THESE are some of those rare moments I just feel like wearing my heart on my sleeve.

These are the days when life in my country becomes so unbearable and reaches stressful levels, such that the only way to keep my sanity intact is to pour my heart out. Of course, as someone who is naturally an introvert, that is never easy — since I usually prefer keeping my private life, feelings and thoughts to myself.

However, in a country like Zimbabwe, bottling up the never-ending battles one encounters, seemingly on a daily basis, is never a good idea. Today is definitely no exception — especially for me.

Each day I write articles speaking for the suffering people of Zimbabwe — whose lives and livelihoods have been viciously and callously ruined by a heartless kleptomaniac ruling elite — I am always driven by my undying passion for social justice and human rights.

There is nothing that grieves and hurts me more than seeing the indescribable poverty and injustices that millions of my fellow compatriots are forced to face each day. I always derive incredible strength from the fervent belief that the plight of the ordinary man, woman and child struggling to make ends meet, at least, be made known, and hopefully reach the ears of those who can make a difference for them.

I am unfazed by the risks and dangers I face in a country ruled by brutal oppressors, who have no qualms at savagely crushing dissent. I believe the love for the lives of others outweighs concerns over my own.

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I also pray and hope that my writings translate into genuine effort — whether on the part of the political powers or the people themselves — in pushing for real change in Zimbabwe, which brings about dignity and wellbeing of ordinary citizens.

However, in the midst of this, there are times my personal struggles to earn a decent living come into sharp focus — since the pain and misery I speak on behalf of others, is exactly what I also face each and everyday.

For most who may not know this — my life is a financial mess, in an economy on its knees — although, I try my best to fend for my family in every way possible. Each time I pen an article, the anguish I express for others, is exactly the same agony I feel in my heart.

I know how difficult and stressful it is to be unable to feed one’s family, or meet the bills that keep piling up, or just experience the joys and comforts that people in other lands take for granted.

I know full well the humiliation and demeaning effect of having to beg for a few dollars from friends — who themselves are having a tough time — just to make it through a couple of days or the month.

Indeed, I have tried several means and ways of earning an income, such as offering editing services for those seeking to publish their works — however, the clientele is small and far between, leaving me in no better financial situation.

I have approached several human rights organisations — as my interests are also anchored in social justice — without success. The more obvious route has been to lean on my writing skills to earn a living — but this has also taken me nowhere in such a strained economic environment.

Nonetheless, as someone whose motivation has always been an unflinching passion for social justice and a better life for all Zimbabweans, I keep going. Lack of a decent life in my own family, though, is a constant reminder to me that passion alone does not pay the bills, nor numb the pain and suffering.

This is how life is for a social justice defender like me. At times it becomes so hard to speak for the suffering, when you are suffering as well.

At times I find myself laughing — definitely not out of joy, but a bleeding heart and despair at how my name may now be known by many, yet being possibly the poorest activist in Zimbabwe.

I thought of writing this article with the belief that letting out what one feels, relieves stress and heals the pain. I know there are those out there who have not only grown fond of my articles, but also of me as the writer. In penning this, I genuinely feel like I am opening up to friends.

In the same vein, it is also my prayer that this article will unlock doors and opportunities out there for me. In Shona we say: “Mwana asingacheme anofira mumbereko” literally meaning that a baby who does not cry will die in its mother’s sling.

In other words, how can anyone expect to be assisted when they do not let those around them know that they are in pain. And, as I write this highly emotional piece, I literally have tears in my eyes. This is not an easy thing to do, especially for an introvert like myself.

This was definitely very different from what I usually write. But, the pain had become too much such that I had to let it out no matter how uncomfortable and stressful this has been for me.

  • Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice activist, writer, author, and political commentator