Well, you can pretty much submit whatever you want, a poem, a story, a previously published post of yours, anything really, as long as it is not discriminatory and does not get me in trouble with any copyright infringement issues or arrested or killed by cute looking rabid bunnies or ninja clown assassins.
It would be preferable, you email me the body of the article in MS Word doc format with any accompanying images as separate attachments of the same email (if the images are not yours also include the credits) and if the article has been previously published also include the link to where it also appears
N.B. Also include a very very short bio, links to your socials and a profile picture to accompany the (even if your post is to be published as by an annynomous guest for those who have identity reservations)
Why Should You Consider Doing A Guest Posts?
I would like to think I have an awesome community behind my blog and you just might get yourself a new audience different from your normal circles
Guest posts are not only a great way of link building, growing your network and gaining new traffic for your blog outside of your regular circles but also an opportunity to explore content that you may not normally consider posting on yours perhaps due to your blogging niche or if you are a fly on the wall, yet you want to post something but you don’t have a blog yet or you just want to see what having a post on the internet feels like here’s your chance…….
You wanted me to be your Valentine but what is a Valentine?
I hope you do not wish me to write you a farewell note and sign it from your Valentine then my head gets chopped off, for you see I am rather attached to my head; and that, according to some legends, is what happened to the first person to send a note signed from your Valentine.
History and legend have various martyrdom stories of people named Valentine killed rather violently on the 14th of February, so when you ask me to be your Valentine and I go silent, I really trying to figure out if you want me dead.
Dear Heart if you are asking me to count how many ways I love you I would need more thanone day, I would need each morning of everyday; every sunset, every sunrise, each breath and every sigh……..
Dear Heart…. If you love flowers I would help you grow a lil garden or maybe gift you a pot plant or show you how to grow flowers in teabags. I find it a touch disturbing how people give each other flowers essentially demonstrating that I killed these beautiful flowers for you, now watch them fade and wilt because I love you
Dear Heart if you were a flower in my garden, I would never pick you, I would be the sun and in the warmth of my love you would bloom. ♥♥♥
Dear Heart, I find Valentine’s Day a commercialised scam and the only people who actually gain from it, are the people who sell love’s paraphernalia and I hope you dont think I am saying that but because I could not afford to get you something nice nor is it because the post office people would not let me dress in wrapping paper; tie a ribbon around myself and affix a postage stamp marked Special Delivery.
Dear Heart, did you know that way before Valentine’s Day came to be in honour of slain Saints, the period used to be a weird fertility festival involving the ritual sacrifice of goats and dogs and whippings
Dear Heart I hope you are not I mad at me for making you rethink what Valentine means but if you are, I would tie a cape around your neck and say “Now you are Super Mad“
Dear heart; I am not saying anything by it but have you noticed that
Its the month oflove, and and you cant help noticing splashes of red in adverts as they “subtly” try to remind you its Valentines’s Month
Here I was watching tv soapies “for research purposes” when I came across the new Ackermans lingerie advert promoting self-love and body positivity themed the #IamMe campaign.
As soon I finished watching it, I was like what did I just watch?……. because I loved it……, wait not like love love more like like like …
Here’s the thing, traditionally lingerie adverts have been impossibly shaped models, posing like they know Victoria’s Secret; in air brushed shoots that leave unrealistic expectations not to mention defining beauty standards for the everyday folk.
The Ackermans advert was shot with the barest of touch-ups, celebrating the (flaws) uniqueness and diversity in body shapes sizes and colours. A celeb-studded cast of 5 vivacious personalities graced the set, parading their insecurities, vulnerabilities and true selves.
“Nobody thought that I would do a lingerie campaign right, right! But look at me now.”
“My mother always stressed the importance of trusting the voice inside of me. There is nothing more powerful than woman’s intuition
“I’ve finally accepted that beautiful doesn’t mean flawless, so embrace every one of your flaws “
“I’ve got stretch marks on my tummy and I never used to like them, people confusing me with a zebra, but then I thought, you know what, they look like flames, they look like fire and I actually like that.”
