Aunty Faa 's Chat space

The Television Remote

When it happens , for a few days it seems like liberation, freedom at last.One can cook whatever they want without having gloomy faces ask Why.One can decide not to make the bed and not face to explain why it is so because for a long time you insisted and actually set the standard.

It seems the liberation is much and one would actually want to rush to the calendar, mark the date and then write boldly, Independence Day.

The television remote is actually all yours, there is no need to ask for it or even bribe others just to get a few minutes of the News while others want to watch their favourite Soap or Cartoon.You can go to the bathroom and when you return it is still on the same station.

At times, just had to pinch myself to check if I am not dreaming! Really noone changing the channels as I spoke on the phone for what seemed seconds.But then I realised that in all the years I had really forgotten what it is like to have full control of the remote and even the TV.

Sadly on some days I forget to switch on the TV.I do not know that chore, it is not my key responsibility, it has not been for a long time.Actually it is not within my departmental roles.

Now that I have the remote, I actually have no idea which shows to watch.On some days, I remember that there is something that I always wanted to watch, but forgot when it would air.I heard that one could set a banner or reminder for any programme, but then there was always someone to do it ,setting reminders for their favourite shows.

Now how come they never told me that next to the TV there is more than one remote? Do the remotes work the same? I am sure it was explained only that I was not listening.

So the freedom is not exactly liberating, it is too much and I just cannot stand it! I need some restrictions! I suddenly confess when I call the girls , having the remote all to myself aint fun at all! I just want to have someone to fight with over the remote.Goodness I am getting tired of watching what I want without someone having to interrupt me…Girls I look forward to you being home again so we can discuss terms of refernce for having the remote and even have verbal contracts in place!

When broken is stronger!

So I have realised that in my broken state there is some strength that seems to just gush from deep inside me.I am learning each day that it is possible to keep going even though when inside there are shattered pieces.

People do all sorts.They try you, they put you in such a position where they are eager to squeeze life out of you.The reason that they do that is because they themselves are broken and are not happy seeing bubbly individuals living their life.

Remember not everything is about you.So many times we ask ourselves, what did we do wrong to have people treat us badly.Its not you.Its them.Live your life as best as you can.

One day at a time.If not an hour at a time.Do the best you can and then relax.When the people around you think you are breaking down, put a spring in your step and walk with much energy!

When the odds seem against me, I choose not to give up.I will wait and see how it ends.One thing that I know for sure is that it too shall pass!

Love songs …..

There is something about listening to love songs that I really cannot explain.
The effect of that love song depends on the situation you are in.
If you are happily in love, the music transports you to a world only you and your partner live in.

The lyrics speak to you and it seems like the love song and all its intensity was just written for you and your relationship.

If you are heartbroken, nursing a heartbreak, some songs transport you to what you almost had but lost.

The songs either open fresh wounds or give you the strength to go on now not as a couple but alone.

If you are alone, trully alone , you fantasise about a relationship that can one day become your reality .Or it can make you very miserable imagining what others are enjoying while you are missing out.

There are some love songs that remind me of the love that I lost.I have learnt not to be miserable but to actually enjoy the lyrics.

The lyrics take me back to a time.

I find love songs in my mother language, very appealing and loaded with emotion.It could be that one communicates better in their mother language than in a foreign language.

Which is your favourite love song ? Or maybe like me you have many favourites? I will share the love songs that keep me hopeful that love exists!

The holiday season is upon us.People everywhere are thankful for being alive despite the many challenges.

Being thankful is great for mental health and each individual should take time daily to sit down and reflect on what they are grateful for.

As one goes through the exercise daily , one realises that there are so many things to be thankful for.

The small things should never be taken for granted, for in the end, they contribute to the bigger things.

Holiday time evokes so many emotions for many people.I always go down memory lane when its holiday time.

I remember the journeys to Shurugwi whether by bus or in my father’s car.

The holiday mood would be already in the air as soon as we got kumusha.There was something positive about the end of year that always lingered in the air.

I didnt know it then but now I as I am older I think I have grasped why the end of year holidays were special.There were many things to be grateful for.

Some years were bad, drought years, losing loved ones, but my grandmothers , Gogo VaMaMoyo and Gogo VaMaSibanda always went out of their way to ensure that the holidays were special.

These two women were stay at home wives with minimal education.They always said that the education they had was just enough.Both boasted that they could vote unaided!

With their minimal education and their roots in the rural areas, they knew that holiday time was a time to give and share with others.

These women were givers , gifts they passed on to their children ,my parents.
Growing up my parents, never gave lessons on the importance of giving.They demonstrated giving.Giving to people we knew, relatives, friends, neighbours , our teachers, even people we did not know.They gave all sorts.

What Iearnt is one always has something to give.Everyone has something to give.The most important step is to start giving.

