Poem By : Nonny Vee

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The 20 y/o girl I used to be.

If I could find you now, where would you be? In the sterile, chilled air of the oncology ward, listening to the steady drip-drip-drip of the poison that is also your salvation? Or are you in a university library, your head swimming with formulas and theories, a beanie pulled low over the hair that is no longer there, trying to convince the world and yourself that you are just like any other student?

I see you. I see you with a clarity that time has carved into my bones. I am writing to you from a decade in your future. Ten years. You, who was told to get your affairs in order, who was handed a hospice referral like a life sentence. You would not believe that we are still here.

But first, I need to tell you that I miss you. I know how strange that sounds. You are right here, in my memories, in the very blood that still courses through my veins. But I miss your specific kind of fire. I miss the way you set your jaw when the doctor said the word “cancer.” I miss the sheer, terrifying ambition that made you get out of a hospital bed, dizzy from chemo, and walk onto campus. You saw that degree as a golden ticket, the only way out of the poverty that haunted our childhood. It was more than a degree… It was a promise to ourselves, our family, a shield, a future. And when the diagnosis came, it felt like that promise was being ripped from your hands. You couldn’t accept that. So you entered a tug-of-war with death itself, with a blurry, uncertain future as the prize.

You were so beautiful in your defiance. It wasn’t a loud, dramatic beauty. It was a quiet, stubborn one. The beauty of showing up. The beauty of your stubborn faith.

Do you remember the physical cost? The weight loss that made your clothes hang like ghosts on your frame? The neuropathy in your fingers and feet that made typing an essay feel like climbing a mountain? The physical disability that left you mourning for what was once there? The exhaustion that was more than just tiredness… it was a lead blanket on your soul, a gravity seven times stronger than anyone else’s. You didn’t care. Or rather, you cared, but you refused to let it be the boss of you. Day after day, with the veins filled with the red devil’s poison, you hopped to class with your crutches – every step you took screamed I am here for a purpose – and a purpose you fulfilled.

All you wanted was to live your life as if you weren’t dying. As if you weren’t, at nineteen, being handed pamphlets on palliative care. You went to class with a port attached to your body. You studied between bursts of nausea and chest pains. You laughed with friends, your laughter sometimes a thin veil over a bedrock of fear. You were a masterpiece of courage, and you didn’t even know it. You thought you were just surviving – after all, you had no choice (so you thought).

I need you to know something. That fight you were in? You won.

You got your degree. You finished it in record time, a fact that still astounds me to date. You defied every grim statistic, every whispered prognosis. You lived to see the other side of that “blurry future.” The woman I am today is built on the foundation you laid with your pain, your courage, your sheer, bloody-minded will.

We have come so far. We have achieved so much. We have loved, we have traveled, we have built a life. There are so many blessings, moments of joy so sharp and sweet they still make you weep. I list them in my head sometimes, like counting jewels… Waking up without pain. A cup of coffee that tastes good. The sun on my face. The degree, framed on the wall. These are the victories you made possible.

And yet. This is the hard part to write. This is the part where I have to be as honest with you as you were with yourself in that hospital room. I am tired, my love. I am so, so exhausted.

The battle didn’t end when the scans came back clear. It just changed shape and location. Now, it’s a different kind of war. It’s the war of aftermath. The war of “what now?” The war of chronic pain that has overstayed its welcome, of hormones that rage like a storm inside me, medications with side effects that feel like a new disease. It’s the endless parade of hospital visits… not for crisis, but for maintenance. For monitoring. It’s the isolation that comes from living in a body that has been to war while your peers’ bodies have been on vacation.

Some days, the lead blanket of exhaustion you wore temporarily has become my permanent state. I tell myself, “Think positively… You’re alive…” But my body doesn’t listen. The pain doesn’t listen. The negative energy is a bubble I can’t pop, and it’s not easy to escape. Some mornings, the greatest achievement is the Herculean effort it takes to move my limbs from the bed to the floor.

I look for you in these moments. I search for that nineteen-year-old who fought death for a chance to sit in a lecture hall. I long for her strength. I feel like I’ve lost her, that the years have sanded her down into this weary, overwhelmed woman. I never thought, after all this time, that the battle would feel so familiar – like moving in circles.

