A funky collective of Multi-Media Artists. We adapted Fela Anikulapo Kuti’s words: "Art and Literature are the weapons". Our focus is solely to HELP OTHERS irrespective of their reputation, status or life’s struggle through our society, culture, social media and the written word. Everyone has a story to tell.
Daring to be Daniel is knowing who you are, where you’re from and helping others.
If you remember the book of Daniel in the Old Testament, there’s a story about the lion’s den where Misheck and Abednigo face the fire, right?
I couldn’t imagine what it was like for them, but only their spirituality and faith allowed them to survive.
The irony of this post is actually not completely about Daring, but about a Shona language term called Dare. –pronounced [da-re]
Dare is is actually a term used to describe a tribal court system where disagreements or misunderstandings are resolved. I’ve personally seen these in action in Guruve, Zimbabwe where my grandfather would preside over the tribal council.
If you read Sarikosi University this is where the judgements were pronounced and finalized before my parents, aunts and uncles were dismissed.
One thing for sure is that they were private matters and never made public to protect the tribal spirit. Fighting in public was not appreciated because it caused disunity among tribal friends and family.
Disagreements are common, but in Africa while we have a robust court system, many tribal discussions are settled in a dare. Everyone concerned mentions their grievances to the Chief and once everyone has had a chance to speak, the tribal folks beat the drums to signal peace.
If the rains come on the same day, I imagine that it is an evident signal from the ancestors that all sins are forgiven. I guess that’s why I understand Baptism. Water cleanses.
My grandfather used to talk to the ancestors everyday and he would walk on the muddy plains of Gota Farm asking for the rains.
As one of his cherished grandsons, I never understood why he would get up so early to walk around the farm, but it makes sense now that I’m older.
Today I was reminded about the greatest impact on my life.
My father was born in Guruve today almost six decades ago. Since then he has led a life most gods would wish for. Honorable and strong he has blazed the trail for yours truly, #sonofguruve. He has advised, chastised, loved and cared for hundreds and impacted thousands. He has guided me the moment I arrived June 1986 and kept me from harm’s way. He is not perfect, as none of us are, but I couldn’t imagine anyone else to take the title of my father.
He was smuggled out of Rhodesia in pursuit of his academic dreams to one day rise to the helm of his career. He has travelled to almost all continents of our troubled land and has unimaginable stories from North Africa, Eastern Europe, the Middle East and South America and Zimbabwe of course. If you’re wondering, what he was doing there he was doing Humanitarian work for one of the World’s largest charities. He is never the loudest unless we smuggle some Guinness into his chalice, but these have wittingly provided some of my fondest memories of Baba.
Baba was and has always been a helper. We often argue about the concept of tithing, but I know through his daily support of his extended family he has always tithed more than the Bible says. I write today because it his birthday so while distance separates us, the spirit of fatherly love furnishes my memory every day. We talk, text, argue, debate and love each other because we are much the same in appearance, but also in personality and demeanor.
At the helm of his career he worked at the largest Oil Company in the world and I remember his two-week absence in Paris during the ’98 World Cup. He brought home a grey France t-shirt for my brother and I and Lotto soccer boots.
One year he sold a house, quit his job and bought four air tickets for our family to migrate to England, to start all over again!
He’s the reason I’m quite comfortable riding a bicycle around my humble Upstate city meeting humble men and networking with noble men. It’s because Baba taught me about networking and most importantly sacrifice and the need to always work hard no matter the task, the challenge. He always sat Razzle Dazzle and I down before EVERY school term and said,
“Guys, what do Guruve Men do? They Work Hard, because hard work pays off.”
I’m actually beginning to realize what he meant only now.
That’s my Dad, so if you’re reading this snippet, say CHEERS, three times!
CHEERS, CHEERS, CHEERS!
While I call myself the Sonofguruve, he is the FatherofGuruve. He gave me a talent of communicating effectively, reducing risk and buying time so today’s post is dedicated solely to him and his life’s works. Read a piece he nonchalantly wrote one evening. I present to you #FatherofGuruve’s poem:
THE CONCSIENCE OF A HERMIT.
We lived yesterday for tomorrow’s blight,
We live today for yesterday’s plight,
We live now for tomorrow’s lie.
We die today for tomorrow’s life,
But tomorrow’s life will die before it is born.
We ask for no reprisal.
We ask not for last year’s mercy,
But plead for an emotional rescue.
We ask not for forgiveness.
We bear no grudges,
Even though grudges reside in our conscience.
Our conscience knows no guilt,
Because guilt is a foreign imposition,
That knows no friend or foe.
We brook no pleasure
In the imposition of emotions
On our mental common room,
Already over-crowded by the mercies of yesteryear’s guilt.
We will live tomorrow,
On the benevolent promise
Of a bumper harvest of ashes,
From the badly burnt treasures,
From down memory lane.
We will outlive tomorrow,
As we have done in centuries past.
We will outshine the sun,
Because we no longer fear,
The shadows that hang on our everyday existence.
We will. We will. We will. We will.
Because we are Mhofus, Africans, and proudly Zimbabweans.