Next time the advert pops up on tv though it really should have a warning tag so I can close my eyes because growing up we were taught that peeking at the female form one would result in one developing a stye on the eye….
.…which is why I wrote this whole post with my eyes closed and thats my story…..
Big things mostly happen in the big cities, while the small towns seem destined for small things even though the dreams are the same, the opportunities not so much.
I hail from such a small town, always awed and in envy of the creative arts communities in Bulawayo and Harare; a quick check of events and you will find from hip hop conferences to creativity workshops; while the only constant event I can name from home is the Masvingo Drama Festival.
One thing I really
love about the internet is that geographic boundaries do not constrain you, everything
is a click away whether you are in a smallest of towns or the largest of
metro-cities in the global village we might as well as be standing side by side…
through my timeline on the interwebs I was delightfully surprised to find Litfest
was coming to Masvingo ….again.
LitFest Harare is an annual event, to celebrate Zimbabwean Literature and they are currently running a poetry outreach programme in collaboration with various stakeholders.
Whilst checking out the details for the poetry slam, I was both pleased and dismayed to also discover that a poetry Masterclass was in progress; pleased because I love it when these things happen in the small towns and dismayed at the fact that I was finding out only then, while it was already happening; that it was happening…..
The poetry workshop covered
From novice to professional poetry
Technology, marketing and branding
Perfecting the art of writing
Facilitators Rudo Chakanyuka, Chirikure Chirikure, Robson Shoes Lambada an Edward Dzonze
I missed out on the workshop but I was there for the slam, the performances were so electric that there was an electricity blackout ok
…. maybe that was not the reason why there was a power cut but still the show went on, first under the light of phone flashlights from the audience and then generator power; mains electricity came back on in time for the final round……
The lineup for the
poetry slam had the following ensemble;
Ngoni The Poet Wenduru
Christopher The New Tone
Takudzwa Mashoko Mazwi
between rounds were filled with guest perfomances by Chirikure Chirukre, NRS
The Nameless Radio Station, The Preacher
The slam comprised of three elimination rounds, as wordsmiths dished out verbal servings on the poetic platter with a menu ranging from the serious to the whimsical that included identity, jilted lovers, domestic violence, feminism, love and even how to deal with a bad debtors.
A shoutout to the debut performers; it takes heart to stand in front of a group of people and bare your soul… and congrats to the lucky poet of the evening Ngoni The Poet Wenduri
The Litfest team was then heading to Bulawayo for another poetry treat
This is a great initiative in engaging the creative arts and I really feel creatives need to learn how to embrace the digital space establishing the brands that they are, and you can read that as me encouraging people to take up blogging, so the rest of the world can discover the gem that you are and your story……..
I make her giggle like a child—so pure, so contagious. Zainab smiles with her whole face and laughs so free; so generous with it. I am the funniest man alive. She gets me. Against a million odds, her energy matches mine. She is all I’ve been waiting for. We are on the same wavelength. We hear each other, see each other and mimic each other’s vibe. My heart wants to spend every second with her. She sparkles. Her presence makes my core shiver. Zainab wants me and she is not afraid to show it. Courage of emotional expression. This I like the most about her.
We have been dating for two months. Love’s zest climaxes at the beginning of a relationship. I’ve experienced this before, but with Zainab the level is unprecedented. Love’s zest climaxes at the beginning and its endurance peaks at the middle. At the end, zest and endurance tussle it out. What wins depends on the couple. And sometimes, love loses to another love, other times it loses to hate. For now we shine the brightest. She is my star, I am her star and we travel in this galactic world side by side. Same energy.
It is a few minutes past eleven. I am in my pyjamas, calling to say goodnight. “48:51”, the call timer says. We will probably talk ourselves to sleep. She is in her pyjamas too. She even told me its colour and what’s not under. My room is chilly with the rainfall and my bed is cold. Her voice, which exudes her warm heart, warms me. The lights are out but their power rationing cannot stop me from beaming.
