"Cephas the Boy Wonder" -- Mwaita Faith B,

This boy never sat down. He says he is a super hero.

He has so much energy within him. He is happy. He doesn’t even realise what’s going on around him. He’s in a bubble. I want to be in a bubble.

The sad thing is that, one day, he will grow up and be my age and feel like everything around him is falling apart. He will feel like he cannot carry on because he thinks the petty issues of high school are the most important things. He won’t be in a bubble anymore. He won’t be as happy as he is. He won’t be happy at all. This concept of happiness. This concept of true happiness that is written all over his little face. It is in the way he walks, in the way he runs. In the way he says, ‘mama.’ It’s in his smile, in his cries, in his little, little hands. A little person who has everything that everyone else around him is madly seeking.

If we can be happy when we are young, what happens along the way? Is it that our happiness as we grow older is characterized by more materialistic objects, in things that we know we cannot obtain. Could it be that we have lost the true sense of happiness and replaced it with money, cars and houses? His happiness lies in being around those he truly loves. His happiness is in being held in his mother’s arms. His happiness is in knowing that there are people around him, watching him along the way. He knows he is okay. Yet as we grow older, the love and appreciation for family seems to lose its importance.

I guess it’s the fact of life and coming of age that we get to a stage where we know about more. He only knows his parents’ love, nothing more. We know more so we tend to find more reasons as to why we should have more, why we deserve to have more to ensure our happiness.  We’re stuck repeating, “I’ll be happy when.” Happiness, true happiness, isn’t about getting what we want, it’s about loving and appreciating what and who you have around you and being grateful for that.  It took watching a little boy for an hour to help me realise that.

-- Mwaita Faith B,

"Dear adult who thinks that there is no more room for change and growth" -- Nothando Bhila

Dear Adult,

Dear adult who thinks that there is no more room for change and growth, I’m here to tell you that you’re wrong. The world is on your shoulders, yes, your shoulders. It may not seem like it because you’re not the President, you’re not even an MP in government or a civil servant but everything you do will determine whether my generation see a brighter future or not.

Every decision you make determines whether my generation will be born into war or peace. Every election you attend or miss will determine what benefits, if any, my generation will receive. Every riot or rally you put down or join will determine the rights my generation will be allowed.

Every relationship and encounter you have with other people will determine the society my generation will live in. Your mentalities will become mine. Your flaws and triumphs I will adopt just as you adopted the ones of the generation before your own. How you treat those around you will impact my behaviour. What you choose to say or not to say will affect me daily.

Whether you choose to go green or pollute in every way possible, you alone are going to make the change, be it good or bad. So, adult who thinks they are ”too old” to make a difference or that today’s problems are for the next generation, I’m here to tell you that they are just as much my problems as they are yours and that your attitude will become mine.

So, adult do something.

-- Nothando Bhila

"Masterpiece" -- zoedzama

I, I am a masterpiece.

The centerpiece amongst His greatest creations.

A limited edition with only one piece created.

Made with the utmost precision.

A piece molded to somewhat perfection, and

Believe me I was His intention.

His most prized possession, almost like his obsession

If only you would just stop, stop caring so much about

what people think of you.

I mean is it their creation to criticize anyway?

So often we fantasize about his other creations, not realizing

that we are centerpiece to our own limited edition.

With no terms and conditions.

If only we could see how amazing and capable we are,

The same way our own Creator does, maybe just maybe

 we would only fantasize in ourselves.

Sadly all I can leave you with are “what ifs” and “maybes,”

Because it is not until we all realize that in order for us to see

the greatness within us that we can see that

Insecurities should not and will not ruin His masterpiece. 

-- zoedzama

"A story about Mickey" --Natasha Chinhuru

‘My....my n-name is Mikey,’

They look up.

Pity is abundant in their eyes: comparing my problems to their problems – finding mine to be of greater weight.

They shake their heads and straighten their backs.

I stand alert to every look, every cough, every fidget.

I don’t think I can do this. Not like this. Not right now.

I clear my throat once....a second time...... a third....but it doesn’t come.

This surprises no one, not even me.

One thought resounds in my head: I’m not strong enough!

Suddenly I feel a steady palm encompass my shaky hand.

I freeze........

Kindness.

The concept is foreign.

A more familiar, cold feeling trickles through my bones as fear’s friendly tendrils grip tightly to my heart.

I shirk away.

Memories cloud my mind; a kaleidoscope of dark images of a person I don’t want to be.

My hand instantly flies to my golden pendant as a clearer memory attempts to burrow to the surface. I know this memory; it is the worst one I have.

Here, I am a girl, a human girl. I have human characteristics. I run. I play. I die, just like a human. The vision before me does not know anything but happiness. She does not know pain or suffering......and my prayers beg she never does. The torture, however, is that I know she will. Pain and suffering will be as comrade and best friend to her. In the years to come, the two will consume her until she is me.....emptiness.

‘....and I am an addict.’

The words are barely a whisper.

-- Natasha Chinhuru

"I am sitting on a large rock" -- r_c_dracarys

I am sitting on a large rock. In front of me, I see the Mutarazi Falls and mountains covered by mist. There are large clouds forming above the falls. The clouds have already covered the sun. The atmosphere is quite gloomy, yet the sight is beautiful.

I can feel the moisture in the air from the rain that was pouring the whole night. There are puddles of water on the uneven concrete ground. I can hear the wind blowing, and as it does, the cold air stings my face. The maize crops are swaying gently as the wind blows. There are maize seeds on the floor.

Modernization has found its way in; there is a green water tank towering above the crops. I see the winding roads that lead downtown the valley. Cars make their way slowly and carefully down the steep roads. Their lights are on to see through the mist. A car hoots in the distance and I hear goats bleating.

