Madawu

@KingJayZim Greetings to mama Rose

Mama Rose sends her greetings. You see that spring bed "base"? Don't even start with me. It has been transported from Harare to Njanja,and back again dozens of times. And don't tell her we want to dump it 😆😆😅 When going kumusha, if the truck is not full of junk, she will tell you, am not going 😆😅😅. Ol' skool mothers are something else.

Let’s normalise using the services we have, & holding the ministries accountable. If there is MH Act it should be used to assist those struggling with MH. As ordinary citizens we can also help with what is not available but expertise is plenty in 🇿🇼.

@drjaytee87 Stress Dr 😂 maX streets akustresayi chimbotorayi break 😂

zviya zvekuti zviso rikapfura zvine zvazvinoreva kunyepa.. nhasi raswera richipfura hapana chaitika

@mamakaCleo @BorisCde I do agree with the guy who said to contact police, I don’t see anything wrong with that, at the same time crowd funding for her assistance. I believe in using the remnants of our services if they can help if not the there will be record of contact.

Good afternoon citizens. My heart is bleeding. There is a sister who is mentally unwell in Bulawayo CBD. I've seen her four times now. I noticed that her hand is swollen and its only today that I took a closer look. Apparently she has a plaster on her arm. Seems it is overdue to be removed or something. I also noticed that its attracting flies meaning its an infection. So I was wondering if there are any doctors and well_wishers who are able to assist this lady. How much is consultation, some medication maybe and to see what's needed. Maybe we can crowd fund so that she gets help. What saddens me is that we don't have social welfare that assists the vulnerable, the disabled, the mentally ill, orphans and the old age. Its breaks my heart that our government is busy with Constitution ammendment, buying of the state of the art cars when there is no social security. What kind of a society are we when we neglect our people like this? How many others are there out there facing the same predicament? Please to any doctor seeing this please reach out to me. Then we will take it from there to make sure our sister gets help. She is always by Bulawayo centre or by Farm and city next to Haddon and sly. My DM is open. Let's lend a hand to those who can not help themselves. God bless.

Pov: being addicted with X contents 🙌😋

@KingJayZim Sorry for your loss King.

After what was a deeply memorable occasion celebrating the lives of our dearly departed grandparents and uncles, our family has been plunged into mourning. My Aunt Grace sadly passed away after our return from Njanja. She suffered a bad fall on Saturday, and although we initially thought it was a knee injury, it later emerged she had sustained a serious fracture. On Sunday morning, she woke up in severe pain and was rushed to a local clinic at Sadza Growth Point, before being transferred to Harare where she was due for surgery. Tragically, she suffered a heart attack brought on by underlying heart disease and did not make it. Aunt Grace, the youngest sister to Mhamha Rose, was 70. We will now be heading back to Njanja, where she will be laid to rest at the family shrine in Redhill, Friday, 17 April. We did not imagine that the joy and togetherness we experienced on Saturday, 11 April, would end this way. Rest in peace, Aunt Grace 😢

@LynneStactia Veduwe mamiriyoni awo arikutaurwa ordinary vanhu tichitambura, mwari pindirayi.

Changamire anenge arimubako akatsamira miriyoni Yuwesi kubva ku Zvigananda achifurira vanhu kuti let us go back to Stone Age, Nhasi hanzi l have houses with swimming 🏊🏾‍♀️ pools, imiwe tirikubatwa kumeso!! #AbashaZvigananda #NoTo2030 !!

@zulukingggg How many people were and are still being killed by corruption? The sanctions rhetoric is overrated talk about corruption.

@KingJayZim Ready for Njanja chronicles, enjoy your stay King 👑

Hullo Zimbabwe! The King has landed in the land of his ancestors, Beautiful Zimbabwe! I missed home a span! So it's a good time to have a good time ##HappinessIsOurBusiness #TheKingIsAround.

@TamukaKagoro77 Absolutely none, when they let Chinese beat citizens with chambokos, sure there is no African interest to protect. Interests starts with protecting your citizens from enslavers but if you’re blind to that not sure if u can have any interest on global stage.

#LetFreedomSing In this moment in history , Africa needs to learn to define and assert its collective interests on the global stage . Everyone else has interests around which they develop long-term strategies and define their international relations. Africa , what are your interests

Nemane Secondary School is in Tsholotsho, Matabeleland North, Zimbabwe. What a lesson. This applies to majority of Zimbabwe regions

Tsitsitsitsitsi, hahahahaha! I love this! 😆😅😆😅😆My ribs are sore! This cracked me up!

