Thursday, February 23, 2017

late writer SAMUEL CHIMSORO: a relative's tribute


SAMUEL CHIMSORO: A relative’s tribute  

Sam akanga ari muzukuru wangu, mwana wavatete vangu, hanzvadzi yababa vangu. (Sam was my nephew, my fathers’s sister’s son).

Sam was older than me by one year. In the early 70’s Sam and I played together as sekuru nemuzukuru. Sam was poetic and would write novels. He could also draw. I was a teacher with a deep interest in fine art. I lived at Zimbabwe Flats on Jabavu Drive in Highfields where I worked as an art  teacher at Nyarutsetso Art Centre.  In the 70’s Sam lived in Mbare with his parents.

Sam had a special interest in Jazz and Blues music by Champion Jack Dupree, B. B. King, Aretha Franklin and Lewis Armstrong, to name but a few. We would listen to this music trying by all means to derive meaning out of it. Sam would organise gigs in selected halls in Mbare where popular music would be played to entertain the young people. In those days, the Super60 was the state of the art in musical players and Sam had one. It was a status symbol to own such equipment.

We took time to look at art and to enjoy it and we drew pictures together. Sam was an ardent drawer as evidenced by the pencil drawings he did of his grandfather. The idea then was he would write the books and then I would illustrate and get the books published.

We took turns to visit each other and he would cycle from Mbare to Highfields and back. When I visited him at Mbare, we would listen to Blues and Jazz on his Super 60 Hifi musical system that produced super stereo vibes. Up to this day, I play music by B.B. king, Champion Jack Dupree and Lewis Armstrong. That was the other side of Sam Chimsoro. He was very influential in a very positive manner.    

We were young persons who were not too keen on girls and girlfriends, until he got hooked onto Winnet and I on Terry.

Sam was gifted at critical analysis and would delve into analytical geometry and metaphysics. We would exchange books on calculus where he encouraged me to study mathematics like the McLaren and Fibonacci numerical series. He encouraged me to read mathematics for fun. I began to understand some of the mathematical theories that I had not understood while at school. He was a man who could genuinely share his knowledge at all times.

I remember him giving me a thick manuscript of his to read and review. His narratives were deep and complicated. I remember Hovio neHohwa.

Sam was a vegetarian who enjoyed African cuisine like muriwo wemubora and well-cooked rape with sadza.

I do not remember him having a hair-cut. He grew his hair and left it in its natural state and that made him look well.  I will always remember the ever glowing smile on his face.

Sam Chimsoro truly left a legacy that will be cherished by all of us who shared space and time, interacting with him at some point in our lives.

By Thomas Karwendo Pasirayi... presented at the Samuel Chimsoro commemoration event on 18 February 2017, Harare.


Saturday, February 11, 2017

Musaemura Zimunya mourns poet Samuel Chimsoro

(picture: Samuel Chimsoro)
+The Zimbabwe Writers Association (ZWA) are going to hold a reading and discussion event in Harare on Saturday 18 Feb 2017, at the Zibfa offices, from 12 to 4pm and one of the issues on the agenda is the late poet Samuel Chimsoro. Below here is a write up by Musaemura Zimunya on the life and work of Samuel Chimsoro…


Most followers of Zimbabwean literature first came across the works of Samuel Chimsoro in his first collection of poetry entitled Smoke and Flames published in 1978 by Mambo Press.  However, this eminent Zimbabwean poet had been operating under the radar for close to a decade and half from the late ‘60’s until then, writing and refining his craft almost entirely out of the public view.  To him it mattered little whether he got mentioned or published in the then prevailing platforms such as Chirimo Poetry Magazine, Two Tone or Rhodesian Poetry.  For him, it never seemed to matter to enter his poetry for the so many competitions on offer, whether English or Shona. 


Nevertheless, a few people were aware of this enigmatic character.  One such was Toby Moyana, the great mentor of so many authors then, who had not only taught him along with Berth Msora, the dramatist, at Nyatsime College, but nourished his thirst for creative writing in the mid-‘60’s.  Moyana was one of those great lights that light up the sky and vanish like a meteor before the world could even notice the brilliance of the phenomenon. Back in 1970, he put together samples of the work of Julius Chingono, Musaemura Zimunya, Samuel Chimsoro - the first two poets having already been published in Chirimo - including his own in order to forward them to Heinemann Publishers who were by then fully established as the preferred destination for many aspiring African authors.  Sad to say that all of Moyana’s efforts came to nought.