“I have been meaning to ask” she suddenly says “why you’re still friends with your ex fiancé, Hal?”
Where is this coming from? I ask myself. In my silence, a lot of things cross my mind. Like she’s not really my ex fiancé. I popped the question, she said yes, then changed her mind the next day. We didn’t even get the chance to start talking about wedding plans.
“What do you mean?” I finally say “though we had different opinions about our future, we still respect each other. We dated for three years. She knows me, you know”
“Wow” she says “you should hear yourself speaking right now. Do you still love her?”
“What? No” I say, sitting up “I love you. Why does it bothers you so much that I’m still talking to her?”
“You really can’t see it, do you? You barely go an hour without bringing up her name”
They just brought back power, I say. The first time this weekend. I need to iron some things. She says she could hear the ceiling fan turning. I ask her if we can talk about it in the morning.
“Ok” she says “but you should really think about this tonight”
How could I not? She didn’t sound happy with me.
Why can I be friends with my ex without it meaning anything to my new relationship? Zainab means everything to me right now. That’s all that should matter. Hal knows me. We share a deep history. It is important to me. If only this doesn’t concern Hal, she would have advised me on what to do. She is very good with people. But she is too selfish to be reasonable in a case like this.
Why am I thinking about her right now?
I read something somewhere about black holes in space. They are regions of intense gravitational field. So strong nothing can escape out of them, not even light. I am ironing my shirt and can’t help the thinking, maybe Zainab is right. There is a black hole in my space and part of me is in it.
This is trying to taint our run. Zainab and I are on a streak, superbly fitting into each other’s lives. I guess love comes with all the excitement just to show you how good it can be. Then it quickly pushes you into the endurance stage to see if you’re worthy of it; worthy of a happy ending. Is love fair demanding more from one partner than the other? Again, I guess one decides if it is fair by deciding how much his partner is worth to him. If one can give his all and get love back in return, then it is fair.
The air in my small apartment is getting uncomfortably warmer due to hot steam from the pressing iron. I am eager to finish, edgy. Perhaps I am edgy about something else. This is making me anxious. No sacrifice is too much for keeping happiness. Look at Hal. She gave up our future for her “happiness”.
I reach for my phone.
“What” her sleepy voice says “I’m trying to get some sleep”
“You don’t have to worry about Hal anymore. I love you. You’re my priority” I say, surprising myself.
Sometimes, I don’t know what I want to say till I say it. The time is 1:07 in the morning and I decided this love is worth holding on to.
Bio: Ibrahim Oga is the author of Sisyphean Mind Anthology. He has an ongoing series on channillo.com titled Vista of a Sisyphean Mind.
If you were having coffee with me, we would be having mango juice, because if life gives you mangoes…..
Actually, if life gives you fruit, any fruit, you must be very careful of what is in the coffee or mango juice you have been drinking; because life is not in the habit of walking around giving people fruit; if its any consolation though, life has not been throwing rocks at you
So life give you mangoes…….
Peel and slice
If you were having mango juice with me, I would ask you how old you were when you discovered, for yourself, that a computer hard-drive is nothing more than a shiny, disc…..
.….A super spinny disc turning round and round and every now and then it makes a ticking noise as it turns a little bit slower, turning round and round as your files disappear every now and then until it falls apart, what can I say its total crash of the hard drive
When your hard drive starts making the ticking sound of death, back up your data stat,
If you were having coffee with me, I would tell you that, according to a cabinet minister revelation, the Reserve Bank has paid for enough fuel supplies to to cover the next two years so the public should not panic
But given the track record of the state media and government, when they officially say one thing, one starts preparing for the opposite, dont panic they say…….
