October 24, 2025

by KUMBUTSO CHIZONGO

Nkani Za Ambuya

“Kala chete,”_don’t move; I need to keep the razor in place”

The air is thick with the smell of anticipation, fear, and Vicks  – ambuya swears it always works

“Kuli vo ipa mu chalo_This will keep you safe”

I bet the freedom takers never bunked on the hold of faith when they called it (black) “magic”

Ambuya is swift – the first slash hides mutual anxiety, the second carries conviction only age teaches

She presses her thumb into the scar and smiles – the worst is over. 

Do you remember your first ancestral encounter?

When scepticism was exorcised out of you

Before you transferred your faith to another

Before you called your forefathers idols. 

Before you used independence to desert your ancestor’s heritage

Who convinced you to erase yourself by forsaking your ancestors’ whispers? 

Did you stop listening to what the wind carries in the August weather? 

When the trees dance to the sounds of crackling malasha on ba mayo’s mbaula. 

Has the summer sun made you forget the joys of the African October? 

When the sun stays up longer and warms the bathing water?

Now that you are free and the June cold has become winter, you have forsaken your essence

Like ‘mom setting the dinner table’ not abaiche clearing the supper dishes.

—

And when you open your mouth to speak, the west swears you belong to them

Because you veiled your mother-tongue in shame

Who told you that to belong you had to dilute your power? 

Have you replaced your chitenge with a silk scarf?

Does it carry the same function? Does it carry it well? 

Will it save a sister when the monthly crimson curse descends upon her?

–

Will it keep your feet warm as you break kandolo around the boiling shomeka?

In a plight to conform you merged far too well with the background

Just another Black boy, just another Black girl

But you are not Black

When Freedom is thrashed onto the backs on your ancestor, you do not conform

You must not conform.