Should I? Should I not ? I’m confused 😩😩😩

With my dreams in hand walking into a world unknown. Excited about the next day’s adventures and sad about today’s failure. My reality is that of many but only I know of the feelings bottled up inside. Blocked by morality caging me into this box that im struggling to break free from but staying under the cover of its protection 😏. Am I not confused by what I’m saying ? Lol yes! I am these rules have caged my writing. 

So do I say wat I really think or do I dress it to be morally appropriate.these are the questions of a writer with a mind conditioned to be morally appropriate.

prayers

Prayers and requests
Have rolled off of my lips
One by one
One after another
Your responses vague
At times none existent
I will continue to believe in your existence
But please answer my prayers
Your responses
ARE the bases of my FAITH

Hips SWAYING

Hips swaying to the beat of the music in my ears. I’m walking like my colleague say “kuzvonyongoka” walking proudly like a princess. I feel pretty today I look really pretty today. And my confidence shows it. It is not how I have been, not always, as a child I was like this but events of my childhood made me re evaluate myself. The carefree girl tamed by words that never should have fallen in the ears of an 11 year old. This is how I walk now because I decided to take charge of my image of myself. I am a big girl I have always been slightly bigger amongst my peers. This is a story about body shaming. How my grade 6 teacher made me hate my body. I have always had a memorable ass and I love my ass. I remember that time it was the holidays and I was bathing. I noticed how the skin on my legs was beautiful, flawless even. I loved how it looked and felt. When I noticed this I started paying attention to my body. I was just 11 years old and had been called “that beautiful child” but I had not yet noticed my beauty. Because I paid attention and I now took time bathing my skin now showed this. When schools opened most of my classmates assumed that I had spent the holidays in some other city. I let them think that because well it was more mysterious than to tell them that I had finally learnt the art of bathing one`s self!! My teacher, let’s call her Miss Chinya, she noticed as well and as class progressed she began to single me out more. I noticed how she began to directly insult me, this was normal in my class. We feared and loved our teacher as is the case with most primary school students. I remember vividly it was a revision after the fortnightly tests that we took. She picked me to work out a math problem. I could not work it out on the board I was stuck. Her response to this was a beating which I knew was coming anyway so that I was prepared for. What I was not prepared for was the accompanying words, “magaro iwayo ndoanokufurira kuda kuita chihure uchitadza kuverenga”this directly translates to “that big ass of yours is the one that is encouraging you to do prostutition and not study” I did not feel the pain of the several lashes on my legs but what I felt was the heaviness of the words she uttered. This was the first encounter with her using that word directly at me. She later resorted to spelling it out whenever I failed to get high marks. I still remember another incident she called me “H U R E” “WHORE” again because I was late coming in to school so I had not done all my morning work. It sounded to me like she was emphasising that I would become a whore. My story continues fast forward to what we called civis day, this was the day we wore civilian clothing not uniforms. I wore pants this was called hipsters I looked good I still remember they were beige in colour. I was really happy about my new pants again I was labelled “Hure”. This was one of the many incidences with this woman. I call her this woman because frankly my hatred for her is still evident today. One of the most hurtful incidences was our class end of year party. The then popular music called rhumba was playing and the dance of the time was ndombolo. I was good at it I mean real good like win dance competition good. I spent a lot of my time in front of the TV at home so I knew how to do some of the dances. Unfortunately the dances mostly include waist movement. I remember after the first dance that I won and our other teacher who was on Teaching Practise clapped and gave me sweets, the monster (that woman) called me as if to send me on an errand. This dance earned me praise and an ear pulling with pinches and slaps on my back. I was 11 years old I had an understanding of sex enough to know that I was not to do it until I knew enough. On this day she called me “gaba”, understand me when I say this I was crushed because this word means no longer a virgin. This is one of the worst things she could have called me, a girl developing and trying to understand sex. What defined me as an innocent she claimed I had given away willy nilly. The term itself was used to define the loose girls. I was beyond crushed because more than that she told me not to dance with her kids as I would spoil them. I became contagious to my peers, association with me meant that you were not a good child and no one wanted that label, even me. I did not mean to cry but I did, I hated myself for showing her how she crushed me. Having been alienated from my peers was probably the last straw. Children are very often social beings and I was one interaction with my peers was something I enjoyed. I became withdrawn and frankly no one noticed except Priviledge but she was also banned from walking home with me to avoid her getting in trouble I switched routes. She was my companion when going to and from school I noticed that she wanted to keep walking with me. A gentle soul compared to me I would not have wanted her to suffer the same fate I did, to protect her I switched routes and started walking home alone. This was probably my best academic term that year, I did not do very well that term because I was in the right mind frame of mind no. I did well because I did not feel safe I was terrified. The year 2003 was a terrible one at school my parents and siblings may have been proud that I was number 4 in class and combined. I was proud of myself definitely but I so desperately seeked approval from this person of authority that had so much control over my self esteem. Alas I did not get it, its funny how I am now glad that she and if were not in the same books. Deny it as much as I can this experience shaped my sex life up to now. The thing is as I developed into a woman my ass was a topic of conversation. I began to notice that at 13 my sisters loved the shape of my ass. They noted that it was big but never in a negative way. I will admit I was once called fat and I withdrew and started wearing the big clothes again. This all changed as I realised one person, now two. These could not be who I was because other than their nasty comments, I loved my body and my ass too. I am a survivor of body shaming my story may not matter much to someone who has not experienced this. It does to me and that is what counts, I have been shaped by this experience and would not wish it upon anyone. The point of this for me is we place so much trust in the structures like my parents did. Children are not in a position to report their teachers in cases like mine. What could I have said and to whom? Even as I write this am I in a position to ever hold her accountable for the emotional scars I still bear? In our effort to change Zimbabwe`s system of government let’s not forget other structures of authority. Who do you leave your child with for 8 hours a day?