Indeed, so secretive and enigmatic was Chimsoro in his endeavours that even the great Kizito Muchemwa who compiled Zimbabwean Poetry in English, the first collection of poetry by Rhodesian Africans, completely missed Chimsoro. Smoke and Flames (1978), published by Mambo Press, his first poetry collection in English.  Dama Rekutanga: Muunganidzwa weNhetembo, published by College Press, 1990.


Those who would do research on Samuel Chimsoro would not find him on Wikipedia, even though he appears on the index of the website as one of many Zimbabwean authors appearing on the list.  However, when you point your cursor on the name, it is frozen and inactive.  And if one were not connected to the family, one would never have known that this great poet died alone in a hut/house in the distant wilderness of Zhombe while his fate was not known until three days after his death.  Nor did the news leak to our prowling press at any point, or so it seems.  This is a writer who never found the urge to join any literary fraternity, not even to set foot at the Zimbabwe International Book Fair where from the beginning of time all writers felt at home and always looked forward to mix and mingle with some of Africa’s greats.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              Indeed, one can be excused for thinking that Samuel Chimsoro was a mystic, and yet he did, indeed, live like one and died like one.
Born on February 13th, 1949, Chimsoro passed away on 6th July, 2016 in Umgugu Village, Zhombe. He did his secondary school at Nyatsime College in Seke before proceeding to Fletcher High School, after which he went on to train as a technician in water analysis at the Salisbury (now Harare) Polytechnic College.  Started work in a government laboratory as a technician on radiation detection before joining the Department of UZ and later translocated to Bulawayo Technical College and then on to The National University of Science and Technology. There he rose to become Chief Technician until his retirement.


Samuel Chimsoro originally served his apprenticeship as a poet writing in English and so it is no surprise that his first collection was in English.  Although Smoke and Flames may not represent the vast scope of his creative talent, it is a collection through which critics and lovers of poetry may peep into the mind of the creator himself.  Chimsoro loved metaphors that depict the human experience, emotionally, socially and philosophically.  Almost every poem in this collection derives its energy from this very raw, lyrical force of his creative vision while at the heart of his complex metaphorical universe lies the point: the message, the radial centre of a spider’s interconnected mesh. The following lines from “Leah” may serve as an example:


            A stampede of words


            Stormed the pines but


            Leah spurned the sound


            For my long arms to coil


            Round the strained web


            Of the shredded soul –


            When it was too late to gather


            Words lost in the snoring foams


            Of my fermenting voice.


 


            Teeth gnashed in chronic chaos


            Trembling like tuning forks


            Tuning splinters from


            The cracked auditorium


            To a noise that could


            Crack her cocoon.


            Even then love rolled over listless ears.


This poem also happens to belong to a sequence that explores the myriad situations that make perfect love a recalcitrant proposition.  However, lest we forget, Chimsoro is not merely an aficionado of decadence and passion as some of his poems may suggest.  He is one who also lived through the pain of oppression that characterised the era of settler colonialism and did not shirk from expressing his conscience and protesting against the system.  Thus, the section entitled “Zuva Huya-Huya” is devoted to the cause of the liberation struggle and there are many memorable verses, of which the following titles can be taken as an example: “On Waking Up”, ”To Borehole Drillers”, “Baskets and Stones” and “Colours Grow”, to name just a few.


Chimsoro’s next collection of poetry is Dama Rekutanga which, roughly translated means “The first word”, a self-explanatory introduction of the author’s venture into Shona poetry.  In this collection, the poet freely exercises his full repertoire of craftsmanship earned from his English poetry to full effect.  In these poems we see and hear the poet as a teacher and sage, given to proverbial bursts and turns of phrase to dramatise his message.  The following lines from “Sekuru kumuzukuru” may serve as a good example:


            Sei uri shwindi


            Unoita mapusiro enyoka iri kuvhunura,


            Uchasvika pakudimburisa gave musungo.


            Kukutsiura kwangove kuponda vhunurwa.


