put a monetary value on its not worth shit. You can’t buy love and you can’t buy time you can’t buy purpose , you can’t buy satisfaction all the free things of god cost that something that isn’t money, I remember when I was growing up I had friend who was extremely rich and he could understand the satisfaction I got as boy becoming a man doing certain manual jobs and he used to make fun of me but I also remember how sad he was and how jealous he would get when my mother would look at a simple thing like the lawn being cut and say good job and say the “man of house”. My point is this doesn’t be deceived if you can put a monetary value on anything truly valuable. I am keep pounding it into your head so you aight for now. Before I end my entry for the day I need to address two genetic tendencies you might have to address as you get older which might make your life complex. I am strong believer in embracing your uniqueness, so the first issue is I have what they call an acquired sense of humour and I am allergic to stupid people this particular condition cannot be cured, but you can hide it by not saying anything at all and laughing in your head, but I must warn you might find yourself feeling the urge to say something or simply slap the taste out of fool. It’s natural try your best to walk away , your mother will not approve but if the urge over takes you hit them in throat or groin, number 2 you better pray you inherited my speed to run (laughing) okay we got that one out the way . The second issues is more serious it’s on your mother side I didn’t know what I was marrying into I am just put it out there but I still love her… most of the time, if you find yourself having a urge to serial ass slapping grabbing tendencies especially post puberty it’s her, I am serious when I met your mother my ass looked like half a basketball now I got ass dimples and it’s not from working out (laughing). If you are having this issue as you get older don’t seek therapy it won’t work, don’t talk to me talk to your mother I am still trying to cure her but it has its moments. That’s me for the day I don’t want to flood your mind I hit you up some more tomorrow and remember daddy loves you

The scribbling stops

About strange fruit

About

For me strange fruit is not about racism but rather a plethora of issues in society we would rather sweep under the rug be it out of shame escapism or ignorance and we grow up with it, we fall from the vine and we finely pick it up and look in the mirror and you would be surprised who is a strange fruit. I tackle issues like fatherlessness, drugs, body image of course racial profiling both ways, stereo types to abuse of child-women- men etc. I face off with dark side which twins the light of humanity what I like our call our complexities as human beings, I am not a psychologist but society seems to be suffering from an extremely high levels of escapism and moral bankruptcy if not a full out recession in context of morals and love, and we would rather not face the truth but float by in a dreamy and drugged up state until individuals are awoken on personal levels by the pains of the vicissitude’s of life hence so much mental illness of late. This book is not designed to change lives you’re the master of your own mind so only you can do the change thing if you want to, they call it freedom of choice or individuality use it. To me society is the tree and these issues we do not address are the strange fruit we see in our children in our homes on our streets in the nations in and in the world and for those who can be honest in the mirror . Okay let’s get to the grits of it…

For those who do not know “Strange fruit” was originally a song made famous by Billy Holiday and Nina Simone about the brutal killing of slaves in the south of the Americas and after they were killed they were hung on popular tree’s to instil fear in other slaves and serve an as example . Two reasons why I choose it as the title for the book, the first was when i looked into the mirror at the age 30 with my shirt off and could see all these scars which I never when I left Zimbabwe if I was the tree the scars where the strange fruit from racial conflicts I would rather of walked away from but sometimes you have to fight the beast one cannot always hide behind passiveness and the hope of change. Secondly I looked at society and all the crazy killings going on in the world beautiful youg girl’s filled insecurity, grown men who still act like boys and thought to my self

“Satan’s putting in Extra time and we are the ones eating this strange fruit and we end up being the strange fruit”..

Now before I go any further I want to clarify something black men during slavery where not the first people to be lynched, I can see some of your eyes widen “what ?” … “so who was it?”

Many will argue this fact I am just here to enlighten the first people to lynched by white men where white women during the mid-evil times through witch hunts as a control mechanism out of the fear. Women who choose to act independently of men and refused to conform to the social norms of the times where accused of being a witch and then tortured raped and public hangings and burnings enforced by the clergy and mobs of ignorant men and scared women, any woman who acted out of the norm could be accused of being witch having said that I wasn’t there but we do know from history many innocent women were tortured hung and burnt alive during this period, but I do know at the same time in Africa women were queens warriors(Amazonians)and advisors to chiefs and kings a historic fact of course Africa wasn’t perfect ,yes we had some tribes doing messed up stuff but for most of our history women in Africa where highly revered until colonization when our men adapted western stances and ideology, when slaves came across the ocean the mechanism of fear control and torture used to make women confess they were witches was then extended to slaves to break their minds and plant the seed of inferiority hence forth lynching as was originally done to women in the mid evil age. Know in life as far as I am concerned and observed there are three sets of treatment for human beings and please forgive my example. You might not agree but the honesty in your own heart you can not deny.

