Of The Zambezi River God’s Revenge

Genre; mystery

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…….

River Monsters Jeremy Wade the Nyami Nyami is a vundu catfish

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 Nyami Nyami

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 post Zambezi River God

Blogbattle themed Flower

NB Fact the Kariba Dam is under a 300 million dollar repair project which had it not been undertaken the dam’s collapse would have happened within the next five years.

The Tonga people believe that Nyami Nyami will one day destroy the dam that displaced them from their tribal lands; in its quest to be reunited with its mate and to seek retribution.

For clarification, according to the Tonga people Nyami Nyami is not a God they do not pray to Nyami Nyami but rather pray through the Nyami Nyami for intercession

Of A Web Well Spun

GENRE; Fantasy

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

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

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

embers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lion agreed and Spider cut off Tsuro’s head.

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

“Ta-da!”

Lion was amazed.

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

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

Lion died and Tsuro became king

The End.

Endings are always beginnings.

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

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

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

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

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

The End

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

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

THE END

My blogbattle entry prompt Change.

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

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

“Much of what a spider does is waiting”

Of A Rare Moment

Genre: Romance

Nothing had happened between us. There might have been a moment, maybe it was only in my mind. If something almost happens but doesn’t happen and nobody speaks about it, did it not almost happen at all? Even if it had been a passing moment; it meant nothing if I could not crawl into her brain and see for himself; her thoughts on; well almost everything in general.

She was hard to decipher, like a rare edition manuscript, handwritten in a neat but precise scrawl which unfortunately could only be read by its author. You know those books, with rugged hardcovers and gilded edges which don’t glitter; they are built to last long after all the paperbacks on the shelves next to it have lost the sheen on their high gloss covers and the embossed lettering has flattened out; the rare edition would be there.

Or maybe; just maybe, I had spent too much time in a library and could only picture people in book metaphors. People were not meant to be understood; only read and perhaps valued the way you do a particularly memorable scene in a favourite book. That moment unbidden comes forward and plays in your head over and over long after you have since closed the book, until you decide to read the book again. You might get tempted to skip through all the chapters to get to your favourite part but you know each word builds up to that moment and you want to make it last…..

“Make what last?”

Though spoken; softly the words might as have been deafening as they intruded upon my dreamy reverie, they hung in the air; jarring me back to the here and now.

“Huh?!” I sighed.

“You were saying something about make something last”

“Oh?” I had not realised I had spoken out loud. “I was just…. Running a few ideas past myself…., sometimes… I need expert advice” I said trying to recover myself.

“When did you come into the room?” I inquired trying to figure out how much I had thought out loud and how much of that she had heard.

She shrugged and then gestured with her feather duster pointing at imaginary cobwebs. This was her cue for me to leave the room, so she could clean the study room. I had long since stopped protesting about it, she would clean it even if it looked clean, well clean by my standards, she would run her finger on a spot and say

“Dust”

You know how one says a word as if it’s a living foe that must be vanquished with all haste. Even if I said that it was ok that, I would clean up later, she would gently but firmly shoo me out the room, that’s the other thing she would never let me stay in a room she was cleaning. Which is why I was mildly surprised, as I was getting up from the couch, to hear her say one word.

“Stay”

If communicating the entire range of human emotion in singular expressions were a virtue she would be a Goddess.

I sat back on the couch and tried to look busy but I was simply drawing circles in my notepad round and round, if you added eyes and tiny mouths it looked like a sea of Minions coming to drown the world in an ocean of gibberish language and hysterics. I tried to sneak in a quick glance to see what she was up to and found she had been looking at me, our eyes briefly met and then each suddenly found something more interesting to focus or pretended to; at least I pretended to suddenly be intensely interested in the minions I was drawing; crazy eyes, crooked grins and tongues sticking out.

I actually got quite engrossed in my sketches until a polite cough, the kind of cough one does to clear their throat as they ask for your attention; well demanded attention. I looked up and noticed that she was playing with her hands the way someone who cant figure out what to do with their hands does to hide their nervousness.

“I need a huge favour” she begun.

“Well it kind of depends what sort of favour you need?”

“What are you doing next Saturday” she asked

“Probably doing a favour for you; whats up?”

She took a deep breath and begun;

“You remember I told you about my silly dream to be dance instructor, right? Well one of best my friends, decided to meddle, good intentions and everything. She went and entered a video clip of ours, dancing in a talent search competition. The clip was from a wedding; I was one of the bridesmaids and helped choreograph the bridal dance routine…. Well I have been short-listed for the next round and its next weekend.”

