The swamp


As parents we sometimes try to shield our children from the harsh realities of life … We try to protect them from themselves … from making the same mistakes we did …

There is only so much we can sheild them from and sometimes we must let them enter the swamp, with deceiving signs of safety and be ready to watch as snakes bite, and hope that they remember enough of our words to nurse the wounds and get the venom out … that their souls would not be poisoned by bitterness …

Then we hope that they would remember their way home … but if they do not, I hope they can learn to spot the snakes and steer clear of them. But then if the cold should take hold they would remember enough of our warmth, that no fire in the wrong lap would entice. And if it should burn, that they would remember that the fire sheltered by elders never burns … that they might be drawn back home

But if they should continue, that “inswaswa” the sounds of the swamp would not tear at their confidence. That they would remember the value in our toil for them … every sacrifice possible … but if they should be so broken down that our toil seem meaningless … that they would remember the man who gave up riches to hang for them.

And if that memory be not enough, and they find themselves trapped in sinking sands, in strings and beds of their own making, that Jesus who in His word promises never to lose those entrusted to Him, will not forget his promise towards His own.

… He owns her heart …

What’s in a label … Victim


I have been pondering this for the better part of 2 days … can’t even believe that I lost sleep over it. But I met someone recently who wears the victim label really well and in thinking this over, I remembered a story I once heard about the power of sin …

This isnt the exact version I heard but I hope you get the picture. A man buys a house and cleans it up, sets everything in order and leaves the man of the house to live there. Initially he does well, keeps it clean and enjoys being there. One day the old landlord comes and asks for just a small spot on the wall saying, “I just want to keep one small cloth on a nail.” No one will even know it’s there.

The nail is hammered into the wall and the cloth placed on it. What the man of the house is not told is that the cloth is dirty and smelly and soon, its smell soon fills the whole house.

So it is with sin, Jesus comes and sets our houses in order and gives us all his abundance, but whenever the enemy comes back, enticing, requesting a small space, he doesn’t stop there. The influence of that small sin, can fill and taint our whole being; and so it is with anger and bitterness.

Some people are so blinded by the label “victim,” that they are unable to see past a perceived wrong, or even a real one. No one is immune to hurt and pain as long as we exist in a world where we interact with other beings. Some of us, including me, at different times have allowed ourselves to put offence on a nail, and let bitterness grow until it’s stench fills every inch of our being. Everyone who walks into our lives can smell it and most choose not to stay, but we are so used to the stench that we are unwilling to deal with the source.

Bitterness infects everything we do and leaves very little room for the enjoyment of the things we have. It focuses on what has been lost and how we have been wronged and refuses to acknowledge our part in what has happened in our lives.

Sometimes we are so comfortable with the anger and want to hold on to it, and left unchecked, anger morphs into bitterness and Bitterness is never mild, it’s a cancer, a contagion that affects those we touch too. No wonder God asks that we Keep our hearts with all diligence and to not let the sun go down in anger. We are all victims of wrongs committed at different times by different people, but staying a victim robs us, so I pray that we recognise bitterness for what it is, where it lurks and remove it before it taints us.

Survival mode


The last few months have been something to say the least … If you have followed this blog for long, you will know that I take leaves of absence when life gets hectic. This year, I had to take a long one and honestly, I am not sure it is over yet. Been feeling unwell for the bigger part of the last 7 or so months and was in ‘survival mode’

And no, it’s not Covid, even though it has in its spree brought sadness and pain … anxiety and death, sometimes in the most unexpected places. As usual, God has been faithful, my husband has been faithful and again my family and friends have been faithful; and I know that there is joy in the now and a promise of joy to come … and with that hope, comes anxiety because of other people’s stories and I have to be reminded of the immense love of God and His mercies which cease not. Regardless of what comes our way; surviving, thriving or treading water, He is constant, unfailing and has us covered.

In the intrest of love


I was awaked by love,

But with me, ghosts rose too.

Fears of lusts awakened long before I could articulate why they were wrong

In my pseudo virgin state, I was afloat, threatening to sink me, I felt stuck

But of a truth, He keeps his own, afloat

He got me to the alter

Fears gone.

I was awakened by love,

But with me, smells rose too

Faces long etched in my brain before I could find a place to belong

In my psuedo adult state, the lost infant, I had to trust a Father’s love.

That in His truth He keeps His own afloat,

Chases the ghosts away,

Mind freed

In the interest of love, life awakened,

And with it, hope arose too.