@ZimbabweHistor2 Bernard Chidzero (top right) also studied at Marrian Hill in Pinetown Durban. This was the Debating team. My mother is seated second from the right

MAKERS OF HISTORY Bernard Thomas Gibson Chidzero was born on July 1, 1927, in Harare (then Salisbury). He was the eldest of seven children born to a Shona mother and a Malawian father. Despite a humble background, his father was a migrant worker who later established a small store—Chidzero was recognized early for his academic brilliance. His educational journey was extensive and international: He attended primary school in Seke and later Kutama College, a prestigious Catholic mission school where he was a classmate and bandmate of Robert Mugabe. He earned a B.A. in Psychology from Pius XII University College in Lesotho (then Basutoland) in 1953. He moved to Canada, obtaining an M.A. in Political Science from the University of Ottawa (1955) and a Ph.D. from McGill University (1958). He later conducted research at Nuffield College, Oxford. Before entering Zimbabwean politics, Chidzero spent two decades as a high-ranking international civil servant. His career with the United Nations began in 1960 and included several key roles: He served as an Economic Affairs Officer in Addis Ababa and later as the Resident Representative for the UN Development Programme (UNDP) in Kenya. In 1968, he became the Director of the Commodities Division for the UN Conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD) in Geneva. By 1977, he had risen to the position of Deputy Secretary-General of UNCTAD. During the liberation struggle, Chidzero acted as an economic advisor to nationalist delegations at major conferences, including the 1976 Geneva Conference and the 1979 Lancaster House Agreement. In 1980, Robert Mugabe invited Chidzero to return to the newly independent Zimbabwe. He initially served as the Minister of Economic Planning and Development before becoming the Minister of Finance in 1982, a post he held until 1995. Chidzero was seen as a moderating influence in a government then dominated by Marxist-Leninist rhetoric. He advocated for "pragmatic" economic policies to maintain investor confidence. In the early 1990s, he designed and implemented the Economic Structural Adjustment Programme (ESAP). While intended to liberalize the economy and reduce public deficits, the program faced significant domestic criticism due to the resulting social hardships and rising unemployment. His expertise was recognized globally; he chaired the Development Committee of the World Bank (1986–1990) and narrowly lost the election for UN Secretary-General to Boutros Boutros-Ghali in 1991. Chidzero was also an accomplished writer. In 1957, he published the Shona novel Nzvengamutsvairo (translated as "Broom-Dodger" or "Mr. Lazy-Bones"). The book is noted for its themes of racial tolerance and the integration of traditional and modern values. He was married to Michellene, a French-Canadian woman he met during his studies in Montreal. In 1960, a teaching offer at the University of Rhodesia and Nyasaland was reportedly withdrawn because of their interracial marriage, a reflection of the era's segregationist policies. Bernard Chidzero retired from the cabinet in 1995 due to failing health but continued to serve as a senior economic advisor to the President. He passed away on August 8, 2002, at the age of 75. He was declared a National Hero and is buried at the National Heroes Acre in Harare. He is remembered as one of Africa’s most brilliant economic minds of the 20th century.