“How can I help? You want me to come support you and sit in the front row so when you go on stage I will make noise?…..” I asked; curious because I remember she might as well as have forbidden from asking her about her dancing; And after my disastrous date with the princess we hadn’t spoken no more than two words to each other.

“No!… I mean yes. Yes I want you to come but not to sit in the front row..the thing is__” “Well” she said and paused uncertain how to phrase her next request;

“I need you to be my dance partner.”

I had not seen that one coming… I wanted to say “let me think about it” or even ask why she picked me, I wanted to ask, if she knew her eyes lit up when she smiled… oh I had so many questions, suddenly I realised I hardly knew this woman, all I knew is when she smiled a part of me wanted to be the reason she smiled and when she laughed, on those rare occasions; I had heard her laugh, it was infectious. I opened my mouth to say “I’ll see” but only one word came out

“yes”

The End

This is a continuation of a story in progress you can Click here and here to find out what happened before.

#BlogBattle Theme Dance

Of Coming Home

He sat at his executive desk with all the trimmings of success trying to think of a polite way of saying he would not be coming home for the holidays. He had promised to visit his father for Christmas but then something came up, something always did but the Easter break was rather long, he couldn’t possibly be evasive all five days of it…. Maybe if he said he was going away on a business trip____

A soft knock at the door broke him out of his reverie.
“Yes?” he inquired.

The frosted glass door slid slightly, opening a fraction. He could make out the silhouette of his PA behind the door; they all knew to never just enter his office, and when he said yes, he meant state your business and then go away unless invited.

“Sir, I was just about to leave, for the holiday, will there be anything?”

“Thank you that will be all” he dismissed her and then as an afterthought “What will you be doing this Easter?”

“Sir?” she responded, slightly puzzled, he was never one make personal conversation.

“Family, Sir, will be with family… that’s all we ever truly have” she finished.

“You, know what? You are so right. Alrighty then; get my father on the phone for me. Have a happy Easter.”

“Thank you Sir, see you on Wednesday.”

The door slid shut silently followed by a faint click. He rubbed his temples as if that could ease the turmoil inside, if they could see him, the shark in a suit, ruthless in the boardroom dreading a conversation with his father. The telephone on his mahogany desk beeped once and then a light started flashing, indicating a call on hold. He took a deep breath, to steady himself and picked it up.

“Hello baba, yes, I will be coming for Easter.”

Once he made the decision, everything else, was simply logistics; this is how he got to be where he was, single-minded objectivity. He phoned his sons, and informed them they would be going to the country, to their roots, he made it clear, he was not offering them a choice, it was an order. That’s what his own father should have done, given him orders instead of giving him choices maybe things would have turned up differently.

A few short hours later they were on the winding road leading them back home. The ride was a bit bumpy, he had opted to use his old faithful pick-up truck and not any of his new sleek status symbols with low ground clearance and low tolerance for pothole ridden roads. The roads were terrible indeed potholes the sizes of small graves, you would think a massacre had been done on the tarmac, and then later the road would become a strip road and then finally a dirt track.

It was a logical decision taking his trusty truck he told himself, but deep down he knew it was also superstition, he remembered stories of how people got bewitched or cursed by jealous folk for flaunting their wealth. He did not believe in witchcraft, but he certainly did not want to put it to the test.

They had been making good time being fortunate to not get stopped by any of the roadblocks that seemed to be around every bend but then luck ran out. After requesting to see driver’s licence the police officer went on to ask to for a whole lot of other things and finding fault with everything

One of his tyres had low pressure; he spare wheel was not the regulated size, the red warning triangle was not the standard issue one, the safety reflective vest was the wrong colour shade, the red reflectors at the back of the truck were not the new hologrammed ones, the fire extinguisher was an aerosol fire retardant and not a fire extinguisher, and what had finally set him off, that the car as dirty…

“But officer I had the car taken to a car-wash before I left the city_” he tried to argue

“There are dead bugs on your windscreen….Dirt” The officer pointed and while he was saying that a bird flying past decided then to drop its business on the truck’s bonnet.

X sitting in the back seat snickered “I bet that bird is his and he trained it do that”

“Shut up son, I am handling this” he said as he lowered the volume on the stereo which up till now had been belting out beats, as his son called them, after all it was X’s phone connected to the auxiliary port.

“Ah and I did not see a valid listener’s licence for your stereo” The police observed

There was no use arguing, he knew it, you had to pay the radio licence whether you listened to local radio or not, he even wanted to ask do you want to see the licence for my Phone has well it has a radio on it but instead said;

“Ok just write me up the ticket Officer”

“Well, you have multiple traffic offences, you see, and the law states that we impound your vehicle pending a court case and tomorrow being the start of a holiday… that will only be next week Wednesday__”

He started cursing and ranting.

“Calm down father__” but of course never in the history of calming down has anyone calm down by being told to calm down, you can imagine how everything escalated and father and sons ended up handcuffed to a tree restrained ‘for their own protection that is’ and the car was being hitched to an impound tow truck.

“Dad..” X whispered to his father “ this is not the time to be all self-righteous offer the guy a bribe, that’s what you should have done from the start, how did you become such a shrewd business man if you cant grease a few palms”

“but he is the police__”

“Exactly! They are the most corrupt of them all, let me handle this, dad give me your wallet.” X requested “Officer, please step into my office!” He yelled from beneath the tree they were handcuffed to.

Not long after that they were merrily on their way, plus an extra passenger, turns out the officer was just finishing his shift and was headed in the same direction, so he was now riding shotgun and they didn’t get troubled by any other roadblocks as their passenger with a quick wave gesture got them waved through.

They got to the country just before midnight, a bonfire lit one of the thatched gazebos where, his father waited, years had passed since he left for the city, never once had he returned but now, now he was back… He hugged his father, no other words, none were necessary. They sat in silence of the crackling fire, all the unsaid words between them reflected in the tears that sparkled red in the firelight. Wood smoke does sting the eyes does it not?

“Tomorrow my son, I will show you your goats, we can slaughter a couple and you can take some meat with you, and when the police stop you next time, just offer them some goat….”

They laughed, sometimes you need to take the winding road ever leading you back home, to see how you never really left….

The End

BlogBattle Entry themed bribery… again the story continues you can catch up HERE

Of The The Thing In The Ceiling

Genre: Realistic Fiction

The sounds usually start when darkness comes, when I switch off the lantern and close my eyes to sleep. Night after night I lay awake listening to sounds in the darkness. It starts with a faint scratching noise as if a feral beast is marking its territory drawing lines that must not crossed except with those who have abandoned all hope. Then there’s the footsteps, footsteps; slow, cautious, and deliberate; pacing, as would a beast stalking prey. Finally comes the scurrying and squealing sounds of a chase….. I always reach for the lights at this point and flip on the switch for the bedside lamp, nothing happens, it is funny how for an instant I forget the lights have not been working ever since a storm took out power lines.

There is something otherworldly that lives in my ceiling, I hear it every night when I try to sleep “It’s only a rat” I whisper to myself. At least I hope it’s a rat and not the thing from paranormal activity….

Eventually sleep comes, the sandman takes me suddenly, pouncing, tumbling my restless mind away and down, spitting it out like a mangled rat in to a deep dark dreamless sleep.

Are they nocturnal animals, ghosts? Because when the sun comes up the sounds stop, without a trace…. I wake up in the morning and everything is exactly as I left it nothing to indicate the eventful nocturnal visitors. The ceiling looks pristine and white, freshly painted to cover the water stains left by the leaky roof from when it last rained. The brown stain looked somewhat like a cowboy riding a bull trying to lasso a sheep that looks suspiciously like an overgrown cat. Not many people could see this natural art, but then it’s not a precise art seeing figures in stains on the ceiling or shapes in clouds.

The met department just issued a flood alert, a tropical cyclone is coming, Dineo. Its curious how the most cyclones wind up with feminine names, guys it would appear don’t have scorn whose fury hell hath none.

A pet cat would be an interesting addition to the family, they catch rats, mice and stare at ghosts so that would be a win win situation, to deal with unexpected visitors… I need a hungry cat, a skinny one hungry for a meal, a fat cat does not chase rats, profound and simple.

The day always passes and I wonder where the times go, what happens to the time we discard into the past? Night always comes and with it, the sound.

I lay in my bed and I hear it scratching, nibbling away at important things in the woodwork of my ceiling structures. It has been growing the thing in the ceiling, I don’t know what it been eating but its footsteps are heavier and louder. What if it is expecting and soon there will be a rat infestation. The other day I think they invited friends for a sleep over, I could hear them scurrying around like twin toddlers on a sugar rush wreaking havoc and running amok. It was not a dream, a nightmare does not crawl along your leg in the dark while you are sleeping, neither does a ghost. There are rats in the ceiling, only rats and nothing more, except more rats if I let them.

