Power to the People!



The Mourner’s Dilemma

What happens when your neighbor’s family dies while you mourn the death of your daughter?

What happens when in your time of grief, the sorrow of another overwhelms your plight to pettiness?

When your pain is not pain enough, when your ache is not ache enough to compare.


Do you keep quiet; do you cup your tears and carry them across the fence to those more deserving?

Do you close your doors, shut your curtains and pretend not to hear or see the wailers next door, just so you can exclusively grieve your own?

Or do you mourn for both, for all, for the one you loved and for the ones you knew?


What do you do?, she was your daughter, she was caught up in mischief but she was still your own?

If you do not mourn for her, no one else will because no one else understands your love for her, your own.

And who are they? Those who have died at a funeral, could they not have chosen another time, another day, that you may have reserved tears for them too after taking care of your own?


But death does not care; it picks the one here, and picks them all there.

In the end they are all precious souls, they were all loved, and they were all painfully taken away.

So as you mourn your daughter, mourn also for your neighbors, even more because of the greater gravity of their loss.

For we fight a common enemy, who has robbed both sides of the fence of those that they treasured.


More than 2000 souls, treasured beings who meant the world to someone, were massacred by religious extremists.

Across the fence, 17 men and women were gunned down by terrorists who claimed religious vindication.

For the 17 they mourn, they shout on the rooftops, they tear their shirts, beat their breasts and gather en-masse.

Yet the 2000 lie dead, mourned only by their families… the few who survived.


A great part of the world has turned a blind eye to them, will hear them not, not until they finish crying for their own.

For such is the mourner’s dilemma, such are the politics of tears, and the hidden hierarchies of deaths.

It is what happens when your neighbor’s family dies while you mourn the death of your daughter.




Mukondi, they did not tell you? in the morning you will be hungry again.
That the pot is empty before it is full and that it is full before it is empty.
That you will work for your pay only so you can pay for your work.
That from the lives of your children will yield the pain of your death.
That Chikomba, your friend who was the witness at your marriage, will be the cause of your divorce. Continue reading “Mukondi”

Featured post


Girls' Globe

My name is Yemurai Nyoni and I’m a young man aged 23 from Zimbabwe. At many points in my brief history as an activist for women and girls health I have been asked one question, “Why do you care?” My family, friends and colleagues have asked me to explain why I’m so passionate about changing the development status of women and girls, particularly as a young African man. To be honest in my society it’s unusual for a young man to look out for the interests of women, it’s simply unmanly and seen as a sign of weakness. I don’t really know how I landed in this space but I’m very confident of the reasons why I decided to stay.


In the words of Her Excellency Dr. Nkosazana Dlamini Zuma, the Chairperson of the African Union Commission

Women form half of the world population and give birth to the other half.

Development is…

View original post 858 more words

Featured post

Create a free website or blog at

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: