Finding my Voice in Rural Ruminations

I recently started writing on a WhatsApp Channel, Rural Ruminations with Madhumeni Manyama https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029Vb66bVwJZg4CF9IINy1a. It’s been such a rewarding experience sharing insights about rural life as farmers and Agricultural Business Advisors for the government.

I’ve always wanted to write something agro-related but struggled to find the inspiration. I remember attempting to publish a book with a good friend, but it flopped because I couldn’t contribute tangible input. Now, I feel these rural ruminations might just lead me to a book.

I’m more of a creative writer than an academic, so anything requiring deep research and citations gives me a tough time. But I’ve finally found my happy space! Each story I share on this channel brings me immense satisfaction. It’s also made me realize how much farm life nourishes my soul—this is the kind of life I’ve always dreamt of.

Dear God, musikana arikufara! 💃🏾

Proud to be a part of the agricultural sector!!!

Is pubic hair meant to be shaved?

My crazy mind has been pondering this – is pubic hair really supposed to be shaved? I’ve got a higher dose of testosterone, which makes me a bit of an outlier. Testosterone is a dominant hormone in guys, but in girls, it’s not supposed to be too prominent. When it’s out of whack, it can cause some dude-like features, like a beard. I’ve been a hairy chick since puberty, rocking short hair and “falls” (side hairs that drop onto my cheeks) back in high school. As I’ve aged, I’ve developed a bit of a beard on my chin.

My hairiness meant I got pubic hair faster than my friends, and I started shaving earlier. But the more I shave, the faster and stronger the hair grows. On this freezing winter morning, I’m dreading the 5-minute wait for the hair remover to kick in. It’s cold, and I just wanna get outta the bathroom, but my armpits and “sacred space” are looking like a jungle.

Then my overthinking brain kicks in: if pubic hair is meant to grow, was it meant to be shaved? Who even came up with shaving sticks and cream? Sounds like a money-making scheme to me. Maybe we’re just supposed to be natural, let the hair do its thing, and just keep it clean. It’s weird how some ladies love their long hair but freak out about pubic hair – talk about double standards.

Don’t take me too seriously, though; I’m just trying to avoid the cold bathroom and the hassle of shaving.

Step by Step: Turning Footprints into Fresh Produce!

Yhoo! Today, I clocked in a whopping 24,564 steps! 😂 It’s a bit of a joke among us Agricultural Extension Officers—calling ourselves foot soldiers. I truly love my job, but today made me pause and think: is this really what I signed up for? My feet are practically on fire! 😩

I don’t mind the walk; it’s all part of my fitness goals. But doubling my target steps? That’s a whole new level of concern!

Despite the burning soles, I had a fantastic day connecting with my farmers. Seeing their excitement about this year’s bountiful harvest—kune maguta! And the best part? I scored some amazing goodies: fresh mealies, crisp cucumbers, juicy guavas, and both fresh and dried okra.

Overall, it’s been a beautiful day! But hey, it’s human nature to dwell on the negatives. So let’s flip the script and focus on the abundance. Grateful for such a fruitful day! 🌟🌽🥒

Whispers of the night

In the stillness of the night,
thoughts of you drift through my mind.
How did our paths intertwine?
From where did you emerge?
A village boy, humble and unassuming,
in a world so vast,
a city girl like me seemed worlds away.

I could craft a thousand reasons,
explain how you weren’t my type,
yet, like a thief in the dark,
you stealthily captured my heart.
Unbeknownst to me,
I fell, head over heels,
our love story blossomed,
growing organically,
little by little,
deepening with each shared moment.

Your gaze, warm and sincere,
your smile, a gentle caress,
made me melt like snow in spring.
You reminded me how love can sweep us away,
but you were never truly mine to hold.
I savored each fleeting moment,
now left with only echoes
of our perfect times together.

I Will Never Be This Broke Ever, Ever Again

You will realize the importance of the Econet $0.30 hour data bundle when all you’ve got left is a mere $0.36 in your bank account. It’s January, and for the past two years—this being the third—I’ve been experiencing a super dry spell during this month. Kutoshaya kobiri chaiko 🤦🏾‍♀️. I’ve been so broke that I can’t even manage to get myself a $1 WhatsApp bundle zvayo. In this era, you just need to stay connected on the internet— manje ndopandakaita kutsva.

This brokeness got me reminiscing about a time last year when I miraculously received $273 worth of airtime. To this day, I’m unaware where this much airtime came from— haa ndange ndakanaka team rangu. Sharing is caring, so I shared some of that airtime with friends, settled some debts through data purchases, and had so much data that I wish I had saved it. But well, matakadya kare haanyaradze mwana. Those are now just good memories.

I suck big time at handling finances, even though I get so much money my way. This year, I told myself I would do things differently, especially kune zvemari uku. I’ve enrolled in a virtual Financial Literacy class with Let’s Talk Personal Finances, led by Tarie and Clare. The group is called Fin Lit Besties. It’s a six-month course worth $165 ($15 registration fee and $25/month). I believe this investment will multiply tens of thousands fold. We’re just a few days into the class, but I’m already gleaning so much. Haa ndikuitirwa zvakanaka.