A @TeamFuloZim member from Zimbabwe at Border Control ! 😅😅😅

#KingsMemoirs Some of my fondest and most exciting childhood moments lived in the hours before a journey. Not the journey itself, but the night before school holidays, especially at Christmas, when Mama Rose would tell us we were going to Njanja the next morning. Sleep was impossible. Excitement and adrenaline ran riot. Those were the mornings Mama Rose would dial 707-707 and order a Rixi Taxi. By 5:30am sharp a Renault 4 would be idling outside, ready to make the short but important journey from Sunningdale to Harari, now Mbare, where the rural buses waited. We knew exactly where to stand. The departure point for buses heading to Dorowa via Wedza, Sadza, Redhill, Mupatsi, Chirasauta, Ngombeyarara. The air was thick with anticipation, especially when the red Rutendo Bus Company was parked at the pick-up point. Rutendo buses, owned by the Arcadia and Murehwa legend Mrs Rosie Edwards, were the flash ones. Brighter paintwork, cleaner interiors, and musical horns that went pfapfi pfipfaraaa phaphipfafaa! 🎺🎵Tsitsitsitsitsi 😝 Their newer “Funny Face” long-chassis AVM era, were just a little more comfortable. Ruredzo Motors, owned by Josephat Ruredzo, ran equally clean buses, though some were older DAF models,they were still reliable, still respectable. One of the most well-known drivers on our route was Mr Wood from Ardbennie. Catching his bus meant an eight-hour crawl to Njanja, a journey that takes barely three hours today,it was painfully slow, but unforgettable. One thing that always amused me at Mbare was the drama before departure. Engines revving, horns blaring, buses sounding ready to take off, only to realise it wasn’t the driver at all. It was the luggage loader, today’s hwindi, revving the engine purely to attract passengers. Nxaaaa! Once seated, the conductor would appear. Man bag slung over one shoulder, a BIC pen wedged in his mouth, moving sideways down the aisle like a seasoned dancer. Writing tickets, issuing change, and when he didn’t have enough change, calmly scribbling the balance owed on the corner of the ticket as a promise to settle later along the road,and another thing that fascinated me was the conductors ability to write tickets when the bus was in full flight on a gravel road.😂 Then the vendors boarded,one after another. Each with a rhythm, a chant, a voice-over that bordered on poetry.😂😂 An earring seller would glide down the aisle holding his stock aloft, singing out in a sultry voice, “Kune vasikana vakaborwa, kune vasikana vakaborwa… nzeve… mhete pano.” Translation would kill it, so I won’t even try 😂 Others sold shaving sticks aka mapadza endebvu, Minora razor blades, small mirrors or ‘ma looking glass” as they called them ,and other “essentials.” Then came the food sellers. Boiled mealies, boiled eggs, roasted or boiled peanuts. Funny how hunger always arrived the moment you sat on a bus. Soon the chewing started, even before take-off. Mealie cobs, eggs, fistfuls of nzungu. Before long, certain sections of the bus would be engulfed by suspicious emissions of what I can only describe as fartsuric acid, with toddlers unfairly taking the blame. Elders, meanwhile, would quietly pull quarter bottles of Cola Cane or BOLS brandy from jacket pockets and take a swig or two, even at that hour of the morning. Once the bus was finally full and the luggage neatly tied on the roof rack, the real driver would emerge from the crowd, climb aboard, rev the engine three or four times for effect, blast the horn one last time, and pull out of the terminus. Just like that, the journey had begun. The stories, the laughter, the easy camaraderie among complete strangers,ha! That was the magic,it was the vibe. And that is why those journeys live so vividly in my memory to this day. Pic Credit: Constance Mandishona In the pic the late Mr. Chodokufa a bus conductor at Rutendo Bus Services. #NjanjaDiaries

It is everybody’s favourite time of the week, Melani is back with another We Do Not Care Club announcement. She has outdone herself with this one! 😆🔥 #WDNC

Rest in peace, Patricia Routledge 🙏🏻 In memory of her, I encourage everyone to read these words of hers from February last year. Whether young or old, you're bound to get something out of it. ***** "I’ll be turning 95 this coming Monday. In my younger years, I was often filled with worry — worry that I wasn’t quite good enough, that no one would cast me again, that I wouldn’t live up to my mother’s hopes. But these days begin in peace, and end in gratitude. My life didn’t quite take shape until my forties. I had worked steadily — on provincial stages, in radio plays, in West End productions — but I often felt adrift, as though I was searching for a home within myself that I hadn’t quite found. At 50, I accepted a television role that many would later associate me with — Hyacinth Bucket, of Keeping Up Appearances. I thought it would be a small part in a little series. I never imagined that it would take me into people’s living rooms and hearts around the world. And truthfully, that role taught me to accept my own quirks. It healed something in me. At 60, I began learning Italian — not for work, but so I could sing opera in its native language. I also learned how to live alone without feeling lonely. I read poetry aloud each evening, not to perfect my diction, but to quiet my soul. At 70, I returned to the Shakespearean stage — something I once believed I had aged out of. But this time, I had nothing to prove. I stood on those boards with stillness, and audiences felt that. I was no longer performing. I was simply being. At 80, I took up watercolour painting. I painted flowers from my garden, old hats from my youth, and faces I remembered from the London Underground. Each painting was a quiet memory made visible. Now, at 95, I write letters by hand. I’m learning to bake rye bread. I still breathe deeply every morning. I still adore laughter — though I no longer try to make anyone laugh. I love the quiet more than ever. I’m writing this to tell you something simple: Growing older is not the closing act. It can be the most exquisite chapter — if you let yourself bloom again. Let these years ahead be your TREASURE YEARS. You don’t need to be famous. You don’t need to be flawless. You only need to show up — fully — for the life that is still yours. With love and gentleness, Patricia Routledge ***** Once more, rest in peace. 🤍

We lost Emmanuel too soon. He deserves to return home for a peaceful rest. Please consider donating to help with burial costs. Every bit counts. Share this to spread the word. gofund.me/b1ee239c