From Ashes to beauty: My life your Miracle Workshop

They say I should have known better or I should have seen it coming because I’m a woman.

They say I trusted too soon. They say I should have given it time because Im a woman .

Im not told about second chances and learning from my mistakes. I should do everything by the book because I’m a woman.

I have mastered how to cry behind closed doors and at night when everyone is asleep because I’m a woman

I can’t tell my story and share my experiences because I might be seen as loose and “munhu asina kurairwa”.

I should contain my feelings they say. They say I can’t tell my story because I will chase away possible suitors.

Yet again Im shoved in the dark with my tears only, so that the possible suitor can bring cows home to satisfy “them”. Yet my misery in the first place was brought by a man.

When I tell my story they say I’m bitter. They say I should move on. They say Im crazy. Because Im a woman I should sit in silence and watch him tormenting other victims.

Just because I’m a woman in a world run by men Im supposed to take it all in. Sit at tables with my tormentor, have intellectual discussions with him because I’m a woman. How do I win the intellectual debates in front of an audience when he has already conquered my soul when noone was looking. Yet I continue to fight because Im a woman

Koze kube nini ngithule. Inga vakuru vanoti mwana asinga chemi anofira mumbereko.

How Im i supposed to raise a powerful generation and birth warriors when I cant fight for my own justice.

Because I’m a woman and I have power in me, I want to spread my wings, sharpen “umkhonto wami” and fight for my dreams. Im tired of being silenced

I will speak about how he hurt me, I will speak about how he beat me. I will speak on how he forced himself onto me. I will speak about how I wanted out and he forced me to stay. I will talk about how he brought other women into our matrimonial home and my aunts told me to stay because Im a woman

Because I have the power in me to raise a generation I will speak. I know they will want to silence me inorder to protect him but I will speak. They say I will ruin his reputation but what about mine?

Because I’m a woman I will stand tall and speak. I will speak on behalf of the woman in the asylum. Whom they said she was crazy because she stood against him, instead of listening to her they protected the perpetrator.

Because Im a strong woman I will tell my story. Gone are the days I was afraid of being judged. I’m a warrior ngizothwala umkhonto wami till I conquer.

I never met you. I never saw the blue lines. I never knew that you existed deep inside me.

Stomach cramps and blood oozing out that is how you said hello and goodbye. The heavy clots was a way of you letting me know you lived inside me for a month.

When the doctor said sorry for your loss, I was in shock. Then she realised I didn’t know what was happening. I felt pain in my heart, and so hopeless. I wished I could take back all the blood into my womb and save you.

If for four weeks I had known of your existence I would have done things differently. Or I would have cherished those four weeks of your existence.

Were you a boy or a girl? Only heavens knows. The day I knew of your existence is encrypted in my heart and every month I remember it.

If you had lived, I would have loved you unconditionally. Provided for you, told you stories and read for you. I wouldn’t have thought twice of keeping you.

How could I have said no to an opportunity of having my own family. You alone would have been my family.

We never met but I love you and I’m not ashamed to grieve for you. I would have loved to hold you and kiss you goodnight. But God had other plans for us.

I sit and imagine how you would have looked like. How I would have raised you, things I would have taught you. But the heavens knew better.

You are the angel that decided not to walk on this earth. You turned that down and opted for heaven. You will always be loved and cherished.

Each day I learn to accept what happened. Your mama is a warrior, each time she falls she rises and conquers. Im rising from this and continuing with the struggle.

Happy Women’s Day? Who is it directed to? You stab me behind closed doors and in the eyes of the world you say “happy women’s day”.

How am I supposed to be happy when inside I am bleeding. I cant clearly read the message “happy women’s day” on my phone because of the blue eye you gave me last night.

Im supposed to go with the flow you say. My soul is stagnant, everything inside me is dead. The rivers inside me have dried up and nothing flows out of me.

I’m supposed to stand besides you and attest to the whole world that you know the meaning of “women’s day”, because you are eloquent. Yet my body and soul bears evidence that you have no clue of what it means.

Shouldn’t you be saying happy brutality day? This day reminds me of the woman I was before our paths clashed. A happy soul, I was. Now I’m the greatest actor of all times, I can fake a life, a smile and happiness and be the epitome of womanhood yet deep down Im wounded and screaming in pain.

On paper you understand the value of women. Yet in reality, your anger and childhood fury is quenched by crushing and tearing the souls of women.

Happy Women’s Day you say to me. These words have lost their meaning to me. What is there to celebrate when I’m a wounded soldiers and you continue to pour lemon juice on them wounds.