If a young white man was seen walking/staggering down the road and he is drunk he was/is having a good time. If a black male is seen staggering down the road he is a threat or one of those people and if a woman is seen staggering drunk down the road she is a dirty slut bitch or a whore, asking for it. It is based on the observation of this tier that I wrote this book with the highest level of impartiality life experience will allow me to have, having being raised by a women I saw their plight in a society blindly led by men’s ego’s and I admired these women’s strength how they endured circumstance and I bared witness to their brokenness and how resilient they were I am not an authority on women but I am an authority on pain, process, scars and we share them (scars that is ) over the years, and I myself for those of you who haven’t guessed am African so with a certain level of authority I can speak on the subject of being black in the western world and what I o

bserve from this side of the eye ball history is written by those who win war so this story I share is untold despite what they say it seems we are still fighting for the right to be I and I or as say my true self. I have a soft spot for women I have hunger for truth and I have very low tolerance for racism black or white anybody in this case and I am innately allergic to stupid people. If you dare come walk with me.

My ( heart brother)

My trustiest thoughts are found in the parts of my mind i dare to, but i am not scared to explore
My true beauty is held by the callus’s of my soul from a life lived hard.. no regrets .. so we think?
My originality is found in the things i am still discovering and shocked about myself
My truest pain is a secret only god knows .. as it should be?




My revelation is when i want to fly but i am not sure which is Broken my wings, my heart or my mind but somehow i am in the sky . Then I realise he is holding me up again hahah (father)
My fullness is when there is nothing left , and this state of being doesn’t cause me fear.
My truest source of pride is my mother smile my families touch.

My greatest challenge.. is simple obedience when god speaks and tells me to move .
My truest movement has always being in my first step and my last breathe..
My truest sin is the same as my strength.. Lack of and the presence of faith ...
My greatest annoyance is this thing called courage.. And what it demands of me
My truest desire ummmm ? Is to learn how to love ...(i am serious)
My heart .. Can only be given to those who can accept without understanding
My truest need for rehab is silly accepting that i am not in control.. And staying in that mind state..
My truest dream is to one day be good father ..... that’s all everything else seems obscure ...
That’s me and my .. so what about you ....

Dedicated to those who take time to learn about themselves


Gerald Tapfuma Munengami aka “child”

This part of me

I have bumped into this part of me again , which I felt was dormant or dead...
This part of me seeks perfection and peace knowing i will never see nor achieve them in this world
This part of me wants to rise to great heights knowing we could fall, because we have done so before .
I want to lay down and rest but it insist on getting up and trying again
(madness i tell you haha )
Although inside we are more than one .....in this world this part of me makes me walk alone ..
This part of me dates me in silence ,the absence of people ..yet the presence of god..
Where my souls speaks to my mind, and the mind is true to the heart
I am yet to decide whether I like it or hate, but it is a part of me ... unfortunately it hurts

We sit in silence, and converse with no words
We laugh with no breathe, and shine with alight not of our own
You remind me of words , the world has forgotten
Honour courage selflessness ... umm (moment of thought) the list goes on
The forgotten words make me smile because of who they are, and the surge of pain
Deep in the soul .. to see them hanging lost in time like strange fruit
The shadow pawn that painted the crow black
The storm that raged (laugh of madness) and they didn’t see a drop
The softest place on earth for me to exist , the complexity of god because you are a rock
In stagnant motion we walk on in un cried tears , and time becomes our currency

We play chess as we debate the purpose of tears
They seem to be a waste of time .. but they tend to cleanse the soul over the years
The wars are personal ones ...victories loses, the wars that go on unnoticed in between my ears
Inspiration sits and ponders on my forehead contemplating the write moment
Fear waits for soul to look away so it can creep closer to my heart
Courage faith and indecision locked in immortal combat
My soul looks at its twin which would be my infinite ... ... communion
They laugh with no breath .. they cry with tears .. and they live with all life .. this part of me
Turns around to walk away ... strange because you know we will always be one