A stitch in time saves nine

It is this craze you have

The addiction that sticks like a bad stain

The habit you hate but cannot stop

The experiment that turns into a routine

 

You know it is bad

You know it is ungodly

You know it is shameful

You know you cannot afford to be caught at it

But somehow you are constantly drawn towards it

 

You have repented a million times

Made a thousand promises that this time will be the last

Even confessed it at your most intimate prayer to God

But the habit inexorably hogs you into a vortex of more want

 

What is going to become of me, you ask

Am I normal, you ponder

Will I ever stop, you deliberate

Will I ever forget, you ruminate

 

Conviction is not easy

No amount of motivation will move your heart against your will

Do not only make a decision

Take the action

A stitch in time saves nine

In His palms, your freedom awaits

Ends

Ignorance or reluctance: Cholera deaths

My brother recently called me to cancel an appointment we had. He was supposed to have visited me that night. His voice was hoarse in that call and I could pick up residues of pain in his tone as he crackled to give his apology that he was not going to honor our appointment because had had to attend a funeral. One of his friends had died of a sudden Cholera attack in Glen-Norah, a high density suburb in the city of Harare. Under normal circumstances I could have lashed at him for cancelling our appointment, but I could not help but console him sincerely, as I could almost see viscous tears drop from his eyes from the our side of the phone.

Still echoing the hurt in my brother’s voice, I made my way into the streets of Harare along 4^th Avenue on my way to the bus terminus to catch public transport home. I stopped by some foreign currency street dealers to change 100rands to get some Zim dollar for bus fare. As we traded, I noticed a lady sited by the roadside selling some “mazhanje” (small brownish wild fruits). She was also eating some as she sold them.

I do not usually start conversation with people easily but after the way my day had just gone I was propelled to ask the lady that whether her “mazhanje” weren’t part of the agents spreading Cholera in the streets. She looked at me square in the eyes and said that what the Press was feeding with lies Cholera.

“People are not dying because of Cholera”, she said. “If it is one’s time to die they will die. Even you can die as you are standing there if it is your day has come. If you do not die from stroke you can get hit by a car.” She added.

Before I could answer back the foreign currency dealer handed me nine million dollars, the street equivalent of 100rands on that day. The previous day one could fetch 7.5million dollars for the same amount. If it was not for that I did not have any bus fare I could have waited until the next day to change my 100rands. It probably would have fetched 11million dollars or so.

I turned to the lady and asked if she had any water to wash the “mazhanjes” before she sold them or ate them herself. She confidently answered that her fruits were not dirty. She said that she had purchased them in the afternoon, picking one and throwing it into her mouth. She noisily munched as if to convince me that they were cholera free.

At this juncture I gave her a bit of advice. I told her to get some water for her fruits to avoid spreading any diseases or catching them herself.

Big mistake!

She sharply told me to leave if I did not want to buy and shouted that I wanted to be smart for nothing.

I conceded defeat. Not wanting to be embarrassed in front of the crowds I gathered my tail in between my thighs and proceed to the terminus.

But it hurt so much that Zimbabwe is riding on one of its worst ever cholera outbreaks with more than 300 officially reported deaths and more than a thousand more predictive to be unreported nationwide. Hospitals now resemble sewage works. To rub on to the thorn, nurses opt to stay-away not necessarily because of the meager wages which can barely meet their monthly bus fares, but because of the shortages of materials in the hospitals. Even gloves are out of stock. With this scenario, with philanthropic organizations like UNICEF have initiated massive awareness campaigns, one cannot afford to keep a blunt eye on the scourge, let alone promote it.

Vendors should desist from putting money over their customers’ health. Some of their customers are school children as young as six, who may not fully understand cholera and its signs and symptoms. If we cannot prevent the spread of cholera for our sakes, at least let us do it for the vulnerable young children.

Blame of the outbreak can be put upon the government for its failure over the past eight years to maintain water and sewage systems; run an effective health system; and be more organized administratively; but let this not be the cancer to learned self helplessness. As a rule of thumb, people must Wash their hands before eating, Wash or pearl fruits before eating, Cook food adequately and eat it hot/warm and Clean toilets every day.

