Chapter 3: My Biography
This is my biography, which is
dedicated to the woman who brought me into this world:
Maria, my beloved mother.
I grew up in Africa, which was a difficult upbringing,
but one that has provided me with so many reasons to
appreciate the person who I have turned into. As a child, I
did not value the beauty of my homeland, its wilderness,
and the wild animals that roamed the land.
This is Africa untamed; the land where I grew up.
Africa is a beautiful continent, which has many tourist
attractions, including the statue of David Livingstone by the
Victoria Falls. The statue is situated by the river, which is
full of crocodiles, and are known to eat humans who fall
into the river. There is also a rainbow and a place where
there is always water dripping down the stones of Mosi-oaTunya, which can be very slippery. There is also a game of
rafting and sightseeing experiences like the helicopter rides
over the Victoria Falls, where you can see the many animals
roaming and even feeding. There are also nice fruits, which
include sweet mangoes and watermelons.
People are very friendly there, but also quite poor.
Normally, they sell their crops when they have harvested or
sell watermelons if there have been good rains. It's a place
which is very nice, especially when it rains. This benefits
the villagers, allowing the people to grow their own crops,
such as maize, watermelons, etc. Growing up in that
environment made me a stronger person.
Mom, your voice echoes in my head all the time; when
you said that at some point I will not find you there, now I
know you were right.
I used to be friendly with another girl in the village; we
were inseparable. We used to go and fetch firewood from
the forest. As girls, we did a lot of house chores but we did
not live together. She lived in the next village; we used to
do a lot of things together, and there were some boys who
had shown some interest in us. We would look forward to
meeting up with them as they would help us fetch the water
back to the village. We could fetch water even if others
were not allowed to, as time had to be afforded to allow the
cows to drink from the borehole. Collecting water required
a lot of physical work, pushing the pump to bring gallons
and gallons of the water out from the ground. For those that
were fortunate this tedious chore was made easy when carts
with 50l drums were pulled by donkeys.
After completing all my chores there were times when
I would look after the cows. It was important to make sure
that the cows did not wander off into other people's fields,
or else you could get into trouble. My father had donkeys
and a cart that was used to carry maize that was already dry
from the fields and bring it home. I used to walk to school
with no shoes, which was more difficult when it was
wintertime. The school was quite far from the village and
we used to travel barefoot, even if it was cold. I used to
walk with other children from the village even if we were
in different classes to one another. Most of the time we
would go to school feeling very hungry. Some children
would have pocket money and go to the shop near the
school grounds and buy a small packet of biscuits, which
sometimes they would share. Other children would carry
boiled maize, which they would carry to school and then
hide in the bushes. It would be covered in ants by the time
they returned to collect it. You would have to pick it up and
then blow off the ants before eating it. My father would
never allow me to take anything to school; if I did, I would
be in so much trouble.
In our village there was this man well known for
sexually abusing his own children. Most of the villagers
knew about this; it was a horrible thing to do, and nobody
did anything about it. It was exceedingly difficult that he
was allowed to get away with this, and he seemed to enjoy
it, even though they were his children.
At times we used to go and meet other children from
the village and play when there was a full moon; we used
to pretend we were adults. Sometimes there would be a fire
and we would gather around it, but it was not in my village.
While the adults were not supposed to know about this, they
knew anyway. We were African children and we enjoyed
being children. Kids play hide and seek, and this is what we
did during the night; sit around the fire and pick up a piece
of coal, moving it around and letting the others guess where
it was, or play hide and seek. These were wonderful times
and I wish I could go back to being young once again with
no bills to pay.
I loved my young carefree life as our basic care used
natural resources around use such as using sticks as
toothbrushes. We never had any toothpaste or toothbrushes,
so we used to use a tree bug to brush our teeth.
My father made me grow up too fast and made things
ridiculously difficult, even unbearable for a long time.
There was no remorse for what he did; he would just start
shouting and this led to physical violence, which was
mainly aimed towards me. He would be shouting and then
he would lash out and start hitting me or my mother for no
major reasons at all, and I really hated him for that. My
father never showed his affection or love towards his
children, but I could tell he loved my other siblings more
than me.
There were events that happened during his violence
which are not easy to forget. Although my father was not a
big man, there were times when he presented a man
possessed, without being provoked by anything. I can say
this with a clear conscience.