But here is what I am learning, from my vantage point ten years ahead of you. Your strength didn’t vanish. It transformed. Your fight then was external, against a visible enemy… a malignant tumor, a disease. It was a sprint of sheer will. My fight now is more internal. It’s a marathon against the echoes of that war. It’s the management of the fallout. And my dear, a marathon requires a different kind of endurance. It requires pacing. It requires knowing that it’s okay to walk sometimes. To know that it is okay to take one step at a time. To rest when need be.

You fought to build a life. Now, I am learning how to live in it – as I am now, now as what I thought I would be now.

When you chose education over surrender, you weren’t just being stubborn. You were making a statement: “My life is mine.” You were claiming your identity back from the disease. I need to do that again, now. I need to find small, daily ways to claim my life from the pain, the fatigue, the overwhelm, the treatments, the recurrences… all of it.

Maybe it’s not about finding your old strength, but about recognizing that the strength I have now is just as valid. The strength to rest without guilt. The strength to say, “I am not okay today,” and to mean it. The strength to mourn… for the beautiful, ambitious 19-year-old you were, and for the woman we thought we would become. It’s okay to mourn them. It’s necessary. They are beautiful ghosts, and we must honor them before we can fully embrace the woman we have become.

You were a warrior in the bright light of crisis. I am a gardener in the quiet, slow dawn of survival, tending to the scarred but fertile soil you left me.

So, thank you. Thank you for fighting so hard for this future, even when it felt hopeless. Thank you for every class you attended, every page you turned, every tear you swallowed. You did it. You gave us a life. I won’t promise you that it will all be easy from here. That would be a lie. But I can promise you this… it is definitely worth it. The joy is worth the pain. The peace is worth the struggle. And the love is worth the loss.

You taught me that the will to live is not just about the heart beating in your chest, but about the soul firing in your eyes. You taught me that life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass… it’s about learning to dance in the rain, even if the dance is slow and painful.

When I can’t get out of bed, I will try to remember the feel of a textbook in your hands. When the pain is overwhelming, I will remember the fire in your belly that burned hotter than any fever. I will draw a line from your courage then to my perseverance now.

We are the same person, you and I. The same relentless and stubborn spirit in different seasons of the same storm. You are not a stranger I’ve lost. You are the seed from which I grew. I am still here because you refused to give up. And I, in your honor, will refuse to give in.

With all my love, and all the strength you lent me,
Your Older Self

Story written by: Mutshidzi

The post Missing Her~By Mutshidzi appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

I grew up in the Cape Flats, a place where skin was a map of worth, and mine was written in the darkest ink. My hair, thick, untamed, spiraled toward the heavens—was branded as a curse, the emblem of poverty. From the beginning, my parents whispered warnings: “You will not look like the rest in your class.” They tried to prepare me for the jeers, for the loneliness. But nothing could shield me from the sting of small fists and sharp words, the daily crucifixion of a child whose only crime was to carry the color of her ancestors.

In our streets, light skin was worshiped like a fragile god, and straight hair held the throne. The children around me were already disciples of a history that had brainwashed their families into self-denial. Teachers tried to remind us that we were all Africans, yet their words fell into soil already poisoned. Parents hissed back: “Our children are not African—they are coloured.” And the lie continued to blossom, strangling truth like weeds in dry ground.

By the time I entered high school, my body itself had become a shadow that boys recoiled from. None dared to walk beside me, as though my presence would stain them. Some spoke their cruelty aloud, saying they could never bear children with me, for their offspring would look like “Bantus”—their word for black, wielded like a blade. Their rejection, strangely, became my refuge. Where others sought affection, I found sanctuary in silence, pouring my exile into journals. Line by line, I began to stitch my own destiny, my eyes fixed on the faraway gates of the University of Cape Town.

From Grade 1 to Grade 7, my childhood was a battlefield. The blows of classmates carved wounds not only in my skin but in my spirit. There were mornings when I begged the heavens to release me from school, when despair wrapped itself around me like a shroud. Yet my parents armed me differently. My mother, warrior in her own right, would say: “The  weak fight violence with violence. The strong fight with the Word of God, and with words on paper.”

And so I chose the weapon of the unseen. In secrecy, I became a soldier of ink, fighting not with fists but with sentences, waging war in silence. My scars became my scripture, and my journal, the altar where I laid down every pain.

Story by: Lendy

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I grew up in a small, run-down house on the village outskirts of Thohoyandou, a town where hope often felt like a luxury we couldn’t afford. Money was always scarce. My mother, a single parent with no steady job, worked tirelessly, taking whatever odd jobs she could find, just to keep food on the table for our family of eight. No matter how hard she worked, it was never enough. The walls of our home felt like they were closing in on us, the weight of poverty pressing down every single day. But deep inside me, even as a child, there was a stubborn flame of hope. I refused to believe this was all life had for me.

School became my refuge. From the first grade, I clung to books like they were lifelines. Reading and journaling weren’t just hobbies, they were my escape, my way of dreaming beyond the four cracked walls of our house. At night, I’d lie on the thin traditional grass woven mats I shared with my siblings, staring up at the roof where the cracks stretched like spiderwebs, and whisper to myself, “I’m going to make it. I won’t stay here forever.” That dream wasn’t just a wish, it was a survival instinct. If I didn’t believe in something better, I wasn’t sure how I’d survive, if at all.

Years later, when I received that college scholarship, it felt like the universe had finally answered my prayers. I remember clutching that acceptance letter, my hands shaking, tears blurring my vision. A young Black woman from a family that barely scraped by, with no blueprint for success… I had done it. It was more than just an opportunity, it was a revolution. For the first time, I could taste freedom, from poverty, from the small-town limits, from the voices that whispered, “People like us don’t get to win.”

Graduating with my pharmacy degree was another milestone, another victory. I had chosen this path, because it promised stability, because I wanted to prove to myself and the world that I was capable of more than what my beginnings suggested. But reality hit hard. Every “entry-level” job demanded “experience” I didn’t have. The doors kept closing.

Now, in my late twenties, I’m still fighting. Some days, the exhaustion is so heavy I can barely move. The dream of building my mom a real home, of giving her the comfort she deserves, sometimes feels like it’s fading. And in my weakest moments, I wonder: Was I foolish to believe so much in myself? Does a comfortable life really exist?

But then, I remember.
I remember the little girl who read books by candlelight because the electricity was cut off. The little girl who walked miles to school under extreme weather conditions without shoes, determined to learn. The young woman who refused to let rejection letters define her. That fire inside me hasn’t died. It can’t die. Because this isn’t just my story, it’s the story of so many of us who keep pushing forward even when the world says “No”.

I won’t give up. I won’t lose hope. Not now. Not ever.

By: Mutshidzi

The post When All You’ve Ever Known Is Poverty~ By Mutshidzi appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

Life can be challenging, but it is essential to remember that nothing stays permanently. And here comes a personal experience I would love to share.

Things were not in my favor when I completed high school. The pass marks were too low to allow me to join any University. The cost of qualifying for the tests to raise my grades was too high. Thinking about how my parents have been struggling to pay for my school fees broke my heart, seeing that I could not make them proud. I regarded myself as a failure in life. I lost hope, and my dreams faded away.

Spending a year at home was long enough to make me think of marriage in some ways. But then I asked myself, will I be able to handle the family at such a young age, without a career or any side hustle job to meet my needs? It was like the fire was burning from the inside, waiting for an explosion outside. Fortunately, my relatives were happier with me staying home without doing anything productive. Somehow, I convinced my parents and tried to pursue my studies. It was the hardest decision to take, “going for a diploma course which I may have taken immediately after the basic certificate level, now going back for it after three years of struggles. Studying three years ahead was a total of 6 years before I pursued a degree for three years. What kind of risk is this?” I took a while before agreeing, but eventually, I blended in.

After a year of studying, I failed one of the studies, and I was supposed to retake the subject for the whole year before commencing the second year of my diploma. Though it was not my fault this time, things were messy in some ways I cannot explain, but I was very heartbroken. “How am I going to face my family and tell them that I failed again?” I felt like the universe was against me. I lost hope, faith and love in myself. At that moment, I saw darkness; miracles emerged with a bright light. I received a message from the college, which I once applied for but could not report due to complicated circumstances. I convinced my heart to give myself the last chance to try it. Remember, if I go for another diploma, I was about to count seven years down before reaching my dream of having a degree, but I gave it a try anyway.

