My Mind Speaks.…..A black Swan: Lufuno Mavhunga

In spirituality, a swan is a symbol of purity, beauty, grace, love and elegance while in native symbols the black swan signifies an insight about yourself which changes your position from one of victim to victor. A Black Swan is a graceful reminder to move from any position where you feel powerless and at the mercy of external forces; it is time to reclaim your personal power. Well, I am not one to follow spirit animal or native symbols but somehow the expressions described resonates with me and with what I wish to write about this evening.

Today’s conversation is centered around a recent event surrounding the death through suicide of a 15-year-old girl from Tshirenzheni. Like many others around the country hearing about this story left me feeling triggered. I write this piece from the broken corners of my heart. A place buried so deep that it has never been fully healed. Thus, I say I am triggered. Triggered because this story touches so many elements from a loss of a life to the struggle that come with coming of age, then moving swiftly into uncharted waters of colorism and beauty standards in Africa, right up to bullying and the spirit of cool kids’ mentality with a pinch of mental health issues. Everything ugly, really! As such; I feel the need to mention that today’s blog may be longer than usual.

Loss

I have discussed loss in my previous blogs regarding to the loss of my beloved father, God rest his soul. However; today I would like to dive into a different kind of loss. The loss of a friend or classmate. As alluded above details regarding the tragic events in my life, more especially those linked with loss, tend to stay buried in dark corners. The telling of these stories requires some kind of meditation to tap into that place. Although I prefer keeping these memories in their compartmentalized boxes, loss seems to be quite topical these days especially with the pandemic already scavenging through the world. I do not know about you guys, but the saddest funerals I have ever attended were always those of young people and even more so students. I seem to remember attending about four funerals of scholars; two of which were funerals of kids who sat in the same class as me, one was a guy who was in the same school as me and the last was of  my colleague’s sister who lost her life  in a tragic accident. Death is a tragic thing, but when it is of a young person, the pain is beyond comprehension. A brief detail of each one follows:

Fulufhelo. That was her name. She was short in a cute way with short coily hair. She was light in skin tone with a very warm smile. Her face is no longer as clear in my mind with the years that have gone by, but I can say with certainty that she was beautiful. The year 2002, I was 12 years old and in Grade 7 at Tshiluvhi Primary School, when one Monday morning we went to class and we were told Fulufhelo had passed on. I remember how confusing it was for me. I vividly recall looking at her empty seat and seeing her sitting there laughing with her desk mate. A picture my mind captured the previous Friday, the last time I saw her. There were lots of rumors around her death. Some people said she ate mangoes from a neighbor’s house. Others said she was poisoned because people were jealous of her beauty and they knew she was her mother’s weakness, the death of her daughter would break her because Fulufhelo was the apple of her eye. I remember how empty we felt as a class. On the day of the burial there was no dry eye. Kids were fainting like flies under the spell of an insect killer. It was catastrophic. Even I could not keep it together. What stood out for me from that funeral was the look on her mother’s face. Pieces of her were buried that day and it was quite evident in her face. She looked tired, emotionally and otherwise. Every now and then when I see that same face in a different person, I think of her and wonder how she is doing. If she ever healed from that ordeal but knowing what I know now, I understand that that pain never leaves you. You carry it with you everywhere you go, buried beneath years of suppression. It takes one such events like the case of Lufuno Mavhunga for one to go back to that place. I can’t help but think of her mother and say a little prayer for her, because God never leaves people. My prayer is that even when all the media attention has subsided and everyone has come and gone and everything has been said and done, that she remembers that He alone will still be there near and so close to her broken heart. My heart was comforted hearing that the teachers organized counselling for the learners left behind. No such facilities were available during my time. May the class be comforted.

 

Without losing the plot, the second time I experienced death of a classmate was two years later from my first experience. Khwevha Commercial High School in the 9^th Grade. His name was Simon. I don’t remember much about him; you guys already know that me and boys are like water and oil. The one thing I seem to remember is his smile, he had a gap or a missing front tooth. His story is similar to Lufuno’s in quite a number of ways. He too had committed suicide. Suicide by hanging. It was said that the suicide was caused by abuse at home. I carry these people somewhere in me even though I only ever knew them as classmates. The other two scholar funerals, died in a car crash. Both as devastating. Maybe I will discuss details regarding these some other time.

Coming of Age

It is no secret that adolescence, the process of developing from a child into an adult, is not an easy journey that we all have to go through. No one can escape its wrath and only the fit survive it. But even those that survive always survive with bruises and scars. It is time where a young woman will question why their breasts have not developed or why they do not have curves or round perky buttocks. A time you wonder if there is anything wrong with you because your period started way before your peers or if you have not seen your period at all. You are you, but your body is changing. While you deal with the physical changes to your body, there is also rage and a cry to be heard and seen as different, I guess as older. Parents are mostly still stuck with wanting to treat you like you are still the child they knew while you are in fact no longer a child nor are you an adult. You are just somewhere in between, not a girl but not yet a woman either; trying to discover for yourself who you are. Trying to create your own identity and be able to think independently. As you can imagine it is quite a confusing time. You want to know people like you and find a place where you can belong. A place where people can relate to you.