Meanwhile the president made a clarion for dialogue inviting the 20+ presidential candidates from the 2018 elections to discuss a framework for the way forward for the nation, but the two main contenders snubbed the meeting one citing that a photo opportunity is not dialogue and the word on the street is its like dip tank attendant inviting farmers who own no livestock ….
If the image in the Sunday Mail local paper can be believed then the austerity measures though bitter, are making country better……
If you were having coffee with me I would say hey, its the month of and Valentine’s in a few days, plans? no plans? why cant everyday be valentine or valentines’s for what, isnt that in honour of a beheading? you tell me
Thank you to The Britchy One for nominating me in this challenge, almost a year ago, I cant believe a year has passed already, congrats on the blog anniversary, I could have sworn you were at this for much longer than a year…..
I started on this challenge, then got side tracked and discovered it while clearing out my drafts, about a week ago, many thanks for the nomination these things have no expiry date right?
So here goes TMI tag…..
• Acknowledge the person who nominated you.
• Answer the questions.
• Nominate other bloggers for the tag.
** this is simply for the fun of it, I wont be nominating anyone for the challenge, if the mood moves you consider yourself tagged and just run with it…… seems like a sensible right; to business then.
QUESTIONS and ANSWERS:
Q: Have you ever been love before?
If you mean the palms sweating, knees shaking, hands shaking, heart racing, world spinning, difficult to breathe, throat swelling, arms itching, when you see them type of love…..well it turned out that what I really felt was an allergic reaction. I was allergic to her perfume, it had bee pollen extracts.
Q: What is your favorite drink
The blood of my enemies, fair warning; I will dance on your grave and bathe in your blood…….. Ok! TMI?…. Confession that kinda freaked me out a tad too, lets turn it down a notch, how about the blood of grapes, fyi its only cause I get to use the word blood in it.
Q: What is your favorite song
Depends with the season, but currently one of my most replayed tracks is Wongororo by the late Oliver Mtukuzi. It was the theme song of my first legal night out, a day not easily forgotten as I tried to pace my drinking to the man with the talking guitar singing
translation “you rushed to swallow while you still needed to chew, more haste less speed… the night is still young” and it was quite the cautionary tale as I tried to drink somewhat responsibly
Q: What is your zodiac sign
I am a Pisces and you could say this February baby is in his element
Q: What is your favorite show
Game of thrones, valar morgulis!!!!! The End Is Coming
Q: What is your favorite band
Freshlyground A South African band Afro-fusion ensemble.
Q: Name something you really miss
I miss the kind of you music that made you want to fall in love, the kind of music you could listen to and actually hear the words and understand the message without needing to first Google up the lyrics, song references and meaning.
Q: Where do you go when you are sad
I am sad because I cant go anywhere, I’d be happy anywhere but here….a beautiful place “to leave“
Q: Have you ever been in a physical fight
With myself….. yes, I punched myself in the eye trying to remove a sweater with a super tight collar
Q: what is your favorite colour
I don’t like any colour, so by elimination I like black, which is the absence of all colour
Q: Loud music or soft
Whats the point of listening to music if your neighbours cant hear your good taste too?
Q: Who is the best actor
Our Police Spokesperson who can go on a press conference and with a straight face, on live TV, tell some outlandish alternative facts
Q: Do you have any fears? What are they?
Yes. Snakes, something about them lacking toes, really gets under my skin and the very rational fear that one can be bitten, and inevitably die!!
Q: What is the meaning behind your blog name
Becoming The Muse…… well one day I decided, why not be my own muse and here I am and here we are
Q: When was the last time you said I love you
Today, to Microsoft’s Document Autorecovery Feature which autosaves your document in real time; in the event of an unexpected shutdown even without saving next time you launch the app all your unsaved work in progress pops back up. I said I love because I had lost this post when the PC encountered an error and went all blue screen of death on me
Q: What was the last book you read
Delver Magic Book 13 Concealed by Deceit by Jeff Ianniello
Q: What book are you currently reading
I am not reading a book, I am busy formatting this post, so I can hit the publish button….