His brutality and spitefulness were so severe that one
cannot even imagine it. My father did little to deserve the
family he had. I can recall one day an argument of some
sort that had contributed to his anger. My father pinned my
mother down on the floor. I was not sure when it started or
what had started it, but he was sitting on her on the kitchen
floor with his hands around her throat. Fortunately, there
were no pots on the fire, but there was still burning wood,
as we used to leave the fire burning until the logs had
burned completely to keep ourselves warm.
I remember my father sitting on my mother when I
walked into the kitchen and his eyes were blazing with
anger. He was drunk at that particular time; I glanced at him
and I saw his eyes bulging out of their sockets and blazing
with fury. He had his hands around her throat, and she kept
begging him to leave her alone. "You are hurting me, you
are hurting me… can you not see you are hurting me?" She
called out to him. I felt helpless as I watched him hold her
down. I was a child after all, and this was exceedingly
difficult.
I remember just going to find anything to hit him with,
but I could not find anything. As a child, I was very
frightened of him due to his violence, and by now, my
mother's arm right arm was pinned to the fire. He was
sitting on her and she could not move. He was deliberately
burning her. I heard my mother calling him, so I walked
back to the kitchen with a log I had found outside.
He glanced at me but I did not care. For the first time I
was not scared of him; I knew something had to be done. I
knew that once he got off my mother, he would turn on me.
So many times I wished that she could leave him but she did
not; she stood by us.
This is not something you would ever want to see; the
wounds were very deep. I hated him for it. I felt helpless. I
turned around, tears running down my cheeks, and hit him
as hard as I could, but he just looked at me with his blazing
eyes full of anger. I was crying very loud. After doing that
I ran to the fields as fast as I could.
I do not know how others knew about this. I cannot
remember whether we spoke about this, but there was so
much anger and it frightened us so we met by the fields and
tried to find a place to sleep. We found a place under the
small bushes; we scrambled together using the same
blankets for us to sleep. Thank the Lord we avoided the
mosquitoes and the heavy rain. Only one of us needed to
return to the village to get blankets for us to sleep. I cannot
remember who did this, but we were all familiar with the
field and had a name for it. If someone had mentioned the
name of that field, you would know exactly where it was.
One could just cross the road to get to the field.
At night the sky was clear enough to see the stars and
the Milky Way, which I used to see frequently. As I looked
up, I felt very angry, thinking about the whereabouts of my
mother and wondering if she had survived her ordeal.
During the night it drizzled a little bit, and I don't think we
slept at all.
There were so many stars and even shooting stars that
covered the night sky. There were no streetlights, only the
moon and kerosene lamps to enable us to see. We would
meet up with children from other villages to play during the
night, which was fun.
We could stay for a long time without going to fetch water
from the borehole. This water was helpful as we used it to
cook and do the dishes, wash clothes and have baths. When
there was so much water these were happy times, and it was
nice as the work was not so difficult to do. Happy times. But
still, the thought of my abusive father lingered with me.
There were times when we could stand outside when it
was dark and have a bath. There was so much water due to
the rains, which was extremely good for the crops and
wildlife. That was village life. It was nice to be so carefree
as children. We were happy, even sleeping together on the
floor with my other siblings and sharing the same blankets;
it was okay. It was girls. But they were younger than me.
We could play in the rain running around naked; there was
so much laughter, although my mother was against this, as
she believed we could be struck by lightning. Now when
look back, I think she was right; lightning can strike people.
There were times when the fire was made in the kitchen
due to heavy rains and then it would get very smokey
inside. There were no windows, so we needed to open the
kitchen door, but not for long. The fire used to catch up very
quickly and in wintertime it could get very cold. During the
summer months, the fire was mainly to cook food, as we
did not have any stoves. When it rained it was easier, as we
had gutters that could collect water; if I recall they would
fill up very quickly.
We used to look forward to the Christmas period; we had
the luxury of getting new clothes and would scrub ourselves
more than on other days. We were also told if we woke up
early and made our trip to fetch water, we would see the sun
dancing up in the sky. We were made to believe this, although
we did not make a big issue as Christmas had finally arrived.
During this time the music was deafening and the
children from other villages used to come to my village to
dance and eat. Village people would come to my village
where they would be given food, and my mother used to
prepare home-brewed beer for the adults. Everyone would
be enjoying themselves and the adults would be sitting
under the trees, drinking the beer that had been brewed by
my beloved mother. My mother was a very kind and gentle
soul. She was exceptionally clean and particular with
everything. When I reflect, I know that I was incredibly
lucky to have her as my mother.