I now hear the pitter patter of raindrops start. The sky is now completely obscured. I seek shelter as the rain becomes heavier. The smell of rain fills through my nostrils. However, the aroma of breakfast being prepared in the kitchen also manages to waft through the rain and into my nostrils. Smoke from the kitchen fire rises into the air and disappears.

The rain is freely pouring down and flows downhill in the direction of the sugar  cane plantation. I also banana plantations. There are hundreds of rows of banana plants. The rain water seems to be cleaning the surface as it runs downhill. The chickens and goats have also sought shelter in their sheds.

I can no longer see the falls, they are completely covered by the clouds and mist. The rain pours faster and is pounding the ground harder. It blurs my vision and I can no longer see past me. I can hear the rain hitting the metal rooftop. I smell the the fire brewed tea from the round hut kitchen.

It has been almost twenty minutes. The rain is becoming lighter and lighter. The concrete floor is glistening from the water. The thatch of the kitchen hut is wet and blackened from all the smoke. The buildings have been cleaned too.

A goat makes its way to a puddle of water. I watch as it drinks the water. Then it moves to a small tree and starts munching on the leaves. I can now hear the chickens clucking.

The rain has now completely stopped. I can hear more traffic coming down into the valley. The mist still covers most of the mountains. However the falls manage to show their majestic beauty. The clouds have moved lower down the mountains. The trees and vegetation on the mountainside look a deeper and darker green.

I am surrounded by beauty. I smell, hear, and see where I come from.

-- r_c_dracarys

"Dear boy who has been successfully sucked from the narrow Road of Life" -- Bronwyn Dott

Have you forgotten your promise that you would remain on that road of life no matter what came your way? Have you forgotten the many years which you spent down on your knees, strengthening your relationship with God?

 The level of tolerance within me has finally reached the brim of my limit, and, now the thick bile spews over, hiding that cup of love which once believed it would remain forever. Four letters remove themselves from plain knowledge and lodge themselves into my heart, embedded within the delicate tissue like squirming leeches – H...U...R...T. They suck energy from that organ of life within me, slowing each beat as time swims by. And all of this is due to you, yourself, the pathogen, being blinded by that black shadow of sin, which hangs like a veil over your eyes, leading you to your downfall. You think you can see where you are going clearly, referring to yourself as ‘cool’ and ‘right’, not knowing that even your idol sneers, and laughs at your blindness to the truth. And yes, he is your idol, don’t you see? You worship him every day with your veil over your eyes, which you allow to grow ever darker with the passing of each day. There is now nothing left within me but sorrow and shame for your gnarled, blinded soul, as you continue to pursue evil stubbornly. Patience has completed her journey through life, and lives no more. However, Faith remains with but a streak of life left, with Hope encouraging and feeding her each morning at her bedside.

No more words can find their way to the surface of my tongue except these: I GIVE UP.

-- Bronwyn Dott, 2015

"The Hole" -- Rutendo E. Chimbaru

Curiosity got the best of me when I spotted two men standing by the dilapidated house at the end of the street. One of the men was tall and thin, whereas his counterpart was much bigger than him: he looked like a tonne of bricks! The duo was immersed in conversation which I could not help but overhear.

“We’re making the drop tonight,” said the tonne of bricks

“Wh-wh-why tonight, Tongai?” stammered the skinny man, his eyes darting from side to side.

“Because I said so Munya. Don’t question my authority. You knew from the beginning that this day would come,” he replied.

“But I’m not ready for this!” he squealed.

“Ready or not, be there. Remember to bring your guns. You know what, let’s go to your house right now and get the goods,” he said walking away. Munya did not bother to reply but simply followed.

What drop were they talking about? Were they part of a gang? All these questions came swirling into my head. I really wanted to know what they were going to do. It took me a split second to decide to follow them. I waited for them to round the corner before I followed. I felt like Sherlock Holmes. Adrenaline was coursing through my veins sending sparks to my fingertips and toes

Munya and Tongai kept walking for about twenty minutes then they came to a stop by a cardboard shack by the edge of the forest, which I assumed was Munya’s house. They disappeared into the house for half an hour. By the time they emerged the sun had been swallowed by the horizon. I had somehow gotten lost in my own thoughts while staring at the sunset such that I forgot why I was crouching behind a huge rock. I broke out of my daydream state as Tongai and Munya disappeared into the brush. Realising that I could not catch up to them walking, I broke into a run. Even though my legs were being viciously lashed by grass blades, I kept going until my body was literally screaming for me to stop.

I finally stopped and leaned heavily against a tree. My breathing was so deep that my lungs were about to burst. In my struggle to control my breathing, I didn’t notice that Munya and Tongai were hovering over me.

“Who are you and why have you been following us?” asked Tongai without taking a breath.

“Answer the question, little girl,” bellowed Munya. My mouth was as dry as the savannah.

“I-I-I…” I stammered.

“Tongai, I think we can use her for the drop,” said Munya with a mysterious glint in his eyes.

“Yeah, I think so too. Let’s go,” he said.

We walked for five minutes then all of a sudden…

“Welcome to The Hole! Home of the Daredevils!” screamed Munya staring at big hole filled with crystal blue water.

“The what?” I asked.

“The Hole. This is where we perform our stunts,” said Tongai.

I was flabbergasted. They weren’t part of a gang, just two circus boys. Well there goes my Sherlock Holmes aura.

“So why do you need me?” I asked.

“Well, we need someone petite and daring to perform this stunt called The Drop,” said Tongai, “Obviously I can’t do it and Munya here is too chicken to do it.” I was speechless. This is the drop they were talking about.

“So, are you in?” they asked simultaneously.

“Yes,” I replied.

-- Rutendo E. Chimbaru, 2015