I’m supposed to support your every dream yet you are breaking me down. I fail to understand how you can stand firm on a broken foundation. Maybe you gain your strength from crushing my soul.

Happy women’s day the world says. Im supposed to be happy to hear this but these words have lost their essence in my life.

Maybe I should celebrate this day because that’s the only day Im exempted from your brutality.

Happy women’s day, maybe happy remembrance day. A day to remember the woman I was once. To remember all the dreams you crushed. To remember all the wasted years in your hands. Once I was an eagle now Im fragile and wounded. The sound of “happy women’s day” from him sounds like an insult.

If you truly knew the meaning of these words, you would have reciprocated my love. You would have protected me until my wounded wings could fly again and be the eagle that I am. But when you saw my wounded wings and you saw an easy prey. Yet you tell the world you understand the importance of women.

“Happy women’s day” he says with a smile and my heart sinks and deep down I pray that one day he might understand the meaning of these words.

I have a lot of unanswered questions? Questions that I keep to myself. Is it a sign that maybe I should let go, is it hormonal, are my instincts right or its the fear of the unknown. Am I looking for signs that are not there. If this is right why do I feel so hollow inside, why am I afraid to let my guard down. I wish there was a guide, I wish I could read minds, I wish I could tell the future see everything before it begins but Alas am not psychic nor am I a fortune teller. Am I reading well the signs? Or am being clouded by my emotions. Well, all I can do is scribble my thoughts down, this the only way I know how to deal with my doubts. How do I tell if this is not deceipt galvanised in what my heart yearns for? They say the heart wants what it wants but I have learnt that at times the heart only choose to see the roses yet I still get pricked by the thorns. Yes, I still carry the wounds and the scars from the last I got pricked. Am I clouded by the pain of the thorns that I can not see the beautiful petals and I fail to breathe the sweet aroma?
But whose judgment can I trust if not mine? Do we learn from past pain or it clouds us from seeing the beauty of the present and the future. It is hard to take another leap without knowing what’s ahead. What if there is a dungeon? What if there is everything that I have longed for. Do I go blindly or question everything, but where is the joy in questioning everything? Do I believe everything I am being told or I just seal my ears with wax? I need a guide or shouldn’t my heart be the one to guide me? What if all I hear are lies? Trying to entice me with lies..but wait what if it is the truth? Here I am again asking questions with no one to answer. I cant not answer myself.

Are these warning signs or just me impatiently waiting for the other shoe to drop? So I wonder, is it left or right, above or beneath? Well, I have learnt a long time ago to confide in my little paper and pen. Well, this is the only happy land that I go to, my happy land since I was a little girl because of her stuttering, who lisped? My pen and paper were my Lala land, not stuttering or lisping can be tracked on paper and yes this is still my perfect. When words fail me, the pen and paper got me. Growing up, I learnt to write short stories, letters about what I am feeling or when I need to express myself to people. Today I don’t want a short story or a letter, I just want to scribble. No, this is not addressed, anyone.
This feeling of uncertainty, I loathe with a passion, I hate this opaque wall in front of me worsened everything. How did I get here, or rather how do I get out of this, is it a ladder that I need or a flashlight. Well you know, I like to be in charge, to know when I take the next step, how I take the next and why I should take the next step. I’m that girl with a perfectly written list, the list I follow religiously. Well here I am looking for my list to guide me, I cant find it. How did I get here without my list? Do I take a step, or let the flow lead me or do I take time out to jot another list. They say time waits for no man, what if my train leaves whilst am taking time out to jot my list. But they also say what is yours will always find its way back to you, so maybe yes and yes indeed I can take the time out so I can tread on familiar grounds. Oh boy, here I am again asking a lot of questions. Should I take a leap or wait for my hand to be held and led? How did I even get here? Feels like when am trying to go backward am stumbling and well it’s the same when I am trying to go forward. So should I just freeze the moment?

How do I freeze this moment? Freeze my emotions, freeze everything around me? Should I close my eyes just for a few minutes maybe when I open them I will see clearer? What if I am only hearing what I want to hear or I am only being told what they think I want to hear? How fo I validate the truth? Am I too trusting? Am I too analytical? Am I uptight? Are these good or bad traits?

Well, Lala land this is where I put my pen down and feel happy that I have asked all these questions.

At the end of the day I remember that He who created me neither sleeps nor slumbers, He will guide me. He will perfect all that concerns me. He is the one who gave me the gift of my little paper n pen where I find solace when I start stuttering..

From Ashes to Beauty: my life your miracle workshop.