When it was hot, there were many flies, which often fell
in jars of milk. Milk was difficult to get as we did not have
too many cows, and the milk was left for the calves or to
cook dry vegetables, which would have been picked from
the fields and kept dry. I was not allowed to milk a cow, but
of course, I could milk a goat. That was a privilege. At times
I could pick up the cows' dung and mix this with water and
smear it all over the kitchen floor. Once dry, I would sweep
the floor clean using a grass sweeping broom, which used
to be done once a week, usually on the weekend.
There were lots of wild fruits in the forest, for example,
umkhemeswane, ubhunzu, umkojombo, unviyo, and
amalolo, which were very nice. Even the caterpillars would
eat them. As well as these African fruits, wild mushrooms
grew in the forest, which were so easy to pick up.
I learned how to swim when the rains came, and we
would make little boats by using the reeds that would grow
by the valley. Depending on how many there were of us,
we used to urge each to get on the boat, and we had a lot of
fun doing so. We were children, carefree, and we enjoyed
each other's company. I knew which children came from
which village and we were a very close-knit community;
this included the older people as well, who we had so much
respect for. We were not allowed to give older people direct
eye contact; if you did, you were viewed as a child with no
manners and your parents would be informed.
There were scorpions and snakes, which I feared, but
there were no lions nearby. At times we would get the
opportunity of using clay to build cows, and then pretend
that they were fighting each other; it was symbolic and fun,
and regardless of being hungry, we still had a chance to play
outside when it was raining. We could run around naked in
the rain, although my mother was against this due to the risk
of lightning. We smiled even though we could be struck by
lightning. There was so much laughter.
Once it had stopped raining and the sun came out, so
would these strange pink and fluffy insects that were bigger
than ticks and would crawl around. They didn't stay out for
long, and it was a mystery to us all as to where they came
from, although we suspected it was from the ground. They
were so delicate. Once we tried to pick them up, but they
just died in our hands and we were told not to touch them
again, as they belonged to God. But they were so pretty;
they looked like ticks and they used to disappear very
quickly. "Izinja zikha nkulukhu." Presumably they got this
name due to being so fragile.
But thoughts of my father never left me. He could go
and travel with his scorecards to sell dry wood and
watermelons, and he would stay away from the village
when all was good. "Mamba eyenyukile umucakide
bucelesile." In simple English, "When the cat is away the
mice play."
When someone in authority is not present, those subor
dinate to that authority do whatever they want. If I leave
my classroom for a moment and then I come back to find
the place in chaos; when the cat's away, the mice will play.
Without the correct supervision, children (or people) will
do as they please—especially in disregarding or breaking
the rules. For example, as soon as parents have left the
house, then the children will invite all their friends over.
That is how it was for us. Our father was never around.
I had a friend from the village and we used to get along
fine; we lived close to each other, we used to fetch water
and play together, and we understood each other. Her
parents believed that giving her an education was not
necessary, therefore she was not given chance to go to
school. Regardless of that, she was my friend. I found living
in the village extremely hard, but when my father was not
there it made things easier. Although we were not rich, we
got by. I was good in school, although I struggled when it
came to maths. I was a good runner, although it was
difficult running on an empty stomach. I used to play
netball and perform school plays, which I was particularly
good at. I was mainly chosen for small dramatic plays in
school.
Doing jobs was necessary whether you liked it or not—
it had to be done. I remember when I used to go fetch water
by carrying a 5-gallon container full of water on my head,
which would be done over several trips, over quite a
distance from the village. This worried some of my
neighbours as I was only short, and it was a lot of weight
for me to carry.
I used to go to the bush and get a mud toothbrush stick
to clean my teeth; I would chew the bud first, then spit out
the bitter juice, and then clean my teeth. We did not have
any toothbrushes or toothpaste, so we depended on that,
which was very good. That was village life and we made
ends meet, regardless of the situation.
There was this plant called inkunzane, which was a
perfect shampoo that we used to use to wash our hair. This
would grow in the valley and only when we had good rains.
We survived by ploughing, which is where most of our
food came from. I could kill a chicken, a simple source of
meat, yet it's something I don't think I could do now.
Chicken eggs were not allowed to be eaten; if we dared
touch those eggs, you knew there would be trouble. We
needed the chicks to grow to be chickens for meat purposes.
