My Personal Childhood Web

This is from my very first post in 2011...

In my attempt to create a space on my blog dedicated especially to the people who nurtured and cared for me when I was a child, I found that as an African, you can almost include everyone. In African culture, you have so many fathers, so many mothers, and so many brothers—all who nurture and care for you. The lady in the market, my mum's sisters, and her friends all played the role of mother. I then realised I had to narrow this down and focus on at least five people who stood out for me. However, as you read this blog, you will realise I failed to stick to the intended five, as some of them came in pairs.

My parents definitely fall into the group of people who nurtured and loved me; a lot of them is in me. I could never tell them apart—they were always of one mind, hence why I will talk about them as one. Although I was not born with a silver spoon in my mouth, my parents empowered me with an imagination to live like I was born with one. Hard work and perseverance were the principles my father would always remind me of. At an early age, I learnt to dream; I believed that with hard work, I could get what I dreamt of. I was daddy's little girl. I remember going to his office, and he would always introduce my sister and me as his princesses. He would back this up with stories about our ancestors, who were royalty. My daddy is an amazing man, and my mum was his greatest supporter. As a child, they gave me a picture of the family I wanted when I grew up.

My sister and I are only a year apart, and for most of our childhood, we didn't get along. We fought over everything—toys, attention, who got to sit where in the car. There were days I couldn't stand her. But even in the middle of all that friction, she was always there. She was my constant companion, my built-in friend, and the only person who truly understood what it was like to grow up in our family. Looking back now, I realise that even our arguments were a form of connection. Today, I want to acknowledge her in this post because beneath the squabbles I'm grateful one other person knows the full story.

Tonderai Mazhude, I would label him as the world's number-one babysitter. He was one of the few people I interacted with outside of my family. He would babysit my sister and me without fail in August, the time I would return home for the holidays from boarding school. This was the one time we would get to go to the big city to attend the Harare Agriculture Show. I remember looking forward to watching the goldfish in the pond by my dad's office, and Tonderai would wait until we were done. Tonderai would then walk around with us. I would look up and feel so proud; I wanted to be just as tall as he was and be just like him. I have always wondered why Tonderai stood out for me as a child. I guess Tonderai gave us his time, and he was attached to an event I looked forward to each year. Tonderai would let us talk—and talk. It was always my agenda; I would tell him where I wanted to go, which exhibitions we wanted to attend, and he would take us.

My baby brother Alexander is interestingly part of my web. Although he is nine years younger than me, he had a lot to offer me as a child. My mother allowed me to be part of the process of raising him. The most significant thing for me was that the name my sister and I had chosen was the one they gave him; that sealed the deal—I was family. It showed me that what I said mattered. He also gave me something to look forward to when I came back from boarding school. I was able to play my role as the helper in my family: changing his nappy, feeding him. And when he would smile back at me, I knew my baby brother loved me back. He made me feel special.

My big brother Tonderai also gave me something to look forward to when he came back home from boarding school. The package usually came with my Uncle Cletus. He always had a joke for us. I knew the moment I saw them walk through the gate that he was going to make me laugh, and the best part was that he laughed with us. He was the cool uncle; he still is.