Some of my friends said that I was too old to study at that level, and others said that it was better that I find a man and get married right away, but deep down in my heart, I knew what I was dying for. I got admission and started afresh with another diploma. Things went well this time as I passed with flying colors. Being at the college, I discovered that I had a passion for doing community outreaches and managed to organize successful charities. I’m currently studying for my first degree with great hopes for myself. I have trained my mind not to give up, even if there are plenty of reasons to do so. I believe that I was born with a purpose to fulfill. When I get tired, I take a break, not a turnover. Beautiful things are ahead of me. I believe.

I hope you learnt something.

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My name is Tandzile Dlamini, aka Tandzy Dee. I am 28 years old and from the kingdom of Eswatini, formerly known as Swaziland. I am a content creator, digital marketer, entrepreneur, and freelance model. I’m also a daughter and an aunt to a nephew and a niece. I have decided to share my story with the world because I hope my story will inspire other young women as well. I’ve had my fair share of struggles and hardships in life to be where I am today. I had to fight; I also had to stay strong because it hasn’t been easy.

My life after finishing high school was quite complicated; every school leaver hopes to either find a job or further their studies at university, but for me, that never happened. I’ve been job hunting for almost seven years without luck, which made me lose hope. That was also a reason for my depression. Due to my marks, I didn’t qualify for the university I wanted to attend, and my dream of being a nurse was shattered. Imagine the pain, frustration, and stress of not being employed and not being in tertiary education; it took a toll on me, and I was depressed and hopeless.

My dreams of furthering my studies didn’t die; I still held onto them. In April 2024, an opportunity arose from a non-profit organisation called Junior Achievement Eswatini in partnership with MTN Skills Academy ESWATINI, which empowers youth in education and business by providing free digital courses, where we had access to computers and the Internet. We finished our courses and graduated on the 28th of September, 2024. I have more than ten certificates from Coursera, which are recognised worldwide. I am a proud graduate of MTN Skills Academy. I’m currently working at a marketing agency in Eswatini.

The moral of the story is never to give up in life, no matter what comes your way. Those obstacles are your stepping stones to success. Imagine, after all these years of being unemployed and uneducated, finally, in 2024, I have been able to achieve both. I have certificates and a job in the same year! Even though my dream of becoming a qualified nurse did not succeed, I am now a skilled digital marketer, web designer, and graphic designer.

Dreams come alive if you don’t give up on them. You can still make it. There is nothing you can’t do if you put your mind to it.

Written by Tandzile Dlamini

Instagram: @tandzy_dee
TikTok and Facebook: misstandzy

The post Story of a born Swati lady appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

I began tutoring because of the countless questions I received. I noticed that many people struggle with technology in the 21st century, and seeing the challenges around me, I decided to dedicate my time to teaching technology for free. It’s amazing how life can guide you to your true calling even when you don’t expect it.

I had applied twice for medicine and surgery, seeking admission but never succeeding despite scoring 280 in JAMB. Meanwhile, even as a teenager, I was already helping people with phone issues. I recall helping a man fix his BlackBerry Bold in 2010, and he gave me N100, which felt like a fortune at the time. He mentioned that many had tried and failed to fix it before me. Although I was more interested in becoming a medical doctor, his encouragement to consider a tech career stayed with me.

When my attempts to enter the medical field failed in 2014, I decided to explore other options. My secondary school teacher, Mr. Oriaku, invited me to assist with computer work and promised to teach me photo editing. Despite my initial lack of experience, I learned to edit photos using Adobe 7.0, and eventually, I discovered a passion for photo editing, photography, and videography.

A friend suggested I apply for Computer Science, and though it was a significant shift from my original plans, I decided to try it. I had to tell a little white lie to my family to secure my school fees, as I was worried about financial constraints and negative responses. Despite facing delays and challenges due to financial difficulties, I completed my Computer Science degree, though it took eight years instead of the usual five.

In 2020, just as I was about to graduate, the COVID-19 pandemic struck, causing further delays. Yet, I remained hopeful and continued with my journey, trusting that I would eventually see it through. My story might not seem impressive yet, but I hope it serves as a beacon of hope for others facing similar hurdles.

After graduating in 2021, while waiting for my NYSC, I explored other skills to stay productive. I enrolled in a fashion design course and, despite it not being my primary interest, learned to sew. When I got my NYSC call-up letter, I was posted to Bayelsa. During my time there, I actively participated in the Skill Acquisition and Entrepreneurship Development (SAED) program and found my passion in tech. I volunteered for the SDGs as a development knowledge facilitator, teaching students, especially girls, how to monetize their smartphones and acquire basic digital skills.

Determined to give back to my community, I started a project called “Girl Child Psychology.” I didn’t want any young girl to face the same struggles I did. Although I faced challenges in getting support from ministries and NGOs, some individuals helped make the project a success. Even though I was assigned to the Ministry of Information Orientation and Strategy, I managed to balance my project goals with my primary assignment, earning recognition and a recommendation letter for my dedication and communication skills.

After completing my service, I received job offers but faced setbacks when a bank job was denied because I was over the age limit. This was disheartening, given the efforts and delays I had faced. However, I channeled my energy into developing my digital skills. I invested in online courses in areas like Professional CV Writing, Digital Entrepreneurship, Amazon KDP, Project Management and Data Analysis.

Today, I run De-Best Digital Consults, a registered business where I promote digital literacy, write CVs, and provide various digital services and consultations. Despite facing setbacks, including a malfunctioning laptop, I’ve continued using my small smartphone to manage my business. I’ve written three books, including “Keys on How to Become a Brand,” “Life Like a Movie,” and a book on relationships, all born out of my passion, and determination.

This journey has taught me the value of perseverance and the importance of following one’s passion, even when faced with a lot of challenges. 

Contact Details:

Email: dbest9204@gmail.com

Facebook: De-best Digital Consults

Facebook: Princess Blessing

LinkedIn: blessing-osita

Instagram: de_bestdigitalconsults

Websites: https://about.me/blessingosita.nnaji 

Editor: Mutshidzi Kwinda

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The worst plan one can ever have is no plan at all. I was born in a family without a plan. My parents lived on the greater part as reactionaries to their unfortunate experiences. Every major decision they made came as a result of something rather than as a properly plotted course of action. But this does not mean that they weren’t ambitious then or now, or that they had no foresight, rather it means that they built their achievements on fragile foundations.

The Beginning.
In August of 1986, my parents got married in Mbuya parish church under the mission of the Communion and Liberation(CL) movement, a Catholic movement founded in Italy by Father Luigi Giussani to spread the mission of the Catholic faith and strengthen its influence in the world at large. My parents were consumed by his philosophies, and his ideologies and teachings
became their compass in faith. Before their marriage, my parents struck up a friendship that would have probably never graduated into a romance had my mother not become orphaned very suddenly.

My father, in support of his friend, my mother, had travelled across the border to Kenya in the company of his fellow congregants to offer comfort to my mother as she sent off her parents to the afterlife. The news of her parents’ passing had come at a crucial time in her life. She was seventeen and in the middle of completing her Ordinary level exams (O Level). Her class was a historic one. They were the first class to sit for all the science exams separately in Uganda. They were to write Physics, Chemistry and Biology exams separately with practicals for the first time in Uganda’s curriculum and this called for excitement given the fact that her ambition was to become a doctor. She was one right answer away from her dream career and one exam away from vacation with her parents in Kenya. She had missed them and after that year of education, she planned on staying in Kenya for the rest of her educational years. But tragedy had befallen her family and both her parents were killed in a car accident almost at the same time during her final exams. She did her exams with an unbearable grief. “I cried during many of my exams” she had recounted on various occasions and once again grief stood in her eyes like as if her parents had passed that very day. And then she would retell the entire story from start to finish. She would tell us of how our dad had come during the funeral and watched as her
uncles scrambled for property, how her brothers had talked down on her, and how all that he saw had prompted him to protect her from the hellish path that awaited her had she stayed back in Kenya.

Mom recounted all this with staunch misery only to be struck by a streak of hope when she recounted what my father had said to her. “Let’s get married,…and give your sister a home” he had said and in as much as this was abrupt, it presented itself as the best available option. My mother was the second to last child of her parents and her younger sister was barely sixteen when this tragedy befell their family and so, while everybody else sought to enrich themselves from what the dead had left behind, my father had sought to protect my mother from the ill fate which awaited both my mother and her sister after all the ruckus was put to rest. They say that theirs was a love that grew in a hopeless place. One that they wouldn’t have known of had they not faced adversity and opposition. But many love stories come as abruptly as this and falling in love does not in any case qualify for a bad plan.

Our Horrible Plan
For my parents, the worst plan they ever had was us. All nine of us, including the three who died under the age of one. And by saying this I do not exonerate myself from whatever dismay may be brewing up in the minds of whichever moralist has taken the time to read this text. Yet still,I stand firm on what I say. My parents should not have had so many children as they have today. Had they been more industrious and less academic than they are, then maybe their reproductivity would receive much respect from me. However, I was born to a pair of selfless, academic and rather too religious human beings who were bound to fail in the
economic framework of society. They were more focused on their moral standing and appearance in the community than they were focused on their actual problem. They didn’t believe in modern methods of family planning as they went against their religious beliefs and cultures at the same time. In the African Traditional Society, many children are a sign of great wealth but this isn’t the case in my family.

In my family’s case, our big number means and meant great deprivation. As a child, I had four knickers. Two for my time at home and two for going out to school and Church or to the hospital. I had two pairs of shoes, black shoes for school and white kitten heels for Church and visits. I never got a new dress until Christmas time and I could have had only six visiting dresses by the age of six had I not had three older sisters whose dresses I took on once they could no longer fit into them. And yes, we did attend great schools and that is a great plus sign for my parents, but we survived on the bare minimum despite assuming spaces in these great places and schools that our parents struggled to put us in.

To many who are reading this text, I am simply an ungrateful child, and for that I apologise for making you think that way. But planning your family, is like cutting your coat according to your size. It’s like knowing all your resources and allocating them correctly or wisely in order to  secure a wholistic growth for your family. Children born in better planned homes are in most cases able to develop in all aspects of life, and this I have been lucky to witness. I once went to school with a girl called Lorie.(this name has been altered to protect her privacy) Lorie and I had the same abilities. We both loved art, and music, and dance and we certainly had a similar outspokenness on the issues we found concerning. But, in as much as I tried, never in my school life did I beat Lorie at anything. In my family, music was just a hobby and so learning to read it or to play an instrument was simply a luxury so no body bothered with it. When I requested that I be sent to a music school over the holidays to learn something, I was told that my desires were nonsensical luxuries and it was more important to focus on my school work. And so, every time I went back to school, Lorie ranked excellently on talent shows. I was good. I was talented but not skilled as she was. She also always managed to top the class not because she was better than I was, but rather because her parents could afford extra classes, and she always came to school on the first day.

For me, this wasn’t the case. Many times my parents had to prioritize my older siblings who were in much higher classes. They had to make sure they went to school before they cared about the rest of us in the lower classes. Had they had children their finances could handle in surplus, I would probably have gotten at least one chance to rank above Lorie. When I think back on that time and remember the hard work I put into everything despite registering continuous failures, I realize that so much potential among the poor and the middle class is stifled by their meager resources which are often a result of poor planning or no plan at all.

And “children are a blessing” as they say, but this is only so if you can actually take care of them. I know the amount of stress that goes into having stringent finances in regard to one’s responsibilities. I witnessed my parents’ moods and characters go bizarre because of their inability to promptly provide for us. I watched them fail to be able to offer emotional support to all of us because they couldn’t completely understand all our temperaments as we were and still are too many for them keep up with while trying to make ends meet and understand their own psychological predicaments.

Raising a child takes a lot. It’s not just a financial journey. It is an emotional and psychological one as well for both the parent and the child. A child raised in an emotionally stringent home has higher chances of being an under achiever as such conditions breed personality disorders which are listed by many studies as the leading detriments towards development. Therefore, family planning is a major requirement in the fight against poverty.

