Fungai MachiroriWriting about myself.

What a deeply challenging task. When asked to go back in time and tell someone about me, I am never too sure where and when to begin. Should I start with my birth date – April 2, 1984 – or with the beginnings of my passion for writing – which emerged around the time I was 12? Should I tell you about all the frustrating challenges or just about the deeply fulfilling successes?

I am never too sure.

And so I make a calculated guess at what might be interesting for you to learn about me.

I distinctly remember how, as a young girl, I always seemed to have my head buried in a book. It was torture for my older sister as I always recited what I had read to her on our long morning walk to school. I little realised that that natural inclination towards books was grooming me towards creating my own worlds of poetry and prose.

Throughout school, I always did well in literature and won a few inter-schools prizes along the way. But at 19, out of school and trying to make sense of myself, I realised that the world of arching birches and gargling brooks bore no resemblance to my own lived existence. I realised that though my writing was eloquent, it was not true to me as a young Zimbabwean going through the political and financial turmoil that marked our nation’s entry into the new millennium.

So, I would say that my writing career truly began in 2003, when I let go of my false existence and embraced the contemplative, and at times morose and even comic, voice that I recognise as my own.

At 21, I was privileged to participate in the British Council ‘Crossing Borders’ project – a project which sought to link Zimbabwe’s creative writers with mentors from Britain. It was a great privilege for me to sit at the same table as Zimbabwe’s most acclaimed talents – who included Chris Mlalazi, Raisedon Baya, Masimba Biriwasha and Megan Allardice – and have my young voice be heard among theirs.

Simply put, my career has grown exponentially since then. In 2006, a short story I wrote placed second in the national Intwasa short story writing competition – a deeply exciting achievement for me. As a result, I had a short story published by amaBooks in the anthology ‘Long Time Coming: Short Writings from Zimbabwe’. My poetry has been published by the British Council, and I am currently working with three other Zimbabwean women to have an anthology of our poems published in 2010. Also, I am working on my first novel – which I hope to have published in 2010.

Besides being a creative writer, I am also a journalist and blogger with a special focus on HIV, AIDS and gender issues. Thus far, I have been recognised for an Africa-wide award for excellence in HIV and AIDS reporting by the African Network for Strategic Communication in Health and Development (AfriComNet). The prize, which I won as a wide-eyed 23-year-old has done a world of good for my confidence in my journalistic writing.

I am thankful to God, each day that I can see the potential in everything I happen upon to become a story, an article, a poem.

I know that I am on the right course with my life because each day is so full of ideas and alive with adventure.

12 December 2009

The Nameless Voice by Fungai Machirori

Sarudzai squatted and felt between her legs for what she hoped she had not imagined. Ordinarily, she was not prone to hallucinating, yet she understood what tricks an anxious mind could play on a person of a nervous disposition such as her own. But she wasn’t willing to believe that the moistness squelching into her underwear, as she walked along, had been such a figment of her imagination. And so she had stopped - expectant and fearful - at the public toilet... Full Story



Posted by StoryTime at 13:32 0 comments

11 October 2009

A Story for Nandi by Fungai Machirori

I have always been a lucid dreamer. Once, as a child, my grandmother told me that dreams as clear as mine - as clear as spring water - were my mind’s own way of diluting its distresses. Some people, she said, cried out their woes. And others, like me, found clarity and peace through their dreams flowing with cool relief and reassurance. Sometimes I imagine Trevor to be such a dream – a still pool of peace amid the chaos of my tainted being, a yearning of my subconscious for purity. But he is real... Full Story



Posted by StoryTime at 13:08 0 comments

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