I have tried to keep my mind busy today but I have failed.Today has taken me back to the 9th of April 2014. The day before Ntombi had me to prepare a meal for her and I brought it to her in the hospital on the 9th of April. We went for a scan and on our way back God . I took your last breath after I had fed you the meal you had requested. I asked you why you were rolling your eyes and you said you not going to leave me alone but God had his own way. You left me all alone sis and those vanotaurisa (those who talk a lot) when they give examples of people without siblings vano nongedzera ini (they point at me). Ntombizodwa Eugene Matina I miss you sis. You ask me to promise you that I will take care of the kids and Im trying. There’s is a lot i would want to tell you if only i cld get one more day with you. We had accepted Bridgette’s death and said ts u n me against all but now its only me agnst it all.

I do not mourn only you but everyone that I have lost, Mom, Dad, Bridgette and You.

My thesis on waitrons was my own crazy way to honour. Till we meet again sis.

Thank you for the children that you gave me.

Still I rise

From Ashes to beauty

4:33 am is the time. I want to sleep but I am failing to. I go through my diaries looking for what to share on this blog. Yes there will be many extracts from my diaries I owned from a young age. Before I go any further, I am a keeper, I struggle with throwing away stuff. And above all since I was a teen I made a choice I would write a book about my life. So here I am blogging, my baby steps to the book. As a young child I had faith that whatever was occurring at the moment was a passing phase. This blog is not an easy step for an introvert but well I have never settled for dry grass, I love my grass green. Green grass has to be watered frequently, so here I am watering mine.

So am reading through the diary I wrote at 14. When Dad had just passed on. When my life had changed. As I go through the pages, I start crying. I feel sorry for this little girl, I close my eyes and all the events unroll before me. I am like little girl its gonna get worse than this, brace yourself this is the beginning. Oh you are saying Bridgette is your pillar, just four more years she will be gone and Ntombi too. Little did I know then that losing dad was not going to be the last time I lose a loved one.

One thing that I wish when I open these pages in my diary, in my heart, in my memories, is if I was a time traveller. The now me would have been able to encourage the hopeless me who thought the future was bleak. I would have said to the younger me that,”It does stop raining little Tina and the sun will shine so beautiful on you.” But Alas, am no time traveller.

I realise that am not yet ready to share the hurts and the pains yet. Yes its too soon. Let me unfold step by step where it all began. Everything has its genesis. We even say God is the beginning and the end. He who made me beautiful and wonderful also made my beginning. Oh yes, the beginning of how it all started. A beginning that is made from my human memory and what I have gathered through my family members. Yes I did research as well of who I am, where I come from. I will talk more about this in my next blog.

I have an hour to sleep now.

From Ashes to beauty: My life his workshop.

This is a pic of me. Taken in 1990. I am the last born in a family of three girls. Born to a policeman from Chirumanzu and a daughter of a nurse from Mpopoma. Mine is a story of a girl born to parents of different tribes, Shona and Ndebele.

I later discovered that i wasn’t the third born to my parents. The real third born, Progress died when she was only two months. I have never met her. My parents decided that Progress was a story never to be discussed. I only became aware of this when I was 16 through my grandmother. So I later knew I was my parents’ fourth born#third born.

I was born in the month of August in 1989 on the 27th. From my 2 siblings I was the only one born in August, both were born in November. As a kid I so wished to be a November baby as I thought it was a sign of belonging. Alas, being born to Hugh and Skhangele was the only thing I needed to belong to this family.

Mom was a Christian, and christianity is what she taught us from a young age.. A good cook and baker she was, and we all inherited that.

Dad was a policeman, his job he loved so much and would appear in the newspaper here and there. He was quite and only shared jokes (nyambo) when he was tipsy. “You look like your father, You talk like your father, You stand like your father” those were the words that shaped my childhood. Words I was once ashamed of but now I brag of. I am my father’s daughter born at Lady Rodwell Martenity Centre in Bulawayo on a Sunday.

I was named after my father’s sister and my second name I was given by my maternal grandmother and its spelling spoilt by my Shona dad for it is a Ndebele name. Growing up I didn’t like my first name, I tried changing it at school and use my second name then boom my birth certificate would spoil it. I felt this name made me feel like I wasn’t original, I was a duplicate of someone. I wanted to feel different, oh i love being unique, then I realised my Aunt’s name is unique and the love story began.

Sostina Spiwe Matina is my name and welcome to my blog. Yes Spiwe, its not Siphiwe and I love it like that. From Ashes to beauty is how God transformed me and He made my life His workshop.

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton