I know pain ,
I have felt her in my soul
Tasted her on my tongue
Her taste leaving behind
Bitterness and rage ,
Locked away in a cage ,
My story is written on one page
I have been broken

Shattered , I have been hopeless
With no dreams of tomorrow
Mine has been a tale of sorrow .

I know pain
Faithful she has been
To my body she would cling
Stripping me of joy
No voice would answer when I called
Pain has been my blanket in the cold ,
She came bearing empty promises
Of laughter and a good home
I have lost it all
A stranger to love I am
Happiness left just as fast as she came ,
I know pain
I may not know laughter but I do know pain
For I have stayed with her ,
Dined with her ,
Like a lover I am never without her ,
Her fingerprints are tattered on my skin ,
No soap can ever wash me clean
Of her marks
The sickening feel of her arrival ,
Forever in my mind
Her knock on the doors of my soul

Never gets old
Worn out
My lover pain
Has left me withered .

By Nonsikelelo Moyo

The post I Know the Pain~ By Nonsikelelo Moyo appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

I became my mother’s caregiver when I was just four years old.

My mother was from Opuwo, in the Kunene region of Namibia. When I was four, she became very ill. In our area, people strongly believed in witchcraft. They thought her sickness was caused by something supernatural, something that hospitals and doctors could not fix. She was stuck in bed for weeks, and she grew weaker every day.

One day, one of my mother’s nephews came to our village for a funeral. He saw how sick she was and knew she needed more than just medicine from a doctor. He suggested to my grandfather that he take my mother to live with him so she could get traditional treatment. My grandfather agreed, and the nephew said he would come back for her later.

Even after starting the traditional treatments, my mother’s health did not get better. On her good days, when she felt a little stronger, she would wash her clothes or give me a bath—things no one else would do for me. But those good days were rare.

The Journey to Find Help

One day, my mother decided we had to leave. She was very weak, but she took me with her to hitchhike to another village. This was where her own mother was from, and it was closer to the main road to Outjo, which made it easier to find a ride. We had no money, so we relied on the kindness of people we did not know.

We stayed in that village for a few days, waiting for a free ride. I remember one very hard day when my mother was so dizzy she could not stand. She asked me to cook porridge, a huge task for a four-year-old. As I struggled with the pot over the fire, an ostrich suddenly appeared and tried to eat our food. I was so scared that I ran into the house. When I looked back, the pot had tipped over, spilling our only meal. I cried from hunger and frustration.

Our luck changed when we were waiting near some stores. A woman who knew my mother came over and gave her N$10, which was a lot of money for us at the time. While they were talking, a car stopped.
The woman knew the driver and asked if he could give us a ride, explaining that we had no money. To
our surprise, he said yes.

Midnight in a Strange Town

The driver took us past Outjo all the way to Okakarara, the town nearest to where my mother’s nephew lived. We arrived at one in the morning with no place to sleep. The kind driver let us sleep in an old canopy outside his house. It was not much, but it kept us safe.

Early the next morning, we waited for the man to wake up. When he did, he asked my mother what we planned to do. She told him she was looking for her nephew who worked in the town. The man helped us find him, and soon my mother’s nephew came to take us to his home. At his house, we met another woman from my mother’s village. She was also there for traditional treatment for an illness. When she saw that my mother was much sicker than she was, this kind woman

washed our clothes and blankets and gave me a bath. I had not had one in days. She also cooked food for us. Our last meal had been breakfast the day before. Hunger was a constant part of our lives. Whenever I told my mother I was hungry, she would tell me, “Drink water” We accepted this without complaining.

The price of help

After three days, my mother’s nephew called the relative we were supposed to stay with, and that man came to get us. That was when our real struggle began. I now see it as a kind of modern slavery.

Even though my mother was sick, she was expected to do all the housework: laundry, cleaning, and cooking for her nephew and his family. The nephew did take her to a doctor and paid for her treatment, but in return, my mother had to work for him for free, with no end in sight.

The doctor found that my mother could not eat maize meal, the main food in our region. She could only have pasta, rice, meat, or milk. But the nephew said he would not regularly buy these more expensive foods. If there was no milk, she just did not eat. When there was milk, she would pour all of it into my porridge, leaving nothing for herself.

As my mother grew sicker from the hard work and lack of good food, I had to do even more. By the time I was six, I was washing her clothes and cooking for both of us.

School and Separation

When I turned seven, it was time for me to start school. My mother and I were sent to Okakarara to stay with her nephew’s son, who was the principal of the primary school I would attend.

Because my mother could not read or write, the only work she could find was as a domestic worker. She needed money for my school fees, so she took a job cleaning houses and looking after the children for one of my teachers. Her first full paycheck all went toward my education.

To earn more money and pay for the small outside room we lived in – which had only a toilet and no bathroom – my mother took on extra jobs. I helped by raking yards, and she washed clothes on weekends while working her main job during the week. We did all this just to have one meal a day and a roof over our heads. I slept on the floor of our little room and often got sick with the flu during the cold winters.

A Friend’s Kindness

I had a friend whose mother was also a teacher at my school. One day after school, she came home with me. When she saw how we lived, she told her mother. Her mother came to talk to me and asked if I would like to stay with their family on school days and come back to my mother on weekends. My mother agreed, hoping I would have a proper bed and regular meals. This only lasted for a month before the owner of our room became unhappy with the arrangement, and I had to go back to sleeping on the floor.

There were other small hurts, too. The principal, my mother’s nephew’s son, drove to school every morning with his wife and their two children. But he always left me behind. I had to take the bus to the very school where he was in charge. Even as a child, I wondered why he would not give me a ride, but I knew not to ask an adult such a question. This was our routine until the school year ended.