In the rural areas I have always witnessed giving in action.There are people who give out of the goodness of their hearts.They give what they have.

They dont say :” I will give when I get more”.They just give.

Some give their time, just to hear how one has been.Some send firewood .Some come with the traditional sweeping brooms.They give cups of salted groundnuts which are wonderful snacks. They give generous portions of dried vegetables.

They make time to get wild fruits and give to others who cannot go fruit hunting.Some milk their cows and share the milk with families who might not have cattle.Others share manure….I could go on and on.

This holiday time , reach out to someone and give from whatever you have.It doesnt have to be big.Small, genuine will touch the heart.Dont wait until you have more, start NOW!

My totem , my pride

After the hugs, we would all file into the kitchen and complete the greeting and welcoming process
It was not a ” hie and whats up?” kind of greeting. It was an involving and elaborate process.

The greeting process was such that one grew up knowing their totem .This was because when you were being greeted you would be called by the totem.

So from a very young age I knew that I was a Maposa, Chikandamina , WaMambo, Chirasha, VaZimuto who hailed from Masvingo.

Hearing adults call me VaMaposa or VaZimuto evoked emotions , it gave a sense of belonging within the clan.

I am one who has great respect for the totems, call me Old School if you want!

I strongly believe that the totems ensure that one always has a relative wherever they are. As a result one can have a Mother, a grandmother , a brother, an Uncle wherever they are just by connecting through the totem

Back in the day, upon arrival at Gogo VaMaMoyo or Gogo VaMaSibanda the greeting ceremony was similar.We would be acknowledged as the WaMambo clan who were visiting .We would in turn would acknowledge the clan that was hosting us.

Back then my siblings and I would want to giggle , but seeing how seriously the adults were taking the whole greeting process, all the giggles died a natural death!

After the clapping and asking after one’s health and well being and how we had travelled, it was time for a hymn and prayer and then it was concluded that the welcome process had been done and done well to the satisfaction of the elders.

Then at Gogo’ s instruction, it was time to identify the relish.First day it was chicken while the consultations( of which children were not part ) would be done to escalate next relish to goat meat or beef would begin.

The chicken to be slaughtered, a free range one never did come freely to be slaughtered, it always put the ones to eat it to some work, a lot of running I tell you!

It was satisfying , dust and all to catch the identified chicken and take it to the adult responsible.

Then we could freely play , knowing that we had contributed to ensuring that the relish was ready for preparation.

The scotch cart rides

With the advent of technology, the distance between places seems to have become shorter.

It may seem like a crazy statement but back in the day, moving from one place to the other took some time.Now someone can wake up in one country and sleep two or more countries away…

Interesting …

In those days unless we had gone to Shurugwi with my father ,WaMambo in the family car, traveling from one grandmother to the other would be by scotch cart.

Looking back now I can only say that we enjoyed the risky rides, singing and talking as either an uncle or a cousin was at the lead of the cattle pulling the scotch cart.

The cousin leading would be very diligent at his duty. Always .

And what touches my heart now ( believe me back in the day I dont think it touched my heart the same as today) was how our cousin or Uncle would lead the oxen on foot while we sang and enjoyed the ride.

It meant that our cousin or Uncle walked while ensuring that we had a safe and enjoyable ride. We were to be taken safely from one grandmother to the other.

It was either from Ma Sibanda also called Va Zino in Rockford to Ma Moyo also known as Va Big in Chikato or vice versa.

We would enjoy the ride all the way .

All our relatives can never be the same.One time we would have a very reserved relatives leading the scotch cart.

My siblings and I would entertain ourselves.Or we would have a talkertive relative leading the oxen and also entertaining us with stories from the countryside .

And I dont really know why it is that those who are idle talk the loudest….
The most chit chat was always from the scotch cart

Before we left the homestead , the grandmother we were saying goodbye to would emphasise to the one leading the ox drawn cart that he was carrying “precious cargo” .Emphasis was done not once, not twice ,many many times.

It was like the grandmothers had memorised the orders and if they didnt seem to get the appropriate response, they would ask if he was listening( it was always a man leading! )

The cargo being transported included us , my siblings and I , our bags, our presents from the Gogo we were leaving . Back then it always included at least one live chicken and lots of farm produce.There was too a gift from one Gogo to her fellow in law.

When we got to our destination , our transporter would park the scotch cart in an appropriate place .
In unison we would clap our hands in the traditional method and say thank you loudly.
The appreciation had to include the totem otherwise it was not complete.

After the thank you, our cousin or Uncle would help us out of the scotch cart and we would rush to our Gogo who would be waiting for us.

After the hugs , we would all file into the kitchen and complete the greeting and welcoming process.
It was not a ” hie and whats up? ” kind of greeting.It was an involving process …..

