A short prose explanation of the reason why l am here.
|"Uri mushona iwe. Unoda kuvhaira nei?" [You are a Shona person. What are you bragging about?]
The words that always protrude through my eardrums everytime l try to speak the English language in front of Society. I couldn't blame Society for English was not a language in the Ghetto. It was a sign of affluency and classy. How could you say 'HOW ARE YOU' in a tattered short that is exposing your black dirty buttocks? How could you finish an english sentence with a mouth stinking like a skunk? How could you afford to speak the language of the rich? You can't even afford to buy a needle to fix your clothes, let alone a toothbrush to remove the plaque from the air pies of the previous night. Society nurtured me ever since l was a foetus. She gave me roots, she wanted me to stay grounded. I needed not to stay on the ground, but she forget to give me the wings. By other means l managed to fly away, l figure out my own runway and took off. Unfortunately, when arrived at the other side everything got bizzare. The language which used to be a taboo when l was with Society was now the only form of communication. Everything went haywire. I was supposed to figure new ground to stand on because l was slipping and loosing grip. The only grip l found was writing.com . I am here right now, trying to fasten loose ends and girding up my loins as l journey towards my greatness.