I do not normally write on a Sabbath. It is the only day I take a break from my pen. But today, I am in the thanksgiving spirit.
5 years ago when I was going through a divorce, I was sent to a women’s refuge by my older brother because he could not house me and my children in his house. In the refugee, I was so torn I started a blog, to help me cope with my pain. Blogging became my life. My whole family stopped talking to me at this point because they said I was disgracing them to the world.
During weekends all women in the refuge visited their families, even a Somali refugee woman with no family had friends to go to. The staff would be off too, so the place would be so desolate and scary. I was always left alone in the entire refuge with my three children. At night, I would be scared, because the refuge was spooky, it was also next to a Freemason’s lodge.
Sometimes I would be bold and text my brother. Then I would delete the text, because I knew he would say no. Then I would text again, and pray he would have mercy and say yes…then I would click send.
“Is it okay if the children and I come to your house this weekend…” I would ask him.
“Umm, don’t know Mai Naki, we have a party to attend this weekend. Besides hamukwane mumota so we can’t take you to the party, let me talk to Penny, then will get back to you.”
I didn’t want to go to a party, I just wanted a warm home for my children and I. Somewhere not scary and cold, anywhere but the refuge house.
Then Saturday would come, and I would wait and wait for my brother’s call or text to say his wife had allowed me to come to his house, but the text would never come.
So something would tell me that Jean, do not cry. This is the Lord’s day. You are alone in this women’s refuge, but God is with you. It is the Lord’s refuge. Be thankful. So I would offer my sacrifice of thanksgiving.
At night, I would play the song Ndinishamiswa Kwazvo, it gave me so much comfort in tears.
It was the only song which kept me going was “Ndinoshamiswa Kwazvo”, a very popular Zimbabwean song which is about Thanksgiving. I would lie on the tiny bed in the refuge and sing it, and I would cry tears of thanksgiving. and thank God and say it was well. I was still a Zimbabwean then, I still loved Zimbabwe, it was all I ever knew. I could only worship in a Zimbabwean spirit. Even though I was singing to a pagan God, Musikavanhu, Mwari, the God of Israel accepted my sacrifice of thanksgiving.
It’s rare that I write an article with tears in my eyes, but today I am crying because ino buda misodzi yangu kana ndorangarira.
Ukuru hwenyu Mwari
Kana ndafunga iwe.
“And Hannah prayed, and said, My heart rejoiceth in the Lord, mine horn is exalted in the Lord: my mouth is enlarged over mine enemies; because I rejoice in thy salvation.
The Lord maketh poor, and maketh rich: he bringeth low, and lifteth up.
He raiseth up the poor out of the dust, and lifteth up the beggar from the dunghill, to set them among princes, and to make them inherit the throne of glory: for the pillars of the earth are the Lord‘s, and he hath set the world upon them.”
With that, I say Happy Thanksgiving and Blessed sabbath to you all my readers. Remember there is power in Thanksgiving.
From Mary-Tamar was Jean