Communal eating : life lessons learnt

When I share about how I enjoyed this communal eating as a child people look at me and ask me questions such as
Was it fair?
Was it hygienic?
Was it really nice?
Was it necessary?

What lessons can be drawn from the communal eating experience?

Patience is important!
Its not easy seeing pieces of meat and not picking when one wishes.
The time to pick the piece of meat shall come..

Is there not a saying that goes…
Good things come to those who wait.
In life , not everything is instant.
The variety of instant products on the market today gives people the wrong perception that being in leadership is instant.

And when picking the piece of meat, one had to pick from the available ones.One could not grab from the one who had picked prior because it was juicer, bigger or looked more appetising.
In life we do not always get what we want.
Maybe what you got is not your first choice, work with the second best option.
Wishing that you had the best piece will not take you anywhere.
Wallowing in self pity is of no consequence.
While you wish and wallow in self pity , others are breaking pieces of sadza and dipping them in the relish.
You actually risk losing out on so much more just because of one piece…

Discipline- there are rules for each game!

Know the rules, abide by the rules.
Know and understand your boundaries.
You just cannot decide to eat anyhow while there are other team members to consider.

Neither can you decide to eat with the elders while you are still a child.Understand that you might not keep up with their pace of eating …

Table manners are important.Manners should be taught, modelled and reinforced.

The way one eats should not annoy others or cause them to caution you

One should eat what is closest to them first and not play the merry go round in their plate .

Leaders are born everywhere, life’s situations are full of leadership opportunities .One should look out for the weak and take care of their needs.

It was the leader who made sure that those who sat down to eat had washed their hands and washed properly.

Even before equity was understood by many our grandmothers were implementing it! Peers were in same teams.

Being the youngest doesnt mean that one has all things done for them. Each member should have age appropriate tasks.

Sitting in those small groups reinforced one thing, food is enjoyed when one has company.

Eating from the same enamel plates doesnt trend anymore but family meals are important for good relations.

There is a Shona saying which says Hukama igasva hunozadzisa nekudya loosely translated relations are cemented by eating or sharing food.

When people are eating, they are relaxed becoming their real selves.

The power of eating together can never be under estimated.

When its within your power make sure you eat with your family as just what may seem like small talk over lunch or supper might bring sunshine into the life of one surrounded by gloom.

Allow meal times to be quality bonding time.

Meal times should be opportunities to catch up on what is taking place in the different lives.

Eating together should be a celebrated culture where all gadgets are put aside and each bite is tasted, chewed and enjoyed.

Such will live in the memories of all members.

Family cooking together courtesy of Pexels

Communal eating Part 1

Looked up the definition of eating in the dictionary .Eating is the act of consuming food.

That definition fails to fully express what meal times were like during my childhood years when we visited my maternal and paternal grandmothers in rural Shurugwi more than 300 kilometres from Zimbabwe’s capital city Harare.

Once we went to Shurugwi it meant dividing the number of days equally between the two grandmothers who were always so happy to have their grandchildren visiting.

At either homesteads the cultures and way of doing things were basically the same.

The difference was where they lived .

VaMa Sibanda my maternal grandmother, also called VaZi No ( short for Va Zinonsense- she didnt tolerate nonsense from the family or the community!) lived in the farms of Rockford.

My paternal grandmother , VaMa Moyo or as my cousins who stayed with her had nicknamed her Va Big ( she was overweight!) stayed in the villages of Chikato.

When she came to stay with my parents in her old age, she was to get another name, Grandma Jones ( from a movie that my siblings had watched!)

On the Rockford farm there were three active kitchens.By active I mean that cooking was done in all the kitchens and food was shared to all present at the homestead. This was amazing coordinated work!

So this is how the meals were organised.

Grace was said in the kitchens.At times it was sung, hearing grace sung was a dinner bell on its own!

Sadza, ( Zimbabwean staple thick maize meal porridge) was served in flat enamel plates and the relish served in enamel bowls.

Enamel was trending then.Tea was served in enamel cups!
There were no individual plates those days when we visited our grandmothers.

People would eat in small groups of between three and five.The number per team, depended on the one who was serving I guess and maybe their mood!

The team leader would carry the two plates and call out names and the place where his or his team would have their meal.

Calling out the names was also a code to wash hands, properly if I may add.
If the hands were not clean, one would be asked to wash again while others carried on eating!

The groups were according to ages and sex.

At my mother’s home, I used to eat with my young aunts.It was great.Usually it was two or three aunts and me.

My siblings would be in different groups seated in different places, on mats or on stiols or on stones ,under the big shady fruit trees.

As one ate , one assigned themselves a fraction of the sadza, it was a great way to master fractions! Even before I knew what fractions were , I used them!