Q: was the last sport you played
Does running away from a tear-gas-throwing, baton-stick-wielding riot police squad in some sort of real life Temple Run count as a sport? If yes, then the answer would be about two weeks ago!!!!!
Q: What instruments do you play
The keyboard…. the computer keyboard that is
Q: What was the last song you sang?
And so I wake in the morning And I step outside And I take a deep breath and I get real high And I scream from the top of my lungs What’s going on?
4 Non Blondes Whats Going On
Q: What is your favorite food?
Anything that is not poisonous
Q: Name a place you want to visit.
Lake Victoria, Uganda
Q: What is your favorite sweet flavour?
sweet chilli sauce
Q: Whats your favorite piece of jewelry?
This wrist band on my hand which doubles as a hair band thingie….
Thanks for sticking through and reading to the gory end, and perhaps you may now know me better.
I read George Orwell’s Animal Farm and 1984 years ago, back when the words freedom and free speech, to me simply meant freedom to choose who would accompany me to school at the beginning of the school term and freedom of expression meant in an literature exam, the only wrong answer was to leave blank where an answer should have been, some answers scored more points than others but all of them were correct.
I find it, lets call it interesting to note how books published almost 7 decades ago seem to be about the totalitarian states of today and the need to control the narratives
“Do not believe anything,you see or hear, especially on the internet, believe only what we tell you”
In the wake of violent protest, an internet shutdown and a military blitz, which the state blamed on “rouge elements” who wore stolen military Sky News reporter John Sparks did a report which showed security forces beating a handcuffed man
The President’s official Twitter account issued the following response:
And a bit later in the state newspaper, the Secretary For Information, Publicity and Broadcasting Services was reported saying how the country is under coordinated media attack and that the Sky News team were not accredited to be reporting on events in Zimbabwe and had not given the police or army a chance to respond
Later still, during a press conference the police spokeswoman had a chance to respond on the Sky News report, that their investigations showed the footage was from an incident in July 2016 and further investigations were underway….
The Sky News team stood by their story
Clearly someone was definitely telling “altenative facts” state media, government officials, the police or an unaccredited news team?
Further scrutiny of the video by “analysts” showed two distinct telltale signs
The registration particulars of vehicle which passes in camera range shows it to have a registration number sequence which could not have been reached in 2016 since the central vehicle registry follows a sequential system
A plain clothed officer wearing the Chelsea FC Third Kit for the season 2017/2018
Without actually acknowledging making an about turn the police released a new statement which cited a police officer was arrested for misconduct
This story is simply a tip of the iceberg, but it does leave one questioning everything; can we believe anything, if there’s no truth where do transparency and accountability even begin……
The internet and social media might be a hot bed of fake news, cyber bullying and all manner of misinformation and anti social behaviour, but with it the future from the book 1984 might not necessarily have to be an instruction manual….
If you were having coffee with me, I would ask you if you ever tried Apple Cider Vinegar, between you and me I would tell you I think it tastes pretty horrible and also drinking it neat like a shot of whiskey is super bad for your internal organs because its acidic hello.. Dilute maybe from one teaspoon up-to four teaspoons at most of ACV to a glass of water.
Why would you drink it? Well its been the all new rage in the natural community for ages now, with it being claimed to be a great tonic and natural remedy for weight loss, belly fat reduction, lowering blood sugar, lowering cholesterol, reduces heart attacks, reduces cancer risk, kills some bacteria…
If you were having coffee with me I would tell you that, some of this is not quite scientifically proven yet but the internet is full of raving reviews on the amazing benefits of Apple Cider Vinegar so having some in your kitchen cupboard and using it occasionally in a salad and in the odd kitchen hacks might not be a bad thing at all.
And I have recently discovered a new ACV use too, its apparently a great hair wash.
So the ACV wash is great for dreadlocks, removes build up makes hair feel softer. Someone even claimed their hair felt longer too. (But I wouldnt know about that hey, mine feels longer after every wash day.)