Coming of age takes way longer than what science and law makers are actually willing to admit. Although each one has their own timing, the process can take up to 10 years and beyond. Some people go through adolescence until they are 30. For me personally, it started two months before my 15^th birthday, I guess I say this because that’s when I got my first period and it lasted until I was about 22. At 22 I had a solid sense of who I was and I was no longer apologetic about it. I had made peace with the fact that there is something weird about me. I made peace with being misunderstood because I finally understood myself. I don’t like people telling me what to do. I like making my own decisions. I hate following the crowd and I am okay with my own company. I guess, I had solidified myself as uptight, unwavering and for the most part uncompromising. It was all okay with me. It was then that I realized I had a subtle confidence. But when I look back it was not always like that. See, the ugly part about adolescence is that while you fight internal battles, there are a thousand more external battles you have to simultaneously fight to shape who you are. See, I could say try and avoid them but these fights are necessary to shape your character and your personality. It is safe to say Lufuno died fighting, she died fighting the worlds unattainable beauty standards. I have to admit that battle with beauty is one I made a decision to not fight. For the longest time I convinced myself I was not beautiful. I was dark. My sisters still tease me with my pictures of when I was young. How dare you think you could be dark and beautiful? Beauty is/was reserved for fairer skin. Because I was convinced, I wasn’t pretty, the evidence also started showing. I never had boys after me or even when I looked further back into my life, I only remembered having one lady asking me to be her “nwana wa Tshikolo” loosely translated that person would be your school mom and you their school daughter, a concept in primary school culture where a scholar grades ahead would choose a cute child in the lower grades (Usually grade 1 or 2). Your school mom or play-play mom would buy you sweets and share their lunch with you.

 I have always been a very observant person. So I would SBWL other kids getting nice goodies from their school mom. Some kids had different school moms every other week. While I only remembered having one that never really checked on me, let alone even buy me anything. So evidence was gathered in my head and I reached a conclusion. I was just not attractive and it was okay. Lufuno on the other hand took the braver route. She wanted to be seen as beautiful even though she was dark. She wanted to change minds and be treated equally. She wanted to be worth it like she was indeed. But unfortunately, she lost her life in that battle. The battle to be accepted. It is quite unfortunate that when you are born dark, you really have to wait until you are older to know that you are beautiful. In between you have to deal with being “Mantsu”, the mother of darkness or Nyakuvhifha. To this day, I do not date anyone that knew me in high school. I will not waste my better days on someone that never saw my potential lol. This world has no mercy for dark-skinned people. You almost always have to rely on inner beauty lol whatever that is.

I guess we do not “light up” the room and it doesn’t help that the colour black is associated with death, Witcraft and all sorts of sorcery. Growing up I have seen old grandmothers that are very dark accused of witchcraft because they just looked evil, I guess. Let me not get into TV and media I will not finish.  I admire Lufuno for daring to challenge the status quo. For lighting the touch. Beauty is indeed not just one thing. We are indeed all beautiful even if it is in different ways. Rest in peace Baby.

Bullying

Look, the fact is; every school has a bully. Many people have many theories about why children bully other children. The only part I know I understand thoroughly is that out of all the theories, there is something deeply wrong with someone who takes pleasure in hurting others. Your child will be bullied. It is just a matter of to what extent the bullying will be. Bullies don’t grow up and all of the sudden stop, they become adults that bully others at work or at church and in social circles. I cannot stand bullying that hides behind being a joker. I was always terrified of those. Someone that takes pleasure in making fun of other makes me so uncomfortable. Even to date I do not find comedians funny. They remind me of bullies. Most of us were bullied emotionally through being called names, belittling and such but few go through both emotional and physical bullying like this child did. It is so hard to watch as she takes blow after blow without fighting back. I am guessing she was hoping it would end faster that way. The sound of other kids laughing and cheering her bully on makes me sick to my stomach just thinking about it. Sometimes I wonder if we will ever successfully win the battle against bullying, because there will always be a child that looks meek, a dark child, a weird child, kids with low self-esteem and similarly there will always be arrogant and over confident agents of satan. God help us all.

Lufuno’s death not just brought bullying into light once more but it also uncovered how deep the issue of colorism runs. It is a deep routed problem and like it or not Lufuno’s bullying stemmed from this evil, the hideously ugly little sister of racism. Hatred and divide. It is an issue when spoken up about, the first reaction is annoyance. It is the silent beauty issue no one is discussing. But right now I don’t think a single soul has the right to turn a blind eye. A brave young girl was fighting battles, we saw with our own eyes in the video shared across social media and fighting an even bigger fight internally. It is up to us to ensure this self-hate does not ruin and continue to rule young minds. Reject any idea that paler skin is better, we need to celebrate all colors in the human spectrum instead of praising one over the other, or pretending that the problem doesn’t exist.

Thank you for showing us that beauty is not in the face, body or the color of your skin; beauty is a light in the heart that shined so brightly through you and touched so many with your gentle spirit.

Muya wawe u edele nga mulalo.

 

My Mind Speaks….