Chimsoro published two prose writings, Nothing is Impossible, a novel and Hovhiyo neHowa, a little tale. Nothing is Impossible (1990), is a biographical novel based on the life of Zimbabwe’s earliest and, perhaps, most successful insurance agent, Paul Mukondo.  As in all biography, Nothing is Impossible is a story of growing up.  It traces the experiences of Simbai, a young Rhodesian African who grows up desperately poor but survives the brutality of farm labour and colonial exploitation through the work ethic inspired by his family, especially his grandmother whose words have a prophetic ring for all who would aspire to overcome adverse circumstances:


            All that is expected from us is the vision of the seed, to accept


            to be buried and then germinate and then grow.  You are a man. 


            Manhood should be your ground....I am saying this to all of you so


            that you can be people at whom people can point without shame..... (p.49)


Not surprisingly, Simbai works his way into becoming a member of the Million Dollar Round Table, an event held annually in New York celebrating the achievements of insurance salesmen who have broken the million dollar barrier around the world.


Hovhiyo neHowa is a little tale about a wife who, in a bid to pamper her husband’s appetite for mushroom ends up preparing a tempting dish which has a potential to destroy the family through poisoning. Written in Shona, the short story itself succeeds through the intriguing plot which keeps the reader in suspense, unsure what will become of the family who eagerly anticipate a sumptuous meal of mushroom whose identity no one can confirm. The suspense is climaxed when the son who has taken the dog which had eaten some of the dish starts behaving strangely, eating grass, retch and, finally, vomiting.


It is remarkable that Chimsoro has not found academic challengers who have the courage to tackle this most gifted of poetic craftsmen to have emerged from our midst.  One supposes that part of the fear of tackling this author arises from the tragedy that he has left no record of any interview – audio or press – that may help to unlock his artistic journey, his modus operandi, his beliefs or his vision.


So, we are stuck with word puzzles whose references are not always accessible and remain as obstinately secret and private as Chimsoro’s personality.  So obstinately clandestine that even his family could find only one photo of a remarkably cheerful face – as though it was stolen at an unguarded moment - which is at odds with the picture of an intractable man we are left with.  Perhaps, the organisation of an occasion by The Zimbabwe Writers Association with the support of ZPH to celebrate his works will help alert literary scholars and critics and trigger overdue interest.
-Musaemura B. Zimunya- 9 February 2017, Harare



Wednesday, December 14, 2016

Zimbabwean academic publishes a whole book on Marquez Literature


+To get a copy, phone or whatsap: +263 773763171 Email: bcmanyarara@yahoo.com

The late Nobel Prize winning Gabriel García Márquez, who died on 17 April 2014, is considered by many, including myself, as the greatest author ever to be translated from Spanish to English. I also appreciate that some consider him the greatest author in the Spanish language. I also agree that Marquez’s most successful work as a writer is the long and expansive novel,  One Hundred Years of Solitude. I hear that it became a huge success in the years after its publication in 1967, selling more than 10 million copies in more than 30 languages! It made García Márquez a leader of the Latin American literary "boom" and an international phenomenon.

 

All that may be easy to say, but in front of us is Barbra Manyarara’s book on Marquez. I became aware of Barbra Manyarara of the University of Zimbabwe’s immense interest in  Gabriel García Márquez by accident when she looked smitten by the great author’s death to the extent of agreeing to do an obituary for him for my blog, KwaChirere, on 25 April 2014: http://memorychirere.blogspot.com/2014/04/my-old-man-marquez-is-gone-barbra.html When it came, I saw that it was entitled:  My old man, Marquez is gone! I uploaded it as it was, word for word. In that piece, Manyarara mourns her literary hero:

 

       “The news of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s passing on Thursday 17 April 2014 quickly filtered down to me although I was far away from media access. Two of my undergrads sent me messages of condolences, followed by another two from family overseas. They had been purchasing most of my study material on this writer, seeing as Amazon will not deliver to Zimbabwe. Each of the messages started with, “Mama, mudhara wenyu afa.” (Mom, your old man is dead.) Another of my callers was my own hubby telling me, “Your old man is gone,” to which I retorted, “I thought you were my old man!”

 

       To all these concerns I made the gentle reminder that Gabriel Garcia Marquez has only been promoted to a better place without pain because authors do not die, they live on through our reading of their works. All these messages recognise the special relationship I have with Gabriel Garcia Marquez for I have spent the last three years studying his representations of sexualities in several of his works. 