If you were having coffee with me I would tell you that I havent quite figure out the ingredients for my next hair was but wish me luck because while I was figuring out how you mix an ACV hair wash I noticed you add bicarb and if I paid any attention to chemistry class well that is essentially a neutralization reaction between an acid (ACV) and a base (bicarb) to give a fancy fizzy salty water solution
The way the economy is set up and I be not having apple cider vinegar to waste washing my hair decided to look up the next available chemical reaction in the kitchen cabinets and I found a citric acid powder, which should work in place of ACV.
Its also interesting to note some people use lemon juice to wash their hair and citric acid occurs naturally in citrus fruits, I am thinking it should all work out
Wish me luck, lest my hair fall out
PS Have you tried the ACV as a hair wash, as a face tonic or even in a salad; what are your thoughts, any interesting hacks to share in the tips
The Legend of the Zambezi River God, the Nyami Nyami, is a story known and shared by locals of Zambia and Zimbabwe. Visitors to Kariba Dam are greeted by an imposing statue that is supposed to depict the famed River God.
An enterprising dealer may try to sell you a Nyami Nyami walking stick which is not a walking aid but rather an artistic impression of the Tonga lifestyle, but be careful not to confuse the “historical stick” with the actual Tonga cultural and religious beliefs.
On an episode of River Monsters, Jeremy Wade speculated that this invisible executioner of the Zambezi River might be a vundu catfish but whatever it may be to survive the surging might of the Zambezi river it would definitely be formidable…….
I have never given much thought to this legend, even though around my neck I wear an ivory carved Nyami Nyami pendant neck piece, an old gift.
I had been gifted the pendant by an elderly lady, old enough to be someone’s great mother, “for luck” she had said. She also insisted I wear it always. Wearing it always was easy to do since, it was very light and the fine leather thong that secured it around my neck, had been bonded together and the only way I could remove it was by cutting it off.
I met the lady during
a school field trip to Kariba Dam, she was selling pricey but beautiful curios
and oddities at a market stall. I had desperately wanted to buy a souvenir but
I had nothing left to spare since I had bought a rare flower. A valentine gift
to bring my crush back at school.
“Mlilo, she must be something special” she remarked
I was momentarily caught off-guard as she had addressed me by my clan name, then I remembered I was wearing a name tag, all the students wore them. I smiled politely and shrugged.
“I last had someone give me a flower a lifetime ago” she said, as she sighed wistfully.
Again I shrugged as I turned to walk back to the school bus, I took a step then paused, a random voice in my heard whispered “Why not”
I faced her again and
without much in the way of ceremony placed the flower into her calloused hands.
“Danke” said thanking me in my mother language and proceeded to chant my clan praise which I am ashamed to admit I hardly knew, then added an unfamiliar blessing but it sounded like it roughly translated to “May your fire never go out in the storm”
That’s when she handed me the ivory pendant “For luck” she said.
I ran to catch up with
the other students going back to the bus which was already hooting as the
driver signaled we hurry up. I don’t remember what happened with the crush for
valentine but this was a high school crush, those came and went with school
terms. I totally forgot about the incident and never thought much about the
Years later, I still never thought of the Nyami Nyami even as I absentmindedly fingered the pendant around my neck wondering, why all of a sudden it was quiet and hot. The noisy desk fan had stopped rattling shakily about, the metal blades that threatened to pop off and decapitate the nearest person had stopped rotating, it did that sometimes for no reason, but this time it was because the power had gone out; again. The power utility company called it load shedding, when they scheduled electricity blackouts.
Of late, the electricity
was like an errant spouse, who left the house early in the morning while you
were sleeping and returned well after you had gone to bed. Today however this
was an unscheduled blackout, so picked up the mobile phone to call the fault
section. That’s when I noticed the mobile phone had no network I tried the landline
handset and it had no dialing tone either. For as a second, it felt like those
alien invasion type of movies, but then from watching Hollywood movies, aliens
never come to Africa.