If you were three , you would safely using your eyes divide the sadza in the flat enamel plate into thirds and do the same with the relish.

The trick to master was to ensure that one stayed in their individual lane like relay team members! It was an unsaid rule, no criss crossing in the plates!

So one would break the sadza from the portion demarcated by your eyes and sitting position and dip into the relish and then bring it to the mouth.Chew properly or the team members would caution you.

As you were many, the cautionary statement would begin with your name .

And because another small group would be nearby , others would know that your eating etiquette wasnt up to scratch!

If you were near the elders , they would also caution you so eating properly was a must!

If there was meat in the relish, you couldnt pick a piece until the eldest had done so or she had told you to pick one before she did.

Once you picked your piece of meat , you would take a bite and put it in the hand that wasnt breaking the sadza and dipping into the relish.

The process would continue until you were full .Being full meant you would stop eating even if the food was still in the plates.

At times while there still was food in the plates, the eldest would tell you to leave what was left for the youngest to finish off .

Noone would leave the eating place until all had finished eating.

Then it was expected that you would acknowledge and thank those who had prepared the food. Even if they were far off and couldnt hear you, it had to be said!

The youngest would take the plates to the washing point marking the end of meal time.

Loud and blaring!

Hearing a neighbour playing loud, no very loud rhumba music , to be specific Kanda Bongoman left me with a smile on my face.
Washing my dishes by the sink, it was like he was playing the music just outside my window.
The sweet music took me.down memory lane…

I smiled , you know the way you smile alone in a room full of people after getting a message on your phone that the others know nothing about and so cannot smile too? Thats the experience that I had as I heard loud Kanda Bongoman music.

I smiled mainly for two reasons.One I remember myself behaving exactly like our neighbour, a long long time ago.

I enjoy listening to music. When I was younger it was the louder the better! Each day I would listen to the radio as I prepared for work.I have a confession to make I used to sleep with my radio on , with the volume very low.

The radio would lull me to sleep and if I had a bout of insomnia , I would listen to music as I “counted ” sheep and drift off again.

Weekend time was my time to play loud music.Very loud with windows wide open.The wind would carry the music vibes far and I am sure that somewhere where the music was carried to, there were two categories of people.A group of people who like me hearing Kanda Bongoman smiled and.another who cursed me for being irresponsible.

I remember the first time I laid my eyes on the radio that produced this loud weekend music.I loved the feature of the surround speakers , it assured me.that the loud games would be played well!

Listening to old school with my daughters now, at times I am surprised to hear them sing along some.songs that I am.sure were made before they could speak well! And I always get the same response when I ask how do they know those songs ?
They say that they know the songs because I used to play them when they were small.

Really ! I have since concluded that I used to drill their minds with my loud music.

I am.not much of a dancer.Actually the truth be told in simple terms, I cannot dance.I have two left feet.But I loved to move my body to music and I would have my daughters join me and we would dance to whatever was playing.
Sometimes we danced in our sleep shirts! I am sure that I was way healthier then.

End of the 1990s and beginning of the Millenium , I dont remember if dancing was considered as a form of exercise like it is now.

My radio and its surround speakers has been faithful to me.Its now in sunset lap of its lifetime.It might have outlived its life span.The shop where I bought it closed many years ago.

Weekend time meant that loud music was the order of the day.I also played cassettes in the double tape deck.
My radio was an exceptional companion, it didnt muzzle my casettes.It impressed me all the time.

Second reason, I remember when my daughters became teengaers.
Goodness!I wasnt so young anymore and the music seemed to go straight to my heart .Each time they played music I would think the high volume would get to my heart and stop it from beating further.

One of the causes of conflict between young people and their parents, guardians or caregivers is the type of music and the level of the volume.

When one is young it seems the louder the better.It seems that the louder the better.And one has to sing along to every song only that one has to sing above the already high volume.

Looking back now, I just smile.I dont judge.Neither do I voice unending complaints. I try to enjoy the music and make sense of the lyrics althougb at times the lyrics are too fast and seem muddled.

Can we really lose relationships or risk them being battered because of the high volume?

Its important to separate the the minors from the majors.
The major is what is the young person listening to? What messages are they getting from the music?
Minor is throwing a tantrum whenever the volume is high and switching off the music player.
Major is setting rules.Given that they enjoy loud music, that doesnt mean that loud music has to be the unmwelcome family alarm.
Each home needs serene times, these must be agreed by all within the household.
Now when the loud music starts blaring in my home, its my cue to be in the garden or just outside relaxing!
I have had to unplug one ear phone while one is listening when its not playing out for all to hear.
I have had to emphasise that ears need to be treated well or one will be paying the doctor a visit soon.
In all this I keep learning, its important to separate the minors from the majors and I will do my best to enjoy and not endure time with my housemates despite our age differences and what we love!