       Literarily, I first met Gabriel Garcia Marquez when I was recovering quite unsatisfactorily, (according to my doctor), from a life-saving op and running out of satisfying reading material. In the end it was a choice between a lame copy of Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude (1967) or Voltaire (without the benefit of even schoolgirl French). My copy of One Hundred Years clothed with the usual Penguin austerity starts with page 377, so I meet Jose Arcadio at a moment when he has taken up with children in a relationship whose significance at this point, I have no idea of at all. Still I am intrigued and flip through to discover that after page 422, there is page 41. From page 41, I could now read through to the end, that is, back to page 422 again. Despite missing that poignant first sentence, “Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendia was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice,” I was fascinated!”

That is Barbra Manyara’s life with Marquez!  I was first introduced to Marquez by the then writer-in-residency of the University of Zimbabwe, late writer Chenjerai Hove in 1991. Hove spoke to us lavishly and vividly about Macondo, a town in Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude as if he actually came from it. It was so elaborate that we felt sorry for ourselves for not having read this novel. Suddenly I also wanted to go to Macondo like our mentor. I immediately set out to read the novel! It was a monumental mistake because since then, I have never recovered!

I have since read a lot of Marquez literature. I must confess that I prefer the Marquez short story. I particularly love his ‘Maria dos Prazeres.’ Maria,  protagonist of this story , is a Brazilian mulatto woman living in Barcelona. She is a self- retired whore in her seventies who is planning for her imminent death, which was revealed to her in a dream. Maria is removed from her own country (Brazil) when her mother sold her to a Turkish official, who after enjoying her without pity, abandons her, leaving her “with no money, no language and no name”. (p109) Now, old and seemingly useless to herself, Maria goes about the business of deciding on her funeral with matter-of-fact efficiency.

She has already purchased her burial plot and taught her dog, Noi, who sheds real tears, to locate the plot in the cemetery and cry over her grave. She has also made arrangements for a neighbour girl to take care of Noi after she dies and to let him loose on Sundays so that the dog can visit her tomb. Then, one rainy night, she and Noi hitch a ride home to get out of the weather. Maria trembles in the darkness, certain that the mysterious man who gives them a lift and asks to come up to her apartment is the Grim Reaper himself. Then, to her delight and surprise, she realizes that the stranger is actually a customer.

I also read and re-read ‘Bon Voyage, Mr. President.’ The story begins with:

He sat on a wooden bench under the yellow leaves in the deserted park, contemplating the dusty swans with both his hands resting on the silver handle of his cane, and thinking about death. (p3)

The above lines create an image of a very spent, lonely and tired person and from the onset; one guesses correctly that this must be an old person in distress and regret. But there remains, for a discerning reader; visible traces of a life of vigour, careful self- cultivation, glory and plenty rioting from underneath this wreck:

He had the arrogant mustache of a musketeer, abundant blue-black hair with romantic waves, a harpist’s hands with the widower’s wedding band on his left finger and joyful eyes. (p4)

Then the cruellest sentence in this arrangement tries to supersede all that: ‘The years of glory and power had been left behind forever, and now only the years of his death remained.’ (p3) Beneath that, is even a crueller rendition of the plight of the old man. He suffers from an insistently ‘devious’ pain whose position in his body the doctors had not been able to locate in both Martinique and Geneva. As they search for it very actively all over his body, they go to and fro, almost like officers after a criminal!

 

But, I understand what Manyarara sets out to do in this book in your hands. It is about  interrogating Gabriel García Márquez’s representations of sexualities in Chronicle of a Death Foretold (1981); The Autumn of the Patriarch (1975); One Hundred Years of Solitude (1967); The Sad and Incredible Tale of Innocent Erendira and her Heartless Grandmother (1972); and Memories of My Melancholy Whores (2004).

 

There is an understanding that although there is a lot of critical energy already expended on Marquez, most of it has dwelt on the author’s use of magical realism as a writerly mode. Critics have also dwelt on the literary influences that have impacted on him and how he in turn, has influenced other writers. Critics have also discussed García Márquez’s employment of prostitution as a metaphor for the exploitation of the colonised people by their European colonisers. Manyarara contends throughout this book that there remains a yawning gap in scholarship in terms of understanding other constructions of sex and sexuality as manifestation of other forms of exploitation in García Márquez’s literary works. This scholarly gap has become particularly glaring because of the wave of public animosity towards García Márquez’s representations of sexualities in his latest novel, Memories (2004).

I hope that this book will manage as Manyara asserts to show that “García Márquez’s employment of the sexuality motif enables him to delve into many worldwide current concerns such as the irrelevance of some socio-cultural sexual practices; commercial sexual exploitation of children; the different manifestations of prostitution; and female powerlessness under autocratic rule.”