I wake up in the morning, I look at the floor, and it’s got rat droppings that need sweeping. They chewed up my favourite bathroom rug, and doing unspeakable things on the sofa, they must go.

I have been looking up ways of getting rid of rodents, they cannot burp so if you lace bait with bicarbonate of soda and they ingest it they get bloated and die, if you sprinkle some on the floor, it will stick on to their feet and when they lick it off, well, history. I even bought a rat trap, it looks like a book full of glue and then you leave it open, rats will walk on the glued surface and get stuck, seems simple enough, until you have to pry a rat off or stomp on it with cowboy boots.

Lastly I bought some rat poison, the bottle says to mix with peanut butter, how do they even know rats even like peanut butter, but for the money they charged me they better know what they were talking about. I spent the whole day baiting every nook and cranny, tomorrow, its bye bye rats, if that does not work then its not rats I am dealing with its something else and might need to call…. an exorcist

I woke up in the morning and armed with a broom and my cowboy boots in search of rat causalities. I wish I had a gun, but imagine trying to shoot one, not to mention the ricochet. There are tiny footprints on the places I dusted with the bicarbonate of soda.

I will have to search for bodies no body wants a dead rodent decomposing in their house, I have seen this before its horrible. The only place left I haven’t checked is the attic, broom in one hand, and a flashlight I am going hunting. The rats are probably more scared of me than me of them but I fear the attic more, its dark and my imagination is ungovernable.

I found them, two dead rats in the attic after a bit of song and dance I managed to scoop them up and bury them in a shallow grave next to a rose bush in the garden; End of story, well not quiet the I also found a diary it has been around for almost century The Diary of a Freedom Fighter….

I lay in my bed and tonight there is only silence…..

The End

BlogBattle Entry for this week prompt cowboy; Inspired by a literal rat in the ceiling while I was trying to sleep and Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven and somewhat a continuation of the last story here….

Of The Freedom Fighter’s Diary

Genre: Historical Fiction

Preface

This Diary is a gift to Joshua Levi on day of his deliverance witnessed by Church and God on this 8th Sunday of January the year of our Lord 1889

Adore the Lord always
Sister in Christ

Val

Sunday 8 January 1888
GoT sAveD

jOSH

Monday 9 January 1888
My nEW nAmE IS JOSHUA

SIStEr VAL tEACH ME WrItE
Tuesday 10 January 1889
JEsUs sAVE

Wednesday 11 January 1888

JOSHUA JOSHUA JOSHUA JOSHUA JOSHUA JOSHUA JOSHUA JOSHUA

Thursday 12 January 1888
VAL Is NICE

Friday 13.January 1888
THE QUICKs BrOWnE FOxs

Sat 14 January 1888
THE QUICK BrOWn FOx

Sunday 15 January 1888
SIN bAD

Monday 16 January 1888
THE QUICK BrOWn FOx jUMP oVER LAZE DOGs

Tuesday 17 January 1888
THE QUICK BrOWn FOx jUMPs oVER LAZy DOG

Wednesday 18 January 1888
I AdOrE God and sis VAL

19 January 1888
Sis VAL Cry I WrITE

Friday 20 January1888
I MAKEs VAL cry I sTop WriTe till beta

Monday 5 March 1888
I lEArninG MysELf

Tuesday 6 March 1888
My Christian nAme is JoshuA my other nAme cAn not spelled

Wednesday 7 March 1888

Fatha Bruno come give sweets

Sunday 25 March 1888

Fatha Bruno say Sin is Black and so are we till we are washed by the blood of Jesu. I must have invite others to be saved on Easter Service

Thursday 29 March

My Papa say must stop with white man crazy talk

Friday 30 March

Good Friday
For God so loved the world that he gave his only begot son

Sunday 1 April
Easter Sunday

fatha Bruno gave us communication

Papa say eating Jesu body and drink his blood witchcraft. Papa say The Man With No Knees come to our village and learn our ways we must learn theirs so tomorrow he send me his only son to learn.

Monday 2 April

Today is my first day at the Mission Society school. The missionaries come from far away to bring light to our darkness. To educate us from our savage way.

Today my father cry when I left the village he said Do not forget myself but how can I forget myself when I take myself everywhere I go.

My name is Joshua Levi and I am a student.

Friday 20 April 1888

I have been busy learning new and exciting things, I have not had time to write. I miss the village sometime.

Sister Valerie, she misses her home too, in England. She can’t wait until she goes back and that makes me sad and I don’t know why.

Sunday 22 April 1888
Reverend Charles Helm visited the Mission Society Parish today. He brought gifts and medicines for the new clinic. He gave me my own mirror, a comb and a razor he said I must be groomed. Cleanliness is next to Godliness. We must strive to be like God and learn his word and fear him, that’s wisdom.

Monday 23 April 1888

I cut myself shaving. Rev Helm said he would teach me but he left early to go see King Lobengula.

Cleanliness is next to Godliness, sin is dirty and black.

No matter how many times I bath I can not wash away the sin I was born with.

My name is Joshua Levi and I am ashamed of my skin.

Tuesday 24 April 1888

Today is Sister Valerie’s birthday I said I did not have a present for her but she said the best present I can give her is to learn all I can and to spread The Word and be a teacher at the mission.

I wish I had a birthday too I don’t know when I was born my parents were uncivilized in the ways of the world.

Father Bruno told me dont need my old birthday I have a new one just like my new name I am no longer what I was. I was washed of my sins when I accepted Jesu as my personal saviour
My name is Joshua Levi and I was born on 8 January 1888

Wednesday 25 April

Rev Charles Helm says my grasp of English surpasses his expectations. If he closes his eyes he can almost imagine he is chatting with a carcass of Euopean descent.

A carcass a dead body of animal

A Caucasian is a white man.

The good reverend has asked me to go to my papa bearing gifts and supplies and tell him a company of miners want to be his friends they will give him vast wealth and power. Even King Lobengula is friends with them all he has to do is sign a simple treaty of agreement.
I am Joshua Levi and tomorrow I am going home.

Thursday 26 April 1888

The welcome I got is not the welcome I expected. My father said I have become a white man, I dress like him and I even talk like him.

“Son, you have forgotten yourself” that’s the last words he spoke directly to me. He refused the gifts, tore up the memorandum of agreement and spit on the bottle of skotch whiskie.

Malume said to me if I return to the missionaries my pa says I’ll be dead to him. But how can I not go When I go back I will be a teacher of a class of my own.

Friday 27 April 1888

Today I returned to the Mission Society.

I have informed Rev Helm of my father’s disposition. He says my father is a fool because only a fool refuses blessings.

“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.”

I am Joshua Levi and I am the son of a fool.
Monday 30 April 1888

I am Joshua Levi and I am a teacher at the Mission Society school.
Monday 1 October 1888
“I am dying”

my father’s first words to me after five months of silence.

His hut smells like dung and herbals the sangoma says there’s nothing they can do.

“Do you accept Jesus as your personal saviour?”

“Yes”

“Take my father to the clinic”

He is given the miracle of penicillin

I am Joshua Levi and I just saved my father.

Tuesday 30 October 1888

Lobengula signed the Rudd Conscession with Charles Rudd, James Rochfort Maguire and Francis Thompson, witnessed and translated by Reverend Charles Helm

My father signed his trade memorandum with the BSAC

Tuesday 8 January 1889

I am one year old today I picked the name Joshua because I wanted to be a savior too, Joshua means Jesus in Greek. Levi is because they couldn’t pronounce my name

Ndzivalelano which means reconciliation.

Valerie is going back to England today, her year here is done, I’ll miss her but we are from two different worlds her and I.

I have just learnt that Rev Charles Helm misrepresented the contents of the concession but its a binding contract and this land is no longer ours, it was not mining rights alone we conceded it was All Our Rights .

John Smith Moffat says he will help us revoke it and fight for our freedom……

13 September 1890

“….the more of the world we inhabit the better it is for the human race…”

Cecil John Rhodes

The Pioneer Column raises The Union Jack on the kopje over looking Fort Salisbury

“Blessed are the meek…. They shall inherit the ashes, ashes, of dreams long dead”

I am Ndzivalelano and my bones won’t rest until what was mine is mine again

I am Ndzivalelano freedom fighter and war begins….

~the diary has no further entries only blank pages.
~B

This is a work of fiction, centered around key historic events in the history of Zimbabwe

Blogbattle entry

Of The Ghosts Of Hogwarts Past

Genre: Fan fiction

Of The Ghost of Hogwarts Past

“Are you afraid of the dark?”