I went to bed in darkness, it was a moonless night, the kinda that gives one night terrors, and I had strange troubled sleep. I dreamt of two ancient souls separated by a vast dam wall and connected by a deep empty yearning and a storm raged as one formed a fist and pounded the wall in frustration, thunder crashed as cracks appeared and darkness swallowed the world while the wall crumbled down. I woke up with a start, my hand clutched tightly around the Nyami Nyami pendant and the dying tremors of an earthquake; apparently we had just experienced a seismic event.
Later much later, I would learn that the power outage had hit both Zambia and Zimbabwe. The authorities would say that “an event” which had occurred at Kariba South Hydroelectric Station had triggered the total shutdown of electricity. They blamed the drought for low water levels, which caused low electricity generation and the crack in the wall was as a result of tremors caused by shifting tensions. Strangely enough, they were gathering local elders in both Zambia and Zimbabwe to do an appeasement ceremony so that it would rain, after all it would not hurt to practise our customs.
Something must have worked because eventually it rained, breaking the drought; although no official statement was ever given, repairs to the Kariba Dam had to be suspended for a year, in some circles the word is this is in deference to the wishes of the Nyami Nyami……
Some nights on a moonless night I have the stormy dream again, I see the lady who gave me the Nyami Nyami pendant, she still has the flower I gave her, pinned to her hair,
“Tell them to remember our story” she whispers and she dives into the churning water, as the crack in the dam wall widens and water spills out to swallow everything…
That’s when I wake up.
The above is a work of speculative fiction inspired by some true events. You could read more on the Nyami Nyami on this postZambezi River God
I have started and stopped and restarted, rewrote and stopped writing this post because I simply can not find the words do justice to this man, his music and the legacy he left…..
Oliver Mtukudzi born 22 September 1952 and gone to soon 23 January 2019 coincidentally on the first anniversary of the death of his long time friend the father of South African Jazz Hugh Masekela
Sometimes in death, just like in poetry, music and art; life has a certain symmetry.
Tuku as Oliver Mtukudzi was affectionately known had a musical career spanning close to five decades resulting in a 66 album discography one can be forgiven for thinking he was much older than he was.
Small wonder his music transcended generations x through to the millenials, with a song for every season, reason and occasion, from birthdays to weddings, funerals and any gathering you could think no playlist was ever truly complete without Tuku Music.
Tuku Music thats how he finally labeled his brand music an Afro-jazzy Jit Afro-pop sound accompanied by guitar which earned him the moniker:
The Man With The Talking Guitar
“I looked for a sound the guitar couldn’t make in a guitar — that is how I learned to play the guitar”
Recognised not only localy and regionally but globally too with a string of accolades next time his name, not only a musician but businessman, philanthropist and UN Goodwill Ambassador.
The man might be gone but his music and legend live on; the come very few people in a lifetime with the power to wield such an influence, who can grasp the soft power of music and subtly weave it into themes that you can relate any given day, a song to celebrate success, a song for mourning, an ode to death, a song for marital abuse, a song for strength.
Even those who did not understand the language still felt a connection even singing and dancing along, to be honest the are some songs which even to date I am still learning what they were really about and not just a catchy dance track but actually a sad song but mastered ever so well
With 60+ discography that is older than I am, I can not even begin to try and pick out a tracks, that I liked better than others, I have even reconnected with tracks that were from my soundtrack growing up I did not even realise I was even listening
And to borrow from the track Ndima Ndapedza, which is a farming metaphor song meaning that I have finished my portion of the work
Penyu pese masakura mazunza Samanyanga zvasarira isu
(you finished and dusted, whats left is for us to figure out)
You would think he was being prophetic but who do you ask?
He lived as an icon, died as all man must, buried as a hero and forever remembered as a legend.
I have no rights to any of the images in this post