My high-school headmaster Mr.James Park; God rest his soul, once gave me a sex education talk when he learned that I had a boyfriend then. I was sixteen at the time. He wasn’t happy about it but he knew that this was part and parcel of human growth and so he went on to do the best that he could as my teacher and headmaster”…boys don’t carry these things” He said. “Men are mostly careless but women carry the responsibility of their carelessness” so he added. “I want you to carry a condom. Always. Because only you can protect yourself” I still remember those words as if they were said to me this morning and their impact on my reasoning in regard to development is very vivid.

It is my belief that women should spear head development as it is their responsibility to protect themselves as well as the next generation. So what am I trying to say? What am trying to say is that women should understand that pregnancy happens to them and not to their partners. Therefore, we must take charge of when we have children. We must protect our families and societies from the impact of unplanned pregnancy and child birth as it’s long term and it’s immediate effect is poverty.

Children are not rocks, but even rocks go through weathering, therefore, we must know that the children we bare will grow and as  they grow, so will their needs. This means that your expenditure will go up as you enlarge the population of your family demanding profound financial investments to be made, but if not made, you will succumb to poverty. I took the time to find statistical evidence to back my claims and this is what I found. I urge you to extensively read these texts as they will offer a less emotional outlook on the matter.

Evidence:

1. Global Evidence on Family Planning and Poverty Alleviation: Numerous studies have demonstrated the critical role of family planning in poverty reduction. According to a report by the Guttmacher Institute, family planning programs have been estimated to prevent approximately one-third of maternal deaths worldwide by enabling women to delay or space pregnancies, thus reducing the risk of maternal mortality (Singh et al., 2014).

2. Economic Impact of Family Planning: Research published in The Lancet indicates that investing in family planning yields substantial economic returns, with every dollar spent on contraceptive services generating an estimated $120 in direct and indirect benefits, including savings in healthcare costs and increased productivity (Bongaarts, 2017).

3. Educational Attainment and Family Planning: A study by the World Bank found that family planning has a positive impact on educational attainment, particularly for girls and young women. By enabling women to delay childbearing and pursue educational opportunities, family planning contributes to higher levels of educational attainment, which in turn correlates with higher income levels and reduced poverty rates (Adamchak et al., 2019).

4. Gender Equality and Reproductive Rights: The United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA) emphasizes the importance of family planning in advancing gender equality and reproductive rights. Access to family planning empowers women to make informed choices about their bodies and futures, enabling them to participate more fully in economic and social life and escape the cycle of poverty (UNFPA, 2020).

Conclusion:
The lack of family planning represents a fundamental obstacle to poverty alleviation, perpetuating cycles of deprivation and inequality for generations to come. By empowering women to make informed choices about their reproductive health, we can chart a course towards a much more stable economy as women do not just drive their families towards proper allocation of funds when they take on family planning. Women also passively contribute to the economy by purchasing modern family planning methods such as pills, condoms and injections.

Science has yet to balance the boat when it comes to sexual reproductive health, but before it does, we must take charge of the way we reproduce. We should ask questions like; am I ready mentally, physically, emotionally and economically to raise a child? How will this child impact my life out of the emotional scope? Can I take the consequences that come with child birth? And so on and so forth. As we answer these questions, we must also aim at more concrete and logical answer in regard to our situations. Only then shall we be armed and in turn arm our society against poverty as well as conquer other biological detriments such as maternal mortality rates which could come as a result of poor preparation or the lack of it in regard to child birth and could contribute either directly or indirectly towards a poorer community.

The post OUR HORRIBLE PLAN Opinion piece by Luiza Masiga appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

When I think about what happened, I can’t help but feel bad about it and angry. The dreams I had at the start of the year and the goals I set for myself now seem far away and almost impossible to reach. It’s a disturbing thought to realize that my plans for this year didn’t quite match up with what actually happened.

The carefully thought-out plans I made kept slipping through my hands as life took its unpredictable turn. The goals I set for myself now seem like faraway dreams because of the unexpected turns and twists that changed my path.

A voice whispers about missed chances and unfinished goals, making you feel like you’re not good enough. I feel like I’m not as good of a person as I thought I would be by now—the person I imagined myself to be when I started this trip.

But even though I have a lot of unfinished plans and goals, I try to find comfort in the little wins and growth moments that were not part of the big plan but are still important. I’ve had new adventures, learned important lessons, and made connections that have made my life better in unexpected ways.

