Junior letters from America – (vol 5)

I’m a Zimbabwean American and that’s all I can say at the moment via this podcast:

The UNnited States of America and the world at large provide me a front row seat to this poker game called life; sometimes the absolute and unequivocal black experiences at the Barbershop are pronounced at a black barbershop called Kingdom Cutz in good old Spartanburg, SC —where the conservative reside under palm trees stretching via Florence, Charleston and even to the more expensive Hilton Head resorts.

The USA taught me to understand some level of unity, peace & freedom but also to never forget where you came from.

Well hey, I was born in city called Bulawayo, Zimbabwe —during a civil war similar to the pandemic that we all face now.

Boy, was-it-a-war, a brutal bloody one —war that was ultimately tribal and “speared on” by black and white lines of Highlander blood drawn in the sand, and historical artifacts say Ushewokunze played for the Saints! Not the ones that lost 9-0 yesterday. How shall each of the Saints look their wives in the eye?

I choose to be a writer because I get to feel others’ pain and plainly just try to understand their plight. It’s mostly about seeking to understand the issues of the poor, marginalized and disenfranchised. How come we don’t five a fuck about them? Why?

What the heck dude? Do you know what the Black homeless woman was crying about today Does she have a mask, let alone tampons to relieve herself. We don’t even know because we don’t care.

What troubles does she face today in Jordan’s city?

We should write more and pray more for the people who need him the most right now.

Before we say good bye for now, please keep safe and listen to the authorities. Numbers don’t lie, so let the the first responders and us the Warriors do our jobs, coz we still ain’t got the the answers like Ye said to Sway:


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