My father broke my heart so many times, and I found
it so hard to forgive him. He believed I was not his child,
and that hurt me so much. He showed his love for my other
siblings, even though there were a few occasions when he
would be violent with them. But he was very cruel,
especially with me, which proved to be more than I could
take. It was peaceful when he was not around; he would go
to places to sell watermelons and logs for fires to make
money. But on his return home, he would be drunk.
We had maize which we used to grow in the fields, and
at times when the corn was still soft, we could boil it and
put it on the fire to have roasted corn, which was very nice.
Early one morning I had a feeling my mother must have
left home, so I decided to try and find her. I knew there and
then that if I really wanted to find her, I needed to start
early, as there would be wild animals moving around and I
would not be able to track her footprints. In addition, there
were no clear roads in the village, and it was also very
sandy. It was easy to track her footprints because the ground
was wet and she was not wearing any shoes. I followed her
footprints to a nearby village and I saw her sitting on a stool.
I could see that her face was swollen; I could not bear
looking at her, she was a mess. I was crying like a wounded
animal and I was inconsolable. My mother was burnt by my
father, the man well known for his violence and
aggressions. My mother had been hurt by the man she loved
and had followed him to Zimbabwe after she had fallen in
love with him. He had been working in South Africa when
they met, and from my understanding, they crossed the
border illegally as my mother did not have any documents
to travel.
I never forgave him for what he did to my mother. I
never wanted to know him thereafter. He had made me
grow up very quickly, though. He believed that sending
girls to school was a waste of his money, even though
schools were free. He was still against the idea! He believed
that boys should go to school instead, but the boys in the
family let him down on several occasions. But my mind
was with my mother and wondering where she was and
whether she had survived; death was not on my mind yet,
but I knew she was hurt, wherever she was.
There was another episode when my father was angry
towards me; he started shouting and I knew there was going
to be trouble. So, I began to run towards the fields for
refuge, running as fast as my little feet could take me. After
a while I returned home, and my mother was sitting by the
shed. She told me that when she saw him pick the
knobkerry up and throw it towards me, she had closed her
eyes thinking that her child was going to die. But when she
opened her eyes, she knew the knobkerry had missed me,
as she did not see me on the floor. Thank God she is alive,
my mother had thought. My father had missed me.
There was another time I remember when he had
bought dried fish, and I was supposed to cook it, as I did the
cooking for everyone. I was more grown up than my other
siblings and it was one of my chores; I did the cooking by
boiling the fish over the fire, but I did not know how to cook
the dried fish. I was not a good cook, but those were one of
the duties which I was supposed to do as a girl growing up.
I served the fish for him, but he was drunk; he was
asking me a lot of questions about the fish, and he was very
angry as I did not cook it to his standard. So, he grabbed
me, pinned me down and then knelt on my throat. He then
beat me so hard and several times using a 'sjambok'. I was
screaming, and my mother was not there. I could not move
my neck for weeks on end. It was excruciating! That was
how bad it was. I found it exceedingly difficult to forgive
him for this particular incident. I helped a lot by cooking
and going to fetch firewood, but during that time there were
limitations to what I could do. I could not even go and fetch
water or firewood; I became crippled because of that event.
I could not even do the cooking.
When the sniff was not available, he would send me to
a nearby village to ask neighbours for it, as he knew who
smoked this sniff. He would ask me to spit on the floor
before I left and then run fast as I could—I had to be back
home before the spit had dried.
He was extraordinarily strong, and villagers feared him.
He loved to drink, and he was very well known for his
abusive behaviour. I remember my father used to hide his
money in a hole he had dug in one of the rooms, but we
were all aware of it. He also enjoyed gambling, and from
my understanding he would win at times. My father was
very kind to the villagers, sharing beer that mostly would
have been made by my mother.
I remember clearly when my father went to sell his
firewood. He would sometimes buy some presents for us to
bring home. It wasn't much, but one day he arrived home
and asked where my sisters were. I knew of course, they
were playing in the next village. Then I thought to myself,
let somebody else get beaten for a change. He asked me to
go and tell them that he had arrived home, so I went off to
find them. I told them that he was very angry because they
were not at home to greet him, and when they walked in, he
was sitting on a stool, waiting for them. I remained outside
and looked cautiously through the window to see what was
happening, but remained vigilant, just in case he turned on
me once again. But surprisingly he didn't do a thing, which
shocked me. I was shocked because I came to the realisation
that whatever wrong deeds my sisters did, they would never
be punished like I had been. This realisation weighed
heavily on my heart and was one of the contributing factors
to moving out of that village.
I left the village thinking I was going to get some
respite, but this turned out not be the case. I was in a
different environment living with my sister; it was hers, and
I needed to dance to her music. I had no other alternatives
but to live with her or otherwise go back to my abusive
father. In Matedzi there were so many mangoes and they
used to grow in people's houses, which belonged to the
railways. If you were working for the railways, you were
given a house to live in rent free.
My sister's husband was one of them. Rhodesia (before
after it was called Zimbabwe), was a genuinely nice place
to live, and they managed to leave Matedzi and bought a
house in Bulawayo. It was a big house with a servant
cottage. When my mother came to visit, she would sleep on
the floor in the servant cottage, but there were mosquitoes
in there. After running away from my violent father, she
was given a meal once a day, which was extremely difficult
to watch. The house in Bulawayo was quite large, however,
it had only one bathroom which we all had to share. The
man whom my sister had married also had daughters from
a previous marriage, who I got on well with.
One Christmas we went to a place called Lucosy
Matedzi where their friends lived. But little did I know what
was about to happen. After being given some alcohol, I was
raped. I then left the village and went to live with my older
sister, hoping that I would be safe there. I was only thirteen
or fourteen years old at that time, and the sexual assault had
left me pregnant. I couldn't say anything, either, as the man
who raped me was married with children. I can remember
filling up a tub of hot water and soaking myself in it, not
knowing what to do. I was very scared and confused.
I struggled during the pregnancy with no support. I was
selling beers for my sister during that time as their friend
was the one who had raped me, but this was never to be
spoken about. This man was married and had his own
siblings, but I was told by my sister to keep my mouth shut
for fear of having to return home to my father.
I was a child who was supposed to bring another child
into this world, and I did not get any help. I tried to make
ends meet but it was extremely difficult. The guy who raped
me did not want to know, presumably in fear of losing his
wife. I had a son who had no father after he had rejected
him. He knew the baby was his but he denied this, and
finally we had to go to court in Harare for a blood test to
prove it was his son.
We had caught the same train, but he never came to say
hello to his son, and I knew it would be a challenge to get
child maintenance. I did not know the system at all, which
was a disadvantage for me and my son. I could not say what
had happened to me in fear that I might be sent back home
to my abusive father. My first-born child was a boy, but I
was only a child as well, and I could not look after him as a
mother should. I regret that every single day. It would have
been nice to say something about giving birth to my first
child, but it was not to be. I had carried this pregnancy for
nine months and my son was born by Caesarean section.
It was extremely difficult having to live with my elder
sister. I was given the cold shoulder if I didn't wake up to
clean and cook breakfast. If I didn't contribute then there
would be no food on the table, and I would be left to watch
the children eat. This was how my elder sister was, and I had
to do all her chores before doing anything else for myself.
I did a shorthand course for a month, but this did not
go far. I only managed to pay for just two months. I was
very ambitious; I wanted to do something with my life,
although I did not have enough money to pay the fees for
my education. Due to financial difficulties, I was forced
to leave college and look for a job. My friend and I found
work for a band, although we were not very good at
singing.
I washed clothes in the morning by hand as they did not
have a washing machine, and then I would hang them
outside to dry. When I finished the housework, I would
prepare a full English breakfast and then there would be
ironing to be done.
During my time in the band, I met a man who became
my boyfriend. I used to call him my husband, even though
we were not married. He had taught me how to play the
drums, but I was not very good at it. Little did I know he
was going to be a violent man.
We lived together in a rented flat in the city centre of
Bulawayo. He used to work in Mpilo hospital. In the
beginning, everything was going extremely well and
nobody could separate us; he enjoyed karate as his sport and
played drums in the band, and he used to do this after he
finished work.
We were inseparable, and he loved me. He would want
me to escort him to his karate class, and he wanted to have
children. However, during that time I was not able to get
pregnant. I had a son whom he refused to acknowledge, as
in Africa, a man cannot bring up another man's child,
something which his family would have been opposed to.
So, I had to leave my son with my elder sister.
He was the breadwinner and he provided for us both. I
would wash and iron his clothes. He did not speak fluent
Ndebele, and at that time I could not speak Shona (his
language), so I used to communicate with him in English,
which I was particularly good at.
He decided that we would move back to Harare
(Salisbury), which I agreed to. It was his homeland. I
thought things would be okay because he was a good man,
but all that was about to change. He would beat me and
make it out to be my fault, yet later apologise for his
actions. Then he would want to make love to me, which he
would do without my consent. There were times when I
could have run away from him and gone back to living with
my sister, but then he would apologise, something which
became a pattern in our lives together.
As I did not have any money, or any savings of my own,
I would forgive him and return to the flat. If I went to the
shop to buy milk, he would follow me. We had lived in the
flat for a year before moving to Harare. In the beginning
everything was fine. We were living with his brother and
his wife who had a daughter. Their marriage was not very
stable, and his brother had a mistress and would often spend
days away before returning home. They both wanted more
children but that was not to be.
My boyfriend got a job at Parirenyatwa Hospital, which
was one of the biggest hospitals in Harare. We lived with
his brother until I gave birth to my daughter by Caesarean
section. We had our own bedroom and we stayed with them
for more than two years, before he decided to find a place
for us to live. It was a three-bedroom house; big enough to
lease one of the rooms to a university graduate. The house
had a big bathroom, a kitchen, a lounge, and a large garden,
where I planted vegetables and flowers. Fast-forward two
years later we had a son, delivered by Caesarian again.
When things were good, they were good. I remember
one day he took us to a drive-in to watch a movie, but
children were not allowed in so we had to turn back. But on
our way home, he said that he really wanted us to go and
watch this movie, so he came up with a plan. He took a
small blanket from the house and covered the children in
the back seat of the car. I was sitting at the front; he decided
he wanted the children to watch the movie, so he drove back
to the drive-in, bought popcorn, and gave it to the children.
The funny part was that nobody said a thing, so we were
able to watch the movie and then go back home.
But he started to womanize, making other women
pregnant behind my back, coming home late, and he started
to be abusive just like my father. I did not have any money,
or any savings; after all, he was the breadwinner.
He hit me in front of my children, and he nearly left me
for dead; in his own words, he told me he wanted to kill me,
or for me to walk away from his house as a cripple, and he
meant it. He used a sweeping broom to beat me. I fainted as
my children were hiding in the wardrobe, and when I
opened my eyes, I felt the warm feeling of my blood
dripping down my face—even now I have a scar on my
head. My elbows and knees were also affected by the
beatings I took and at times I find it difficult to write about
this as it feels like I am reliving the nightmare. To say how
I got out alive was a miracle; when he was finished hitting
me, he took his car and left. I did not know where he was
going. I knew the time had come for me to leave and I
would have to escape without my children. There was no
other solution to it all.
My body was numb and my face was swollen beyond
recognition. The thought of leaving my children behind was
at the back of my mind. I was in a lot of pain. However, I
decided to stay a bit longer, to use a window of opportunity
so that when he went to work, I would pack up and take the
children with me, but this did not happen.
I left the house although I had no idea where he had
gone to. I wanted my children, and therefore I decided to
hide next door in the chicken run. I could hear his car pull
up, and all I could think about was my children and thinking
of ways of taking them away from all this, regardless of the
situation I was in. I remained next door, hiding in the
chicken run, waiting for an opportunity to go back into the
house and collect my belongings. I thought of my mother
and how she would have remained with us, no matter how
difficult the situation had become.
After hiding in the chicken run for some time, I heard
his car pull away, so I returned to the house, looking for my
children. As soon as I approached the gates, the lady who
was leasing a room advised me to leave, stating that it was
not safe for me to remain on the premises. I took her advice,
and she took me to her small house. I left without my
children or any belongings.
She took me to one of her relatives where I managed to
get some sleep. The next day, I went to hospital, and when
I got there, they did a scan to find out if I had any broken
bones or skull damage. My body was badly beaten but it
was only tissue damage. I remember leaving the hospital
and a gentleman asked me what had happened. I lied and
told him that I had been in a car accident. He was shocked
and said, "You look so bad; did anyone survive?" I said no
but knew that I had had no alternative but to leave him.
I was not talking to anyone; all I wanted was to sleep.
I was prescribed some painkillers which I picked up
from the pharmacy with the little money that I had. When I
returned to the accommodation, the lady squeezed some
tomato juice to use as eye drops to get my eyes to clear. I
slept afterwards. I was missing my children, but powerless
to do anything about it.