Human Dignity


Our dignity is not found in status, 
the coins that dress us
the tears on our backs
the tears in our eyes
Dignity is not imputed by our senses
the grace in our steps
the sensuality of our movements
the depths of our sexuality
Dignity is a quality of being human
Something never to be gained
Never to be lost
Never to be stolen
Dignity is a quality born in us
It lives even when unseen in us
unrecognisable in others
It is a quality of being human

Bemba pocket dictionary and Giveaway results


I thought I would address this Bemba pocket Dictionary by Reverand E Hoch, WF today mainly because I have had it and have wanted to address it’s issues for a while. But rather than addressing issues, I think I should also state that for a book written by a non- native speaker, it is a tremendous effort. It is also important to note that despite being a native speaker, I am not an expert and these following points are just things to consider. To see my views please watch the video

As for the Giveaway winner; well, I decided to give 2 books away and my 2 winners are:

  1. Monde from Zambia
  2. Chez Noela from the US.

please send me a message on any of my social media sites with details on where to send the book and let me know what you think of the book after reading it

Book review: Life giving parent


I got this book 2 Christmases ago but did not really get the chance to read it. I have recently been trying to rebuild my reading habit and enjoyed reading this book. As a person from an African background, I find that some books sell western ideals as the way of doing things (which I guess is only fair because we all write about what we are familiar with). What I loved about the book was how the tips can be applied to any cultural context and and actually enhance our children’s experience of their culture. It is a Christian book and ultimately, this is all in the context of a Christian home but some points could easily apply in a secular context. I had issues with some of the bible translations used but that might be more of a preference issue and I did not find anything they said heretical. I also struggle with the use of personality tests, which they are big on. To enter the giveaway, comment below or on any one of the social media posts relating to this review. State your name and where you are from, how many kids if you are a parent (or not) and why you would like to read the book.

Relocation in progress


The last few weeks have been a bit rough. Our family lost our Big dad and then my friend from highschool passed away … if you follow this blog, you know I generally take time to process events like these. While February hasn’t been the best, it also came with some good and now, I need to take some time to do a big job relocation because but will be back with a book review and then another Bemba video … stay tuned.

The year of promise …


Today, I was meant to be posting a review …

But I find myself musing over a lived life I barely knew

mourning a man who always brought a smile to our faces

He was funny

He was gentle

And until I was about 8 I somehow was lost to his existence

And ohh that booming voice, gentle voice

He made every moment light

In the short moments we spent, I somehow got to love him

In the short spaces of conversations on skype and messenger.

Twenty Twenty came with so much promise and in a space of weeks,

We had celebrated life and before it ended, it had eaten more joy than seemed possible.

His voice no longer to be heard,

His hearty laugh no longer to offer any warmth

Turn back the time … return to us the promise of a year barely started;

Give us a chance to finish listening to stories of the dynamics of life.

You never finished telling us stories of where you grew up

We never even started writing them down.

Entitled to other people’s art work?


One of the things that irritate me, is people exhibiting a sense of entitlement to my writing … especially when people take a poem that I have written and propagandise it … okay, maybe propagandise is too strong a word … I have, however, had many instances where people have maimed a poem because they felt it didn’t convey what they wanted it to convey. I guess it is different if you are approached to write a poem with a specific theme in mind but even then, people don’t seem to understand that when you write anything, you pick specific words to convey specific messages. That applies to a greater extent when it comes to poetry because a poem has a rhythm to it and this rhythm helps convey the desired message.

I know it might sometimes be hard to understand, but writing a poem is not a 2-minute job … sometimes can be, but very rarely if ever, and … well, I guess for me … the poems I write are an extension of myself; a way of me getting more acquinted with myself, a way of releasing whatever is brewing on the inside, a way of making sense of God — a way of coming to Him — a worship of the master Poet.

This might be something that is hard to understand, but the poems come from me walking out the poem. I sit there imagining each step as if I am either the centre or witness of the story I am trying to convey. I feel the emotions and convey them as I write, make sense of a situation as I describe it … and it is for this reason that I say, I primarily write for myself and not for others; It is a cleansing, an act of surrender but also a gift if I choose to share it. So next time you see a poem or piece of writing, be careful not to turn it into something it was not meant to be.

Are there any poets out there who feel this way? Is it the same with other art forms? Have you ever exhibited this entitlement?