Perhaps a year isn’t just measured by the number of things that are crossed off a list. It could be about the strength to deal with problems, the courage to take the side roads, and the determination to keep going even when things go wrong.

As I say goodbye to this year, I choose to remember the lessons I’ve learned, the adventures I’ve had, and the strength that has been with me through it all. The new year is like a clean canvas in front of me. It gives me a chance to start over, change my goals, and be more determined than ever to follow the path I’ve chosen.

So, here’s to the year that didn’t quite go as planned but taught me unexpected lessons and made me strong. May the new year bring you growth, strength, and a better understanding of how life goes in a winding road.

The post It is December and I did not meet all my 2023 goals appeared first on Sheevolves.world.

Once upon a time, in my youthful school days, I found myself entangled in the intricate web of love. Love, they say, is a beautiful thing; it’s the sweetest experience one can ever encounter. However, my journey through love was anything but conventional. It all began during my junior high years, where I faced betrayal, insults, and disgrace at the hands of my ex-lover due to a breakup instigated by a classmate and a lingering misunderstanding left unresolved.

Let’s take a trip down memory lane, revisiting the story of my life post-junior high.

My name is Queen, and I’ve carried the weight of body-shaming since the tender age of nine. I also faced discrimination because I struggled academically. I knew I had to take my studies seriously, but in the midst of it all, I found love within the walls of my school. I met a brilliant, handsome young man who happened to be my classmate and, surprisingly, the school’s brightest intellect. Yes, I know it sounds unusual, but he became my boyfriend, and I loved him dearly. In my mind, I was already his wife. I had grand plans for our future together.

However, there was another handsome and charismatic fellow in our class who had set his eyes on me. He was also intelligent, but what truly captivated me were his charming eyes and his infectious smile. Now, back to our story—let’s call the brilliant guy I was dating “E,” and the charismatic rival was “R.” Our story unfolds.

After a late-night discussion with E, I was faced with a dilemma. R, the school heartthrob, had shown interest in me, and our interactions had come to a brief halt. He wanted to rekindle our connection. Fueled by a desire for revenge, I confided in E about R’s return to my life. That very night, after our conversation, E proposed to me, and I was overjoyed. I wanted to keep our relationship under wraps to execute my plan to get back at R. You see, R was notorious for being a bit of a ladies’ man, so my scheme was to date him briefly and then leave him hanging.

On the day following E’s proposal, I retreated to my room in tears when I spotted R’s twin brother’s girlfriend approaching me. I had to pretend that I wasn’t interested in E so she wouldn’t suspect my ulterior motive, fearing she would inform R of my intentions.

Our conversation went like this:

R’s Twin’s Girlfriend: Hello, Queen, why are you crying? Don’t you love Mr. E?

Me: Yes.

R’s Twin’s Girlfriend: Aww, tell him it’s Mr. R you love, right?

Me: Yes.

And with that, she left.

This was all part of my plan to make her inform R of my interest in him.

Days passed, and I found myself enjoying my time with R, forgetting my vengeful agenda. Our school exams were over, and it was time to leave. My relationship with E had been beautiful until one day when a friend of his, also a classmate of mine, named Mr. A, told me that E had another girlfriend and wasn’t taking me seriously. I was shattered, and that day, I couldn’t eat. It was my first heartbreak, and the pain was unbearable. I decided to break up with E as well.

I continued to high school, but I couldn’t let go of my feelings for E. I was willing to apologize and do anything to get him back, so I sent my best friend, to talk to him. She knew him well, and I instructed her to fabricate a story that would make E listen to her and reconsider his feelings for me.

Let me tell you, it was a spectacular plan!

E not only disrespected me but also insulted and called me names. When my friend sent me screenshots of their conversation, I wept like a child. However, that marked the turning point in my story. I emerged as a strong, bold, intelligent, and hardworking woman. I realized that no words of body-shaming or discrimination could quench the fire within me.

I want you, the reader of this story, to know that you are special. Don’t let anyone bring you down. If you’re going through a tough time, remember that you can overcome it. This is my new story, one of resilience and strength, and it’s a story I hope inspires you to face your challenges head-on and emerge victorious.

Written by Asem Martina Biankie.

Instagram: queen_biankie 

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