I am so deliberate, intentional, and purposeful about having a good relationship with my money. Ayehwa mari ndotoitsvaga zvekudero, but hey, I spend it willy-nilly. I’m tired of all this hard work with nothing to show for it. Haa, this year, January is the last month I write a blog and fail to publish it on time because handina data zvaro. No mhani, I strongly refuse to be this broke ever, ever again! I’m doing all it takes— nditoitawo hanzi inonzi emergency fund. Imi kutaura kuno ndikawirwa nedambudziko ndinenge ndisina pekubata.

Payday seems so far away vasikana. Back to school has humbled me— apa ndichitori nemazi arrears 😂. I’m grateful that the head at my daughter’s school was understanding and allowed her to start school nepashoma pandakavabatisa. Apa gaya mu newcomer hake 😂😂😂. Haa, I vow to be paying chero ma advance from this moment and forever.

In 2025, haa, I’ll be clearing my debts, saving, and making some long-lasting investments. Handisi kuita zvekutamba, my relationship with money ikufanirwa kuswatanuka by fire, by force. Ndombozvida here zvekutambura, no mhani!!!

I will never be this broke ever, ever again. Watch this space!!!

Blood is Thicker than Water

In my years on this planet, one important lesson I’ve learned is that family comes first. My grandfather was a polygamist with seven wives, which has made my family quite large. I define my family ties in three categories:

Biological Family: My parents, siblings, and children.
Immediate Family: My father’s biological siblings and their families.
Extended Family: The rest of the family members in my grandfather’s polygamous relations.

One thing I’ve learned from my family is that amai ndi Mai, baba ndi Baba—we rarely use terms like babamukuru, Maiguru, bamunini, or mainini, or even “cousins.” If Portia is from the immediate or extended family, that doesn’t make her a cousin to me; she’s simply my sister, and I call her Akoma.

I love my family. We may not be perfect, but our diversity makes us beautiful. The happy moments, drama, feuds, and sad times fulfill our human nature.

I’ve observed that the bigger the family, the more drama there is. Now that I’m an adult, I’m experiencing the reality of family feuds. I wonder if our family ties will withstand the test of time. There seem to be more divisions and selfishness creeping in.

It feels like death keeps robbing us of the people who held our family together. If they’re not gone, they’re often accused of witchcraft. It’s truly sad. The fabric of our family is disintegrating with each passing moment. Could these be the last days mentioned in the Holy Book, in 2 Timothy 3:1–5? Angazi, but I ponder what will become of us if we fail to hold up our families.

No matter what happens, family comes first, and it’s blood that keeps us together. Friends can play their part, but there will always come a time when someone from your bloodline is needed.

I hope we can mend our shortcomings and be a family that stands together, keeping our ties strong. Nothing should destroy the Samanyanga blood in us as the offspring of Mawire Dickson Manyonga.

It rained cats and dogs

Today, the heavens unleashed a torrential downpour, and I swear, it rained cats and dogs – literally! The corrugated roof of my vintage abode, a relic from the Rhodesian era, sounded like a racetrack as the dogs seemed to chase the cats above me. Built to last, this sturdy house has weathered decades, but sadly, neglect has taken its toll.

As a new civil servant, I’ve inherited this dilapidated gem, and let’s just say, it’s a fixer-upper. But nothing could’ve prepared me for the terror of watching the roof rip off, unleashing a deluge into my humble space. Trauma doesn’t begin to describe the feeling. Yet, gratitude fills my heart – I escaped unscathed, and my modest belongings remained intact.

In that moment, all I wanted was the comfort of home and family. Adulting can be overwhelming, but duty calls. I’ll face the music, roll up my sleeves, and tackle the renovations head-on. After all, this old house needs a new lease on life – and so do I.

As the storm raged on, fear wrapped its icy grip around my heart, and tears streamed down my face. Desperate for help, I made the call that would change everything. Within minutes, a cavalry of kindness arrived.

First, the Councillor’s Secretary rushed to my side, followed by the HR and Administrator from my department’s district office. Last but not least, my Supervisor arrived, their faces etched with concern.

Together, they brought more than just temporary renovations – they brought hope. With their plan, I could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

As I watched them spring into action, I felt a sense of gratitude wash over me. It’s a blessing to be surrounded by people who truly care. Their love and support were the sunshine I needed to weather this storm.

For the first time in hours, I felt a sense of peace settle in. Tonight, I’ll rest well, knowing I’m not alone. The darkness of the storm has been illuminated by the light of kindness.

How Do I Know a Man Truly Loves Me?

It’s a thrilling feeling to tap into that creative energy, the kind that ignites the writer within me and compels me to share my thoughts 😊. Before diving into today’s story, I want to extend my heartfelt thanks to all of you who took the time to comment—whether here or in person. Your feedback means the world to me, and yes, some sense has indeed been knocked into my head. I love you all; you’re the reason I keep writing! ❣️

After navigating a few romantic relationships that ultimately didn’t pan out, I found myself reflecting on the patterns I keep repeating. What is it that I need to break free from? Insight after insight has been bubbling up, and with a little divine help, I’ve started to make sense of it all.

