Connect with us

CREATIVE HUB

Never Say Never: Short Story

Published

on

A short story by Sydney Nyagato

All rights reserved

Advertisements

Dreams Come True

Chipochedenga chewed a drumstick hungrily like a piranha.

   “I never liked to be an accountant, dad, ” his voice punctuated the silence that had fallen over a little corner table at a Nando’s cafeteria, facing a fast lane in The Sunshine City, “You know, I have always wanted to be a guitarist….  A musician to be more precise. “

Advertisements

Mr. Mushori laughed hysterically before his face became tense again. Even the laugh lines on his aging face deleted as he bared his teeth in preparation to pour out words. Chipochedenga thought it would be a thunderclap when they would eventually escape his thick-lipped mouth.

   “That’s the gravest problem with you; the youth today, ” the elder cleared his throat, “I wanted to be a lawyer when I was still in preparatory school and even long after I had left high school.. “

   “Yet you never became an attorney, ” Chipochedenga chewed a chunk,  “And may I ask you why you never became one? “

Mushori made a noise like a yoked ox gone out of breath. Such had been the arguments which sometimes escalated into bickerings that would normally degenerate into serious quarrels between father and son; where the two constantly crossed the divide between modernity and old time. Chipochedenga had grown up to be fond of sweet melodies and his favourite musical instrument was an acoustic guitar a Township Jazz maestro had given him as a gift after having staged a remarkable show when promoters were on a talent identification stint. The show which had been staged at Harare International Conference Centre(HICC) had been a colourful event in which gurus of different genres were in attendance and proud to see if there could be some disciples in their special and favourite realms.

Chipochedenga was known to his peers and counterparts as The Mighty Chinovava; a pseudonym that he did not self impose, but the one his growing fan base had hollered at him. Chinovava proved to have liked the name and he had walked tall on it; to the envy of some boys with whom he grew up in the same neighborhood(he had always thought, Don’t they say: a prophet is not without honor, except in his home town and among his kinsmen?) . He had also grown up to be fond of a wide range of instruments, including tramboune, sexaphone, chordophone and membranophone. A correspondent with some journal on Leisure and Entertainment had had an interview with the well-endowed young bloke and the interaction had been steaming.

Chinovava had revealed in the detailed interview that he had been born a Township Jazz musician, determined to cruise on till the end of the charted route of the genre. The following had been part of the interview with Tsvigiri, the leisure correspondent:

T:  What inspired you to be who you’re?

C:  First, I’d like to say I was inspired by the masses. Secondly, allow me to say I have Nyadenga as a source of inspiration; with a unique talent lurking in me.

T:  You’ve just mentioned “The Masses” . Who’re these?

C:  People in general.. Everybody who has a good ear to listen. Anyone who’s a potential fan.

T:  Brilliant! Yet, why do you say you’ve a unique talent in Township Jazz? The country is crawling with gurus of that genre.

C:  I’m unique because of who I’m as well as I’m an entrepreneur to this end, though I might also have been secretly inspired by forerunners to Township Jazz.

T:  They say you’re as hot as jalapenos pepper; just like your name, Chinovava, suggests. Can you justify this?

C:   Yeah, it’s just like that. I mesmerize my rivals and my audience also like to have some more. You know, in our Shona culture we like to eat sadza and a protein-rich relish spiced with mhiripiri. And that’s the secret behind most of the relish in our African food at large.

T:    Thank you very much, Chinov, as some of your fans might have desire to call you. Now, what’s your special message to the fans tonight? Especially the youths?

C:    (Coughs in the crook of his elbow) Message to the fans tonight is: I’m your faithful shadow and I’ll hang on right till the end. For the youth, allow me to say: If you have a goal that you want to see through, the following couple of words suffice: Aluta continua!

Now his father was on his feet, wiping hands with a paper napkin, courtesy of Nando’s. He was glaring at Chinovava through the double lenses of his transparent spectacles; a plastic smile was perched on his face. He was like a defeated macho man with a shadow of denial still lingering.

   “You’ve done a duet with that gospel diva who has since renegaded to that damn fool dancehall; do you think that’s gonna do any amount of goodness to my reputation?” he probed.

   “I’m sorry if that’s bad news for you, dad, ” Chinovava had a secret smile hinted on his square face, “Chenesai is a laureate of his genre and a good crooner too. Next month, she and I’ll jet off to the United Kingdom and we’ll be having a fortnight tour of the Isle. The air tickets are already in place and the promoter in London has already booked a string of venues and hotel rooms.. And one thing, dad.. I’m proud that you brought me into this world with the love of the Almighty. “

The elder had mixed feelings before his smile came on like a full moon and its light breaking through a cloud cover before the break of storm at night.

THE END.

@Bourne

Inspired by: music and entrepreneurship for the young people of Zimbabwe.

Contact: +263 774 636 447

Continue Reading

POEMS

Societal Blindfold

Published

on

I did not want to be like them.
I always believed they were to blame.
I only saw what the society defined,
“Women are a problem” yet, I am a woman also.
I believed every word society uttered to me.


Years passed and I grew up with my own truth,
Rather the truth presented to me.
Growing up to the societal good and bad definitions.
Little did I know,
It was never the reality.

I glanced at my own mother crying her life out.
Still, I blamed her and saw a wicked one who
Could not make him stay.
“Mama, you failed us,” only if I knew.
I did not want to be her.
I did not want to be them.

I perceived marriage as a trophy and gold medal of life.
Believed every word my society taught me as a woman.
I focused more on finding the right man.

I snubbed my dreams, potentials, and talents.
Ask me why?
All because I did not want to be them.
 Who is them?
Them single mothers.
They were evil according to my learned descriptions.
Little did I know.

I allowed years to slide.
My dreams called, I closed my ears.
“Women are nothing.”
Only to realize, all was a
Societal Blindfold.

Advertisements

By SiCie.

Continue Reading

POEMS

A penurious life.

Published

on

Admiring the mouth-watering menu,

My throat craving for a cold beer.

Advertisements

Searching my pockets,

A budget for a loaf of bread is the reality.

I then understand why,

Advertisements

A penurious life.

By Trevor Virima

Continue Reading

POEMS

Gratifying its way.

Published

on

Sunday full of its luxuriate spirit,

Carrying the drowsiness of Monday to a

Advertisements

Tuesday as it brings the burden of chores.

Wednesday giving light to a thirsty Thursday as we prattle about

Friday becoming a Zip line to an

Advertisements

Entertaining Saturday.

Continue Reading
Advertisement

Facebook

Advertisement

PDF Magazine

Categories

Archives

Title

Trending