If she manages to do that, Manyarara would have broken new ground by showing that “García Márquez’s representations of different sexualities are not merely soft porn masquerading as art. His is a voice added to the worldwide concerns over commercial sexual exploitation of children in the main and also the recovery of a self-reliant female self-hood that was previously inextricably bound to male sexual norms.”

For me, Barbra Manyara’s book is the most important new book on Latin American literature that I have read this year, 2016. This is an attempt to break a new window through which we can begin to read Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

-Memory Chirere, 2016-    

 

 

 


Boss Chidora reads Farayi Mungoshi's Behind the Wall Everywhere

Boss Tanaka Chidora reads Farayi Mungoshi's Behind The Wall Everywhere. The review is here: https://litmindssite.wordpress.com/2016/12/13/farayi-mungoshis-behind-the-wall-everywhere-a-book-review/

Tuesday, September 6, 2016

Charles Mungoshi's son arrives!

In Harare, The Herald reports that Charles Mungoshi’s son, Farayi has published his debut short story collection. In the link to the story below, Beavan Tapureta reviews Farayi Mungoshi’s book:
In the WinZim pic above, Farayi discusses his book with two Library of Congress officials. For a copy, phone 00263 772634918

Sunday, January 10, 2016

kwaChirere reads Huchu's second novel


 

 

The Maestro, The Magistrate and The Mathematician by Tendai Huchu
Published by ámaBooks, 2014, www.amabooksbyo.com
isbn:9780797495005

I don't know why I initially found it difficult to find time to do a nonstop read through Tendai Huchu's second novel, The Maestro, The Magistrate and The Mathematician. Months! Going. Stopping. Going. Stopping- then I was happy to be finally going on forever for the rest of last week!

I was even able to read through Tinashe Muchuri's new Shona novel, Chibarabada- in between The Maestro, The Magistrate and The Mathematician. Maihwe-e! I was carefully feeding into their two different feel for life, place and people. Warning: I have always been ambidextrous with books! I do funny things when you surround me with books... 

I was even emotionally flattered to learn that there is a character in The Maestro, The Magistrate and The Mathematician itself, who reads, like me, two or more novels at the same time! But unlike me, he starts to lose his bearings and decides to burn books! Kikikiki! That is the maestro for you. The reason: after reading many books nonstop, he finds that “each of these books was just a jumble of words with which he had no connection…” And after burning them, "he curled up on the carpet and cried himself to sleep.”  

There is a way in which The Maestro, The Magistrate and The Mathematician asks you to go slowly, crosschecking details, underlining whole passages for closer reading in another time and another place... This novel allows you to use the page marker and do other things, read other things even, until you are able to 'return to the source' and take another dose to last you another whirl wind tour. The references to Geography, Music, History, Architecture etc are laden with nuggets that demand further contemplation and investigation. 

What I am telling you is that this novel is compact. I had a similar experience with Bryony Rheam’s This September Sun and Allende’s The House of The Spirits. The book tells you: You can’t deal with me in one gulp because I was written slowly, over time and… you can never really go away forever from me…

Now that I have finished reading it, I feel that I have been paid. I chat with friends at home and abroad about this novel and they marvel at the comments I make. I admire the parallel process arrangement of this novel. Three separate stories running together like three fine novellas from one shelf, only ‘confluencing’ together at the very end. Running dutifully together like three weaving cords. Maybe in that regard, this is the first novel of its type by a writer from my country, Zimbabwe.

Now that Alfonso is not exactly what I thought he was in the beginning, I have learnt a lot about the power of holding out a key detail. I must now go through this whole story again, mentally, laughing at myself for having been led down the garden path. Alfonso is not exactly that drunken fool who enters the novel through the Magistrate’s door one morning. Through him, you learn that this novel does not underestimate what the establishment in Zimbabwe can achieve, miles and miles away. That is why I am still laughing every time that I read the very last page of the novel. Alfonso! O, Alfonso!

At the heart of this story are three Zimbabwean men, residing in Edinburgh, Scotland, far away from Harare and Bindura. They are named the Maestro, the Magistrate and the Mathematician. The way these men think and go is typically Zimbabwean. Although they are far away from it, turbulent Zimbabwe of the around the year 2000 is their recognizable fulcrum. Their thoughts on Zimbabwean politics are not bitter but careful.

But the Maestro is my man. Through him, Tendai Huchu makes the most poignant contribution to Literature and Philosophy: “I went on a journey of discovery, trying to find the meaning of life, he said. I discovered that it is many things to many people at many times, and that , for me, and for me only, because you can only discover the meaning of your own life and no one else’s, that the meaning of life lies in giving a bit of yourself to someone else…. And he lay there and told her everything: wide open spaces, blue skies, laughter and the sound of sweet rain falling on zinc metal sheets, the brown puddles the rain makes, splashing in the puddles under the moonlight, cups of tea in the sunshine, cricket pavilions, of time that is measured not by the tick-tock of a clock but by its nearness to eternity, how the crickets sing their song in the night and birdsong picks up the refrain at dawn, all these things and more…”

Here is a man who goes far away from home searching for his lost soul. Then he starts to read book after book after book, until he discovers that if a book contains an idea, then it contains something of the writer’s soul…

I must add that I enjoy disliking the Magistrate. It is because despite his huge social loss that comes through leaving Zimbabwe and the privileges he used to enjoy, he still has the holier than thou air around him, like most government officers everywhere whom I have learnt to loathe. His wandering around Edinburgh, taking in the environment and dreaming of little and far away Bindura, tells you that here is a bully from Zimbabwe, looking for a new pedestal to sit on in order to start to bully other people all over again. I am startled that the opposition sees method in him! I can reveal that I like it when that fatherly pride of his is constantly punctured for him by his no longer submissive wife and unsympathetic daughter. However, I catch myself wallowing in and enjoying his deep appreciation of Zimbabwean music. He turns all the remembered songs into a map of his good and bad memories of Zimbabwe. I am also like that. Kikikiki!

I don’t know what to do with the young Mathematician and what finally happens to him. I honestly think that he wanted opportunity to find meaning out of life, love, sex and friendship.

Tendai Huchu’s second novel is a serious work of art, meant to accompany you through three different mental journeys of travelers from one country to a foreign city. This is a novel about cities through the eyes of newcomers. I think you may want me to say that this is a novel about migrants and how they peer into their souls from behind totally new cultures and infrastructure. But I will add: you come closest home when you travel further and further from home!
-Memory Chirere, January 2016, Harare.

 

Sunday, December 13, 2015

Tinashe Muchuri's debut novel-Chibarabada now out


blurb:  Dai uri mumwe, dai waverenga zvako bhuku rino. Chibarabada chaTinashe Muchuri chinoendesa mberi-mberi chaizvo novhero reZimbabwe. Chinotangira panoperera mamwe manovhero eZimbabwe atinoziva. Chinodzika chaizvo nenyaya yaShingi neyaFreedom neyako neyangu. Chibarabada chauri kubvunza, chinwiwa chinobikwa muchivande chozongobudiswa panguva yokunwa. Chibarabada chinoona zuva musi wekupedzisira. Unoona vanhu vopukuta miromo nekunze kweruoko vachitaura kunge vange vaina tateguru nezuro manheru. Nyaya yavari kutaura ndeyokuti tiri kungotenderera. Tiri kutenderera nekufashaira mudumbu rechibarabada nokuti kwatakabva kune nyaya. Kana kwatinoenda kune nyaya zvakare! Saka tinoramba tichitenderera nokuti nyangwe kuzorora kunotityisa. Unozorora sei usati wawana mhinduro nedonhodzo? Ngatirambe tichitenderera nokuti pamwe tingaone nzira yokubuda nayo mubotso ratiri kutamba kudai. Dambudziko redu ndere nhafu, kuba nekungoramba kunzwa mirairo yakanaka yepasi rino.
Chibarabada chaTinashe Muchuri itambo inoradanuka pabhobhiri. Pamwe – rungano rwatsuro nagudo. Pamwe-rwiyo rwepasichigare. Pamwe-kakova kaunonzwa kachirira murima kachirovera pamatombo kachifashuka kachidzika kugungwa isu tichisara tine nyota. Pamwe-ibembera rinoita kuti umbocheuka kuti: hapana here andiona ndichiverenga Chibarabada? Verenga chete nokuti ndiro basa rasara… Verenga! Usacheme!
published by Bhabhu Books, Harare, 2015
edited by Ignatius Mabasa
++ (For copies phone: +263 733843455)