I stayed with her for a while, but I had a brother who
was in the army, and I knew if I went to see him, he would
be able to give me money to travel back to Bulawayo. So, I
managed to travel to the army barracks. When I saw him,
he took me to the local canteen to talk. I covered my head
with a scarf as I didn't want an audience. He looked at me
and immediately got angry. He asked me whether my
husband was at home, but I was uncertain of his
whereabouts. My brother Keith said that if he knew he was
at home he would go and shoot him in cold blood. He was
so angry, whereas I was numb, and all what I really wanted
was my children. I knew it would be so difficult to get them,
but they were my children and they needed me. I was done
with crying. I had nothing, neither clothes nor underpants.
I had left with nothing.
My brother had said to me that this reminded him of
Tina Turner and Ike: Tina finally managed to escape her
abusive husband one night when he fell asleep, grabbing a
toiletry bag and running, narrowly missing a truck as she
dashed across a highway. With just 36 cents in her pocket,
she pleaded with the owner of an inn to let her stay. She
said: "I was running towards a new life." – Tina Turner.
My brother lived in Harare and was a pilot in the army.
With the money that he gave me I was able to board a train
back to Bulawayo. I didn't have a job but knew that I had
to look for some accommodation and raise enough money
to be able to return to Harare and collect my children. The
swelling had gone down and I felt better physically, so
having reached Bulawayo, I started to search for various
jobs and some accommodation. I managed to find a room
to rent; it was very small, not at all clean, but finally I had
a roof over my head. A place where I could stay without
any violence or being used as a punch bag.
I briefly lived with relatives, but it was not the same
without my children. I missed them very much and not a
day passed by without me wondering who was cooking for
them, if had they had a bath and if they wearing clean
clothes.
I contacted the Bulawayo law courts. It was the only
way to get my children back, and I did it. I travelled to the
police station in Harare, and on arriving at the house
where we lived, he was not there. I was informed that he
had gone to his brother's house, so we drove there with
the police, but we were informed that he was in prison and
my children had been taken to his village in Rusape. I
knew where his parents lived but his mother did not like
me that much as I was from Matabeleland and he was from
Harare. They had their cultural differences and their way
of doing things was completely different from what I was
used to. I needed to travel back to Bulawayo, which meant
leaving my children in Harare. I had no choice but to
leave, with the goal that I would return one day and collect
them. I was determined to do so, but little did I know then
that I was pregnant.
He was in prison and refused to sign the court papers,
denying that it was him they were looking for. I still had
serious money issues and I would have to find a job
somehow if I wanted to my children back. I would do
whatever it took to make that happen.
I wanted my children with me. I knew I was going to
be difficult, and it was a journey I was willing to take. When
I left the hospital, they told me to go and get pills from the
pharmacy, but I did not have any or money to buy them so
I returned to the house with an intent to get my children. He
made me sleep in the spare bedroom. He still wanted to hit
me; threats were made during this time claiming we wanted
to kill me before I left him and I really thought he was going
to do that. I was scared and a mess. I was already sleeping
in the spare bedroom but I did not know what he was going
to do next. My hope was that if he left for work I would get
the children and leave.
Another trip this time, and I was with my sister who
volunteered to come, and my children were sent to his home
village in Rusape to live with his parents as he was serving
a jail sentence. I went to the Rusape police station with my
late sister, who was over helpful, and tried to help me get
my children when we attended the village. I was escorted
by the Rusape policemen and found my daughter outside
the village doing dishes; it was so cold, and we all sat in the
village kitchen where my mother-in-law was with her
husband. She started shouting at me with no reason, calling
me nasty names under the sun.
My son became very restless, walking up and down whilst the police tried to talk
to my in-laws, but when I set my eyes on my daughter, she
was calm.
My mother-in-law was not happy, she tried to refuse to
give me my children and the police had to do their job. My
father-in-law was silent at first and then said, "Wherever
my grandchildren are going, I am also coming with them."
He was allowed to travel with us in the police van and came
to the police station with us. Nobody said anything in the
police van, and I had my children and my late sister who
travelled with me. I miss my sister so much; she passed
away at such a young age and had a gentle soul. She was
very kind. My mother-in-law had been abusive and directed
a lot of foul language at me, blaming me for her son being
in prison, and my sister didn't understand why I didn't say
anything back to her. But all I wanted was to have my
children back.
When we left the village, my mother-in-law refused to
give me my children's clothes, so we left with what they
were wearing. At the police station, my father-in-law was
told this was as far as he could come, and that I was taking
the kids with me. We were so lucky; as soon as we got to
the railway station, the train to Bulawayo was just about to
leave, so we boarded the train with my kids with no shoes
or jumpers on their backs. My daughter's hands were
cracked through washing dishes in the cold weather; it was
heart breaking, but I had comfort knowing that they were
now with me.
It was very cold on the train, so I took my jumper off
and gave it to my daughter, and my son was given a jumper
from my young sister. We were heading back to Bulawayo
and I wanted to give them the best education, which I did
not have. I wanted to empower them by providing them
with a good school. Jobs were difficult to find, and life was
hard.
We managed to keep them warm on the train, but it was
very cold, and when we finally arrived at Bulawayo, we
stayed with my other sister who had bought a house with
reasonable room. But things did not go very well there. My
kids were accused of breaking door handles, and not in a
nice way; after all my children had gone through, that hurt
me. My sister asked me to move to the servants' quarters,
and memories came flooding back to when my other elder
sister did the same to my mother.
This place had a bad stench to it and I tried to clean it.
There was no electricity and we had to use candles, but I
had my children with me this time and had found them a
primary school nearby. I had managed to secure a job, too,
at a hotel, which was just walking distance from where we
were staying.
I believed my relatives would help in looking after the
children, but I was wrong. My sister came back from
Germany and decided to buy a big house and she wanted
most of her siblings to come and live with her; fortunately,
I was one of them, and my sister knew about my situation.
There was a time when my sister did not have any
accommodation, where she lived with me in this small
rented room where I was living and she had arrived from
overseas. She had encouraged me to go to Harare and bring
the children with me, as now she had a big house, and
everything would be okay.
I know other people want their children to go through
what they went through, which I find difficult to
understand. I tried to make sure my children came first, and
I knew they loved me, and I am a proud mother. It was not
easy during this time to support them single-handedly. I
didn't get support from anyone, I had to rely on myself to
clothe and feed us.
I was living with my children in Bulawayo where I got
a job as a chambermaid in a very expensive hotel, which is
where Morgan Freeman was staying while he was over in
We managed to keep them warm on the train, but it was
very cold, and when we finally arrived at Bulawayo, we
stayed with my other sister who had bought a house with
reasonable room. But things did not go very well there. My
kids were accused of breaking door handles, and not in a
nice way; after all my children had gone through, that hurt
me. My sister asked me to move to the servants' quarters,
and memories came flooding back to when my other elder
sister did the same to my mother.
This place had a bad stench to it and I tried to clean it.
There was no electricity and we had to use candles, but I
had my children with me this time and had found them a
primary school nearby. I had managed to secure a job, too,
at a hotel, which was just walking distance from where we
were staying.
I believed my relatives would help in looking after the
children, but I was wrong. My sister came back from
Germany and decided to buy a big house and she wanted
most of her siblings to come and live with her; fortunately,
I was one of them, and my sister knew about my situation.
There was a time when my sister did not have any
accommodation, where she lived with me in this small
rented room where I was living and she had arrived from
overseas. She had encouraged me to go to Harare and bring
the children with me, as now she had a big house, and
everything would be okay.
I know other people want their children to go through
what they went through, which I find difficult to
understand. I tried to make sure my children came first, and
I knew they loved me, and I am a proud mother. It was not
easy during this time to support them single-handedly. I
didn't get support from anyone, I had to rely on myself to
clothe and feed us.
I was living with my children in Bulawayo where I got
a job as a chambermaid in a very expensive hotel, which is
where Morgan Freeman was staying while he was over in
Zimbabwe making a movie. He gave me a tip of ten dollars.
I had seen him on TV, and I was ecstatic to see him and the
crew. He was so nice to me, and he shook my hand.
When they arrived from America, Warner Brothers
booked into a hotel called Nesbitt Castle, which is one of
the most expensive hotels in Bulawayo. I met with Keith,
who also was travelling with Warner Brothers and was an
artist for them. They used to leave early in the morning for
castings and I used to clean his room and make his bed
every day. He used to leave notes in our secret places and
used to tell me what time they would come back after
casting.
Before they left, he asked me join him in America and
I was willing to go but it turned out not to be as when
Warner Brothers left, I did not hear from him.
Although there were not many rooms, they needed to
be spotlessly clean. We were allocated rooms to clean and
these rooms were all given names; all the bedrooms had
brass taps and they had to be cleaned thoroughly. It was
hard and during that time we were not given any lunch. The
money was not good. I had already heard that in South
Africa there were better paying jobs, but I had to think of
the children, and I worried about who was going to look
after them when I was not there. The decision to go to South
Africa was not an easy one. But I went anyway with the
hope to raise more money.