Loss of life to Cholera is avoidable and it is not necessary that we wait until we lose a loved one so as to start to acting. I did not know my brother’s friend before his death, but I could sense our phone conversation his pain, frustration and anger of the loss of his friend. Death to Cholera can be so abrupt. A day or two can be the difference between life and death.

Ends

Of soaps, women and men

What is it with soaps that men cannot stand, but that women crave? Generations, The Young and the Restless, Isidingo, Desperate Housewives, Studio 263…. the list goes on. I embarked on a journey to carry out a cocas top notch research to unearth the old age mystery of these biosocial discrepancies amongst these two sexes.

My first port of call was the office. Using my highly technical journalistic skills I approached a typical man, Phineas, an accountant and a bachelor.

“Soaps should be taken off the air. Whenever women come to my house and get hold of the remote, the first thing they want to do is search for a soap opera. It should be taken off the air. If it is supper time, you do not get served until the soap has ended.”

Phineas did not mince his words at all.

Thereafter a lady bought into the issue. This became easy for me. There was no need to use my exceedingly specialized information extraction tools to wheedle out the much sought after enigma. Rotina, a psychology graduate had this to say;

“All men do not like soaps I don’t know why. Tell me the secret. Why don’t men want to watch soaps?”

Masimba – a writer, cum poet, cum reporter had the answer before she could even finish talking.

“The pictures are too bright they hurt your eyes. The stories are too slow, too predictable. If you watch one you have watched all of them”

The facts were now coming out. At least on the man’s side, the time old secrets that had been kept so well hidden through generations, preserved by our grandfathers, were finally being unsealed. Before I could blink, Leonard another gentlemen, a Sociology student at the Women’s University (oh yes it is not a typing error, at the Women’s University) belted out;

“When you are following a soap opera you can leave a character hiding behind a door, and when you come back after six months you will still find that same character hiding behind the door.”

That was just to put the nail to the coffin.

But the women’s side had not yet come out clean. The secrets were still yet to be unearthed. This left me no choice but to move up one more level, employing my scientific aerodynamic journalistic skills to open the women’s Pandora’s Box on soaps.

Alice, an agronomist and former School Head, shed a more mature light to the whole perspective.

“Soaps depict the true day to day lifestyle of people and the challenges they go through. Most men live pseudo lives pretending as if everything is alright all the time. Women on other hand come out more open.” She said.

“Take for example in this era of HIV and AIDS, the women disclose their statuses more often than men do. Men would rather die silently. Soaps therefore bring some of these issues in the open and men become intimidated. Women on the other hand are consoled.”

She left me smiling shyly as if someone had just removed my trouser in public. Somehow I felt there was some element of truth in what she said.

Michelle, Masimba’s wife couldn’t agree more. She said soaps resemble our daily lives. People can relate to them more than they can with movies. She also had a role model from her favorite soap, Generations.

“Garabo is a strong character, a career woman who knows what she wants, she inspires me a lot.”

I must say Alice’s perspective was the opposite of what my cousin brother, Sindiso, thought. He sees soaps as irrelevant and fake. He says they are ethereal with some story lines, particularly relationships, being too detached from reality. Most of these men, it dawned to me, do not even know the story lines to these soaps. How then can they be intimidated by what they do not know?

Lydia, a young bombshell and sociologist by profession had this to say.

“Talk of Samuel the barman from Generations, oh he is so cute. There is so much emotion in soaps that is why I watch them.”

It was time for me to make a conclusion on this issue and submit the findings of my study to the expectant world.

There were four key facts which emerged and they could be summed up in the words – monotonous, emotion, attachment and intimidation. Women are for emotion and attachment. Most men run when they hear those words. Women are more patient beings they can tolerate 100 episodes of a story line. Men would rather watch a game of soccer. When it reveals what they do in private men (and women) may become intimidated. Need I say more? The mystery is partially solved…