The Final Separation

During the December holidays, my mother’s nephew bought a farm and planned to move there in January. When the time came, they moved to the farm, and my mother went with them to continue her unpaid work. But there was no place for me there.

That is how I ended up being sent to boarding school, separated from the mother I had cared for since I was four years old.

To read Jasana’s emotional and inspiring story about her experiences at boarding school, click on the following link:

Growing Up In A Boarding School By Jasana Uandia

By: Jasana

Instagram: Jasana Ijemue Uandia

Facebook: Jasana Ijemue Uandia

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My life changed forever when I discovered that I am HIV positive. The news came during my pregnancy with my youngest child. At first, I was filled with confusion and denial, and I felt betrayed by my partner. It turned out that the virus was transmitted by my baby’s father, whom I was dating at the time. I already have two kids who are now young teenagers, and I never thought something like this could happen to me or my loved ones.

My biggest concern was that my baby would be born with the virus. However, I didn’t know much about HIV, as I come from a rural area where the stigma is louder than literacy. So, I had to seek help from the nurses at the clinic. Unfortunately, those nurses didn’t treat me with respect either. They looked at me and said that I was reckless for getting pregnant knowing that I am HIV positive. Their words were hurtful and made me feel like I was worthless, unwelcome and unseen.

I haven’t told anyone else except my mom and sister about my condition because of the humiliation I experienced from the allocated health  professionals and the fear of being judged. Their attitudes made me realize that nobody else cares, especially those who’ve never been in my situation. In this world, I have realised that being poor means that your life isn’t valuable. People make assumptions and judge you based on their beliefs, and nothing you say or do can change their minds.

The only mistake I made was trusting my partner without taking the necessary precautions, and unfortunately, my life has been changed forever. However, my baby was born HIV-negative, and I can’t explain how that happened. It was a miracle and we give thanks to God for the divine protection over my daughter. God has been with me all along. Even when things get hard, and it feels like there’s no way out, God gives me strength and guides me towards the right path.

Living with HIV is a challenge that I have to face every day. I started taking ARVs, and my viral load has been suppressed since then. However, it’s not easy to live with the stigma that comes with the virus. People often judge me and treat me differently once they find out about my condition. It’s hard to explain to them that being HIV positive does not define who I am as a person.

My advice to everyone is not to trust others too much, especially when it comes to sexual relationships. Protect yourself. Encourage your partner to get tested for HIV with you before engaging in sexual intercourse. Always use protection, especially condoms, to reduce the chance of getting infected with sexually transmitted diseases. It’s crucial to get educated about HIV and AIDS, as it helps to prevent the spread of the virus.

Living with HIV is not easy, but it’s possible to live a healthy and fulfilling life despite the challenges. I hope my story can inspire and encourage others who may be going through similar situations. Remember, you are not alone, and there is always hope.

By: Anonymous

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Dear Younger Me: A Letter to the Kid Who Got Me Here Against All Odds.

June 15 marked my 29th birthday. As I begin this final year of my twenties, I want to take a moment to connect with you and revisit the conversations we missed or pushed aside.

For the first time in my life, I’ve become quite skilled at wearing a mask…, one that hides the emotions I struggled to express, no matter how hard I tried. This facade, over time, has become my haven.

Let’s go back to the day you were born. Mom told me how terrified she was. With no access to proper healthcare, she had to give birth alone on a dark, cold winter day at home. As I reflect on this, it shows me that somehow, from the very first moment I entered this world, I was fighting to survive, facing the brutal realities of extreme poverty. To make matters worse, by the time I was just nine months old, I had already lost my father… Well, you know all this, but for the sake of the story, let me continue.

Fast forward to your first day of school: a six-year-old girl walking two hours to school and two hours back every single day, barefoot and wearing a hand-me-down uniform that was far too big. Through rain or shine, winter or scorching summer heat, those days remain vivid in my memory. Do you know why? Because they haunt me every night as I try to sleep. It was a nightmare. Yet throughout all those years, one thing stayed constant in my heart: prayer. From primary school through high school, my faith and hopes for a better future never wavered. They carried me forward through fear and trauma.

I want you to know that I remember the sacrifices you made for us to be here today. Your entire life was a fight. While others enjoyed their childhood, you were busy trying to escape yours.

Then, one day, everything changed. You received an acceptance letter to the university of your dreams, for the degree you had always wanted. What a moment that was. It felt like every prayer you had whispered over the past fifteen years was finally being answered.

But just a few weeks later, all that hope was shattered. Because on the 31st of May 2016, the final biopsy and scan results came back positive for a soft tissue sarcoma cancer diagnosis. Just like that, you had to drop out. Yet, through prayer, hard work, and sheer determination, you fought your way back into university a year later, even while undergoing chemotherapy and battling the effects of the illness. Your selflessness during that time was nothing short of heroic. You kept saying, “God, please give me just enough strength to finish my degree and provide a better life for Mom and my disabled sibling.”

Looking back, I’m grateful you didn’t give up. I know it was unbearably hard, and that’s why I need you to hear how proud I am of you. You were stronger than I ever imagined possible.

Since your diagnosis, you’ve faced multiple recurrences, yet still, you completed your internship and community service. And now, you’re a registered pharmacist and a writer. You proved time and time again that anything is possible if you work hard and trust God while doing it.

For the past six months, things have been the hardest, and each day feels like an impossible challenge. We’re going through a difficult phase in this journey called life, and even though it feels like we’re failing in every way, I wanted to take a moment to tell you how proud and grateful I am. It’s an honor to know you’ve always had my back. You are strong, courageous, and a survivor of so many battles.

In the future, I hope you can set that mask aside and allow yourself to feel everything without apology. Embrace your raw, messy, imperfect self. You are worth it. You are enough. I see you, and I love you, always.

By: Mutshidzi Kwinda

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