That is the question I ask first years on their first night at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Oh what fun it is to hear them squeal in fear as they run away from dear old me. No surprise at all because you see I am one of the ghosts that you could say haunt the halls of Hogwarts. I am mostly harmless and besides that, the whole school grounds have wards, spells and such that prevent malevolent beings from reeking just that malevolence. Dumbledore done did a right proper job at fixing them rest is soul. He too is here, not haunting corridors like us but in a painting in the headmaster’s office together with the rest of the past headmasters and mistresses of Hogwarts. When you go in there you can feel the weight of their disapproving eyes starring deep into your soul, judging you; it is downright creepy mind you. They don’t talk much, matter of fact, they don’t talk at all only sleep but it’s rumoured they counsel the current headmaster, but between you and me I think the new head is a bit batty, who wouldn’t be, everyone at Hogwarts is.

You are a brave one aint ya? You haven’t run away like the rest of your little first year friends. Oh how great it must feel to be so curious as to seem brave, I could tell you stories that would make you never want to sleep again. Funny though I don’t remember what sleeping feels like. Ghosts don’t sleep. I have been a ghost for so long I don’t remember being alive but I am sure I was as curious as you, I guess that is why I am a ghost now. I dare say I have been a ghost longer than Moaning Myrtle, crying in one of them bathrooms up there somewhere; but Nearly Headless Nick he been dead much longer, head hanging all precarious like.

Which house are you in? Your eyes are rather shifty and far too close together and you hold yourself with a certain, erm serpentine regard you must be in house Slytherin. I didn’t have a lot of smarts but I had heart, I was in House Hufflepuff. The boy who lived well he is certainly not a boy any longer, he is a man now, wife and three kids. I must say I always hoped that he would end up with that Hermione girl, but well Ginny Weasely, he could have done far worse, couldn’t he? Imagine if he had been charmed by Romilda Vane’s love portion. You wouldn’t know anything about portions would you? Thats second year students classes. You haven’t even started class yet, have ya? Just you wait till you meet Mr Longbottom in Herbology Class

One never forgets their first Portions Class especially if you accidentally bite off a piece of baby mandrake root and swallow it, while trying to get it to stop screaming.They scream ever so loudly like tiny constipated babies; they are really bothersome little buggers and off to the sick ward I was rushed. Do you know who I met there? Of course you wouldn’t know, there is no one to tell ya, good thing I’m here ain’t it?

When I was sick as a dog….., ever seen a sick dog? Not a pretty sight I tell ya. This one time during the Care of Magical Creatures Class they made us take turns taking care of a sick dog that had been poisoned by Thorn. Thorn is a pure blood Elient. That just means he is a dragon of some royal line and once upon a time they could shapeshift into peoples like you and me, well mostly you since I am dearly departed.

Not so dearly departed as You-Know-Who must not be named. I met him once, before he was all evil bent on world domination and the like. He was house Slytherin, just like you. Eyes just like yours and curiosity, just like yours, you see here I am going with this? Evil walks and talks just like the next regular bloke until they start calling themselves Death Eaters. But when I met him he was just a little older than I was, we shared a room in the infirmary wing, when I was sick in hospital on account of the mandrake root.

We talked, he was still named Tom Riddle then and his name could be spoken. Tom had a fascination with the purity of one’s bloodlines, and immortality he didn’t want to die but then who does? He had a very morbid liking to that dragon, he probably fed it and although no one could prove it, all the owls that went missing, I can bet you the Quidditch World Cup Snitch that him and Thorn happened. You know why we was in hospital together, he didn’t do anything as silly as bite a screaming mandrake he was far too clever to make a mistake like that, instead he had drank the blood of the Elient, he didn’t tell anyone else though, only me so that I could witness.

The thing about Elient dragons is they do not die unless you kill them, they are infernal or is it eternal I forget, same difference though, nobody wants everlasting nightmares. He drank its blood and he fed it his which made it a part of him. Do you understand? They think they got rid of all them Horcruxes right? But no one knew the very first one he did with no help from nobody, almost by instinct and I was witness to it. He said to me do you want to see something cool, I said yes, and out we went to the forbidden forest, we passed by Hagrid’s cabin while he slept like a rock, a giant hairy rock that snores.

He pulled off thorn that hung on a leather thong around Thorn’s massive neck and used it scratch a symbol on my hand, the Deathly Hallows. After that everything pretty much gets foggy. I remember him though, whispering to me as I died I guess, that “on the first night of the red moon after the Deathly hallows have been mastered but never used, a boy too curious for his own good will wander into this part of the Hogwarts and he will be a descendant of the Tom Marvolo Riddle bloodline and he will awaken Thorn the Elient and bring back Lord Voldermort.” I was compelled to haunt these grounds and to witness until such a time came to pass.

“That night is tonight and that boy is you, Lord Voldemort will return and you are going to summon……….All is not well.”

The End

My BlogBattle entry this week. A fan fiction story, if you are not PotterHead enough to figure out based on Harry Potter novels, I ~~was~~am a great fan of JK Rawling.

Photo credits: harrypotter.wikia.com

Of The Flame Keeper’s Tale

Of The Flame Keeper’s Tale

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of Chance Encounters

Genre: slight mystery could be a romance

When you board a bus and can seat anywhere you want, do you prefer the aisle seat or the window seat? In most buses here, unless you have pre-booked a seat on a coach, usually the first person gets the window seat and the next person gets the dubious honour of the aisle seat.

Now I don’t know if it is just me or if anyone else does that little selfish act of praying and hoping the stranger who sits next to you is kinda hot?

“Not you, not you not, oh no don’t stop” you think to yourself as you watch people walk past, trying not to make eye contact because they will stop and ask you if the seat is taken and strange enough that’s the moment the hot stranger passes you by isn’t; it ironic?

Finally you spot a likely candidate, you wouldn’t mind spending the rest of your life with…oops I mean the duration of the journey. They have the most remarkable eyes, soulful and expressive and smiles, smiles like a beauty queen. You shift your bags to the side and scoot over to the window side to make sure there is no mistaking it the seat is indeed free you smile and gesture nonchalantly at the vacant sit, when they ask is anyone there you casually shake your head like it’s no big deal as shimmies right next to you.

You making some small talk and find out you getting off at the same stop and that you both already have tickets but she forgot to buy something, you don’t ask what because it’s rude to pry anyway she asks you to watch her bags while she makes a quick dash out the bus. You agree and now you don’t have to lie or be weird when someone asks “is this seat taken?”

They said would be gone only a moment, but suddenly the bus gets full; your seat is the only one with a “missing person” the driver starts the bus and you suddenly don’t remember what your fellow passenger looked like, the colour of her eyes or what they were wearing, you didn’t even ask their name….

You call the conductor and say “Excuse me, someone hasn’t gotten back into the bus yet and they left their luggage….”

The conductor asks you what for must they do because the bus operates on a timetable and they can’t wait for even a moment longer and naturally they are already late so can’t even possibly afford the delay.

What do you do? What do you do?

You could get off the bus with the bag but you have substantial luggage of your own too, and getting a refund from the bus operators is although not impossible, it’s not the easiest thing in the world. You could just adopt the bag for a little while and hope they make a plan to catch up with the bus and considering they did say would be disembarking at same destination as you, if they don’t you could take the bag to the police there and maybe they can search for something to identify the owner or make a radio announcement or something…. Anything….

If you were me, you would be in bus sitting next to stranger’s bag wondering how you got yourself into this mess. I mean I sat here first and they sat next to me, and oh what lovely eyes she had..uhmm so I admit “they” looked hot and smiled a lot what guy wud say NO!

What if there is goblin in the bag? I have heard stories of how when people no longer want their money making charms or goblins because they require too much blood sacrifice, they dump them in bags at crossroads or some such and some poor hapless fellow picks up the curse… what if that’s what happened here, suddenly I am not sure whether I believe that voodoo stuff or not, do you?

What’s in the bag?….

What Would Jesus Do? Jesus would help a stranger in need, right? And cast out the demons in the bag, probably divine the owner’s address and phone number too….

What’s in the bag?….

What if it’s a bomb…., I have watched enough the terrorist attack movies to know that the standard operating procedure of bombing a public area is leaving unattended luggage on a bus, train or at the station….

What’s in the bag?…

As the bus is pulling out of the station the bag simultaneously starts to vibrate and hum, my heart misses several beats. This is how it ends, my life. They say just before you die your life flashes before your eyes, mine didn’t, I heard something instead, music; the beginning of a classic song…

Knock knock knocking on heaven’s door…..

Suddenly it hits me, its a ringtone, hey it’s a phone ringing. A cellphone rings in a bag you was entrusted to watch and there’s no one else but you….. what do you do? What do you do?

If you were me you would answer the phone…. Hesitantly…

Turns out it is the bag’s owner.

“Hi I am Hazel” she says and apologizes for missing the bus and imposing on me like this but could I keep her bag, and she will be hitching a ride in next available vehicle so will be right behind me and will meet up later.

“It’s a date” I reply.

Blogbattle Entry themed Hazel

PS moral of this story, I think you must just have your name and contact details clearly marked on your luggage, and careful what you wish for……

^_^

Of Now or Never #LeFemmeRemix: A Review

I was scrolling through music channels wondering what happened to the music scene because most music videos seem to be all about the all up in your face provocative sex appeal, skimpy dancers doing highly suggestive dance routines to distract us from the waning mostly inaudible lyrical content and managing to objectify women in the process. Pretty soon people are just going to be naked in hip hop videos… oh, wait, didn’t someone famous do one of those already? Anyhoo as you were.

I used to really love hip hop, back in the day when Rap really meant Rhythm And Poetry when it was a raw expressive force, lyrical gangsters spitting out verse on the microphones, that would explode the tape decks when they were in rap mode, you feel me?Call me old school but could you throw me back to a time when you could feel the emotion in rap from the love they felt for their mums, loyalty to their homies, and venom unleashed at haters, disintegrating those who would oppose; to the rage against injustice. Now, hip hop is a menagerie of multi-tattooed, chain wearing, expensive drinks sipping, posing artists all about image, they rap about how much money they got, expensive cars they woke up in, sex, and I can barely hear half of the other stuff they mumble out.

I thought perhaps I had lost my love for rap till I stumbled across this track by DJ Switch and Ms Cosmo.

To celebrate the phenomenal creature that is woman; phenomenal woman; Ms Cosmo DJ calls out her favourite female emcees to feature in the #LefemmeRemix of DJ Switch’s Now or Never track.

Ms Cosmo

The result is 8 minutes of true grit, ten verses and ten of South Africa’s baddest female hip hop artists making a a point in a world where the rap scene is predominantly male….. It’s the rise of the female rappers.

I am hooked to the hook of the song:

What happened to rap?
Yeah, what happened to rap?
Hip hop used to drop bars now we just dab

And I cant decide which is my favourite verse or who slays the most, because its that awesome, but in order of appearance:

Opening verse is Meg Mafia also known as the North Goddess and she’s got purpose just like a pure breed warrior.

Rapping was about the bars but now it’s just a circus

Meg Mafia

Ms Supa is super human and two times a queen with a straight flush.

You got a beat but you can’t use it

Ms Supa

Nelz wishes rappers rap more instead of talking about rap

The rise of the female rapper
The rap game is full of actors
I see no rappers just wrappers

Nelz

Representing cape town and keeping it real Miss Celaneous

Shame man they look the same, some are same so uniform
He said if you wanna be part of the clique outchea, you gotta

Miss Celaneous

Rogue knows what happened to real rap and it aint dead its going to rise like a phoenix.

No longer looking for lyricism
Just give em beat that bumps the bass

Rouge

Patty Monroe who is practically a brand unto herself now that’s clever

Now or never was an all male endeavour
You failed to deliver

Patty Monroe

Phresh Clique repping Cape Town they coming to win.

on stage
I rage,
I blaze,
fans feel
amazed

Phresh Clique

on stage
I rage,
I blaze,
fans feel
amazed

Fifi Cooper does no metaphors now if only someone would translate for me the rest of her verse so I know what she own about

why you put me next to kids that begs for Ice-Cream

Fifi Cooper

BK is the one who gots one problem rappers don’t make sense

Some careers born a little pre-mature
These weak raps need to incubate a little more

Clara T is about clarity and no lies, aint looking for anything she cant get for herself

Until you decide
And when you look in the mirror
You see that look in your eyes
That you aren’t breathing the same air as me

Clara T

Gigi Lamayne is a serious heavy hitter she wields her femininity like a blunt force don’t mess with the hybrid

Royal blood on my pad
I’m always Ultra with the bleeds

This track is what rap is about, standing for something; real, live and raw. Shout Out to all those keeping it real and if you didn’t know these ladies watch out for them, trust me they making a mark.

If I listen to this song a thousand times I am so going to post the lyrics the way we used to do it back in the day before google when the only way to get song lyrics was to listen rewind ⏮ and press play ⏯

PS Happy women’s month and In case you missed it I am crushing on this song.

And if you into rap what’s your take on the rap game and music scene in general?

Blogbattle entry themed menagerie

#LeFemmeRemix images and track link courtesy of Ms Cosmo

Becoming The Muse

words on paper

Tag Archives: #blogbattle

Of The Zambezi River God’s Revenge

Of A Web Well Spun

Of A Rare Moment

Of Coming Home

Of The The Thing In The Ceiling

Of The Freedom Fighter’s Diary

Of The Ghosts Of Hogwarts Past

Of The Flame Keeper’s Tale

Of Chance Encounters

Of Now or Never #LeFemmeRemix: A Review

February 2019
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