Last night, I struck up a conversation with my good friend Pastor Casper and posed the question that’s been on my mind: “How do I know a man truly loves me?” He replied with a question of his own, “How old is the guy?” I shared the background of someone who has caught my attention: “42, a divorcee with two kids…”

“What happened in his previous relationship?” he probed.

“He said their priorities no longer aligned, so they parted ways four years ago. They’re both moving on with their lives.”

“Ooh, I see. I ask because I’ve heard stories of divorcees going back to their exes when things get tough…”

His words struck a chord, sending me into deep contemplation. I’ve tried dating single guys before, only to be met with the excuse, “What if your baby dad comes back?”

No matter how many times I explained that we both agreed to love each other from a distance—co-parenting but not rekindling—I was left heartbroken. It made me wonder: how much does our past hinder our ability to embrace the present and future?

Sure, some people reunite with their first loves, but others are ready to start fresh. I told my beloved friend that I’m choosing to leave the past behind and allow myself to explore this new connection. He seems to check all my boxes, and while nothing is set in stone yet, I’m seriously considering giving it a shot! 😀

So, dear Readers, keep me in your prayers as I navigate this journey toward what I hope will be my happily ever after. And, of course, how do I truly know he is the one?

Will the Red Flags Ever Turn Pinkish?

I met this charming man, and he has everything that makes the hopeless romantic in me look forward to a happily ever after. You might be wondering why I don’t just say he’s my everything—well, it’s because he’s only partly that. We’re still in the attraction phase of our relationship. Oh yes, I’m aware of the stages of romance! Lately, I’ve been thinking maybe I could be a relationship coach soon—like, very soon! Hahaha!

Back to my charming guy: we’re getting to know each other, and of course, the red flags always have a way of popping up, even in the early stages. But girl, you know how it is—we ignore them and hope they might turn pink. Hot pink kinda looks like red, right? Especially if you’re color blind like me! Hahaha!

This Mr. Charming has a knack for shutting me out and dismissing my opinions and concerns. So far, in barely a month of knowing each other, he’s ghosted me twice after misunderstandings. The first time, he stood me up, and I got so mad I deleted his contact. Oh boy, the infatuation was overwhelming, and after 48 hours of deafening silence, I found his number and reached out. When I questioned why he hadn’t looked for me, he said, “You had blocked me since I couldn’t view your DP on WhatsApp, so I was waiting for you to calm down before reaching out.” To show he still cared, he showed up at my place soon after our call. We went to a nearby chill spot where we talked—no physical intimacy at all. I respected him more for keeping his hands to himself.

He’s such a wonderful person in person; he can make you fall in love with him all over again. Before he left, he promised to take me on a proper date the next day. That day came, and he kept affirming he would pick me up. But guess what? I ended up being stood up for the second time. I texted him about the importance of clear communication when plans change. He apologized, saying he had gone out with the boys and ended up drinking one too many.

My empathetic heart let it slide, but that was just the beginning of some mean remarks from him and a bit of avoidance. We don’t live far apart, but he’s either too busy to see me or thinks it’s good to miss each other. So, the naive me has to believe he’s actually busy or that he genuinely misses me.

I’ve been trying to stay positive because I tend to worry a lot. So, I tell myself, “Tabi, let’s keep on the positive end of the worrying spectrum. He’s a good guy who would never harm you, so whatever he says, he means it. If you feel otherwise, it’s just the negative speaking…” It sounds noble, but a part of me wonders if we’re going anywhere. Still, I’m holding onto hope that he changes.

Recently, I aired my concerns, and he said he heard me and would make time for us soon. Well, I guess I’ll just wait for him, hahaha, as I ponder the question, “Will the red flags ever turn pinkish?”

Beloved readers, what’s your take? Your hopeless romantic here needs some sense knocked into her thick skull.

Till next time, keep the comments coming!

Naked

He stripped off my clothes passionately
And I stood in front of him unashamed
Waiting for his longing hands to sweep all over me
But instead he looked aside in disgust
My nakedness was no longer as appealing as before
I was no longer appetising
It is at that moment I felt so naked and empty
Although I was carrying his offspring
He hated me because I conceived against his will
No kids, we had promised each other
But did I not take the morning after pill on time?
My strong biology background would never allow me to falter
But it is at this one time that science failed me
And I felt so naked that I hated every fibre of my being
Why did I ever allow him to take off my clothes so that he could look at me in distaste?
He acrimoniously whispered in a hostile voice,
“Get rid of that bloody monster and I can enjoy you once again…”
He banged the door leaving me naked and dumbstruck
Why had I conceived against all odds?
That instant thought made me once again find pride in my nakedness
And I vowed to keep that which was growing within me
He would never see me naked ever ever again
So, I dressed up and left the cursed room feeling blessed and whole again