Back in 1978, two years before independence, the Rhodesian government resolved to establish Chitungwiza, a dormitory town, 25 km south of Ha...
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Back in 1978, two years before independence, the Rhodesian government resolved to establish Chitungwiza, a dormitory town, 25 km south of Harare.
After the merger of three African townships of Seke, Zengeza and St Mary’s, it became the youngest, but fastest growing town in the country.That same year, on a very hot 22 October afternoon, I was delivered in St Mary’s clinic. For the whole nine months, Lizzie, my late mother, had highly anticipated and earnestly prayed for a girl child, but it was not to be – another boy came – a second one.
The closest reason I was named Derick, a male name with German, Dutch, and English origins could be twofold: one because of its meaning, which means the power of the tribe, a gifted ruler, or ruler of the people – a direct statement – and a confirmation that I was a direct offspring of the Svosve chieftainship in Wedza.
Next, and not the least, the name could be the influence on my father’s daily interaction and association with white folks of both German and British origins at a company where he worked then. Either way, the name suited my family history and character very well.
My second name, a vernacular name, Tafadzwa, although not on my birth certificate, was proof that I was indeed a blessing to my parents – and beyond.
Ailing health
“In your early days, you suffered regular tummy complications and I spent more time at the local clinic to find a lasting cure,” my mother told me. “Every time you ate sugary stuff you had severe stomach problems. I was always taking you to the clinic for observations.”
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| I am Derick: The True Story of my Life |
For that reason, the greater part of my early years was spent in different hospitals, dosed on different medications – and at one instance, I became overweight in a short while. My naïve, young mother celebrated, and thought I was growing well, but the next baby clinic shocked her. “Your child’s body is swelling and he needs urgent medical attention.”
My recovery was slow, and for that, my health was compromised for many years, until a later age. Two years after my birth, in 1980, Peter, my father, secured a permanent sales job at the milling company.
In 1982, a year after the birth of her third son, Lizzie commenced a secretarial course, a move heavily criticised by her close circle of friends, all comfortable as housewives, and taking care of their husbands, the sole breadwinners.
Here, I will not boast, but in hindsight, my mother broke the existing norms, again, becoming a topic of ridicule, for wanting to be a “white Miss working class”. Feeling satisfied with their incomes, and a stable economy, husbands largely discouraged their wives to work. In her absence, a maid took care of us.
The supreme storyteller
Today, forty-six years on, by the grace of God, I am still alive – and serving my purpose. Over the years, a lot has happened in my life – much more to fit it all here. First, in my family, it has – and still remains a miracle to go past 40 years, because some family members could not make it this far. My father, for instance, died just before turning 40. Not only him.
Some of my relatives died before 35 years. One of them had seven children – and only two survived. In life, through God’s grace, I have been healed from some life-threatening diseases, and even survived serious physical attacks on my life. I was there, in December 2008, when my mother breathed her last, surrounded by family members.
After each episode, God has changed my story for the better. In each predicament, I have become stronger and more determined.
Looking back, I was born to read, write. In short, to tell stories through my life: good, or bad. My life has been influenced by great, sad and amazing stories and storytellers. For me, the greatest story is about creation – and God remains the greatest storyteller that I have ever known. With words, he created heaven, earth – you and me. Therefore, words have a lasting power to both create and destroy.
Tell your own story
All of us, you and me, have different stories to tell. And everyone must own his/her story – but for it to be complete and real, you cannot leave God out of the equation – otherwise it is incomplete. Today, and for the rest of my life, I will invest my time to tell stories, not only about myself, my family – but also of Africa and the world.
Gary Vaynerchuk, a serial storyteller once said, “No matter what you do, your job is to tell a story.” But how do you tell your story? Well, how, when and why should you tell your story.
Most importantly, know that your own story minus God is a discord. If today, you leave out God, you are simply taking all the glory and denying Him the praise. In other words, you are saying you can do it without Him. But for me, and my family, considering what we have encountered, we will continue to praise Him.
The story of my life is not an accident. Or, a mistake. Rather, it’s a testimony that I am a direct creation of God’s intentions. In celebrating my birthday, I continue to offer praise and thanks to Him, alone – and always. I am here to make a difference, and not just add to the existing numbers.
Here, I will not boast, but in hindsight, my mother broke the existing norms, again, becoming a topic of ridicule, for wanting to be a “white Miss working class”. Feeling satisfied with their incomes, and a stable economy, husbands largely discouraged their wives to work. In her absence, a maid took care of us.
The supreme storyteller
Today, forty-six years on, by the grace of God, I am still alive – and serving my purpose. Over the years, a lot has happened in my life – much more to fit it all here. First, in my family, it has – and still remains a miracle to go past 40 years, because some family members could not make it this far. My father, for instance, died just before turning 40. Not only him.
Some of my relatives died before 35 years. One of them had seven children – and only two survived. In life, through God’s grace, I have been healed from some life-threatening diseases, and even survived serious physical attacks on my life. I was there, in December 2008, when my mother breathed her last, surrounded by family members.
After each episode, God has changed my story for the better. In each predicament, I have become stronger and more determined.
Looking back, I was born to read, write. In short, to tell stories through my life: good, or bad. My life has been influenced by great, sad and amazing stories and storytellers. For me, the greatest story is about creation – and God remains the greatest storyteller that I have ever known. With words, he created heaven, earth – you and me. Therefore, words have a lasting power to both create and destroy.
Tell your own story
All of us, you and me, have different stories to tell. And everyone must own his/her story – but for it to be complete and real, you cannot leave God out of the equation – otherwise it is incomplete. Today, and for the rest of my life, I will invest my time to tell stories, not only about myself, my family – but also of Africa and the world.
Gary Vaynerchuk, a serial storyteller once said, “No matter what you do, your job is to tell a story.” But how do you tell your story? Well, how, when and why should you tell your story.
Most importantly, know that your own story minus God is a discord. If today, you leave out God, you are simply taking all the glory and denying Him the praise. In other words, you are saying you can do it without Him. But for me, and my family, considering what we have encountered, we will continue to praise Him.
The story of my life is not an accident. Or, a mistake. Rather, it’s a testimony that I am a direct creation of God’s intentions. In celebrating my birthday, I continue to offer praise and thanks to Him, alone – and always. I am here to make a difference, and not just add to the existing numbers.
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