It is with a heavy heart that I announce that Nino and I are no longer together. It was through my writing that I met him and to some degree it is through my writing that we parted. In fact Nino did say he fell in love with me after he read my online diary of my journey of abuse in the hands of Masocha and many Agape members, he wanted to be the one to comfort me and help me heal, with his sense of humor I did find a lot of healing and comfort in his arms. But sometimes things are not meant to be, all I know is I loved him so very much, and I bowed to him, I wrote songs for him, and I honoured him more than I ever honoured any man who has walked on this earth, I worked hard to build him a harem, it was me who told him the idea, but there are times in life where even sacrifice, love and the highest honour is never enough.
I did not want to write this blog, because first of all, as a black woman, my journey and life is my fault, especially to other black people. As a woman who has written a lot of things which don’t fit the minds of black people, I already have a lot of black who hate me. In fact all the trauma and pain I have ever received in my life was in the hands of black people.
Daddy was the only person on this earth who was my friend. I have never really had friends in my life, I have always walked alone, and been betrayed a lot. Every-time I wrote about some of things I have been through, Zimbabweans and most black people who read my work always told me that I am the one with the problem because all people can’t just not like you, starting with your own mother. But when it comes to Meghan Markle who has fallen out with every member of her family, and her husband’s family, black people hail her as a hero and victim. But for me, because I am fully black and Mary-Tamr I do not have the privilege to be understood and hailed as a hero by black people.
Me splitting up with Nino is will make so many black people happy, they will rejoice because it is a day they have been waiting for. But it’s a blessing for your enemies to curse you and rejoice. Most of the things which has befell me in life I never asked for it. Right now I wish I had someone to pick up a phone and talk to, but I have no one, not even one person.
A lot of people especially on my Twitter have been worried about me, about my silence.
Since my Daddy died, a lot has happened. A few months before he died, I felt so connected to Daddy, and honoured him a lot in my essays as I wrote about Meghan. Writing about Meghan was a revelation to me, it came from within. Nino was never too happy about me writing about Meghan, because she is someone he has always admired and respected, he thought everything Meghan has done is a calling, and a blessing for black people. So sadly I stopped writing about Meghan, a few days before Daddy died. But what was to comfort me was that about two weeks before my Daddy passed, as I was writing about Meghan and praising him, I felt like Daddy would not read the essay, and something in me told me to just write directly to him and tell him how much I appreciated that I was born his daughter. Then he told me I made him cry, and that was the last conversation I had with him. I was comforted that even though Nino did not support or agree with my Meghan articles, somehow they made me be at peace with Daddy, and reach out to him on his last days on earth. So I believed my instincts were right.
I do not have the privilege of Meghan Markle, who can confess to Oprah that she was allegedly pregnant and suicidal and be hailed a hero for it by black people. I was once pregnant and suicidal and not a single soul knew, but only my pillow and the four walls of my bedroom knew, oh and a black midwife had an idea, but lied for me. Even though I was suicidal, I got up and went to court to fight for my children, my ex-husband declaring that I was suicidal because he knew my weaknesses, had that been proven in court, I would have lost my children. But today I can confirm that if I did not have my 7 children, I have no reason at all to live. If it wasn’t for my 7 children, I would rather rest with my Daddy.
I am a woman so hated, so misunderstood, I do not sometimes understand why I was born with a mind like this, or with the hands that I have. The things I think and write make people, especially black people hate me. The things I think and write, especially about Meghan has been so deep it’s contributed to my husband leaving me. My husband even told me, that I should be on Meghan’s side, and write supporting her. But I couldn’t betray my own soul, because through dreams and revelations of God showing me who Meghan was, even though I have always been a submissive wife, I could not come out and write praises for a woman I believe is EVIL and her cause even hurts black women like me even more. I could never come out and write praises for a woman for saying things that black people praise her for, things I have endured and called mad for. I could never betray my soul, so because of my pen, I sit here alone today.
When I was facing the dilemma of being told to appreciate Meghan and write positively about her, Samantha Markle wrote to me and suggested we do a book together about Meghan. I was very encouraged by her words, that she believed in me. Somehow we both ended up deciding that maybe a book together was not such a practical idea, but she had already planted a seed in me, and I started to write.
I have been writing, in fact I have two books, one is a twist of a romantic novel, one is about Meghan’s appropriation of the black woman. I do not have the privilege of Meghan Markle, or that of Harry where publishers are waiting for my book. I do not want to self-publish my books, I just wait and pray, that maybe Daddy will shift things in the atmosphere, he always wanted me to make it as a writer. He wanted that for me so bad. Throughout my life, Daddy used to even manipulate people, threaten them if he had to, to make things happen for me. He sent me here to the UK at 17, and when I was detained at the airport by immigration, Daddy called to speak to the Chief Immigration Officer, if there is ever such a person.
But he demanded, and was angry, and said, “I am a rich African man, a Chief with hundreds of servants, how dare you detain my daughter. She is coming there to study, let her in.”
The white people marvelled, they found him fascinating, because he spoke with so much power and authority, but alas they said to him, “But Sir, your daughter is under 18, and is but still a child. Who is her legal guardian? For we can’t let a child into the country without a guardian.” They challenged him.
My Daddy being fast thinking and connected, told them, “She has a guardian, the Zimbabwean Ambassador to the UK. A diplomat. A Goverment official. I am telling you I am a Chief.” So they had no reason to detain me. In fact Daddy then called his friend, and demanded he call the Immigration to tell them he was my legal guardian. “But Never, you can’t just call me and tell me…” He took no for an answer, and shouted at his friend. So his friend, a Zimbabwean Ambassador called the immigration and declared he was my guardian.
Behold, the immigration called me out of the detention room. “How many servants does your father have?” They asked me.
Daddy had coached me, just before I left Zimbabwe. “You are going to the land of the white man, my daughter. You cant be shy, they will ask you questions, be bold, look them in the eye my daughter. Tell the truth when they ask you a question.” So when the immigration officer asked me from nowhere, “How many servants does your father have?” Even though I was confused why I was being asked such a question, my gut told me to tell the truth, “I don’t know, have never counted, maybe over hundred.” And with that I was let into the United Kingdom, and chauffeur driven to the Ambassador’s house in London.
That was my Daddy, he taught me to tell the truth, and be myself. I am no longer with Nino, I can’t live a lie, because I am scared black people will rejoice. Maybe it’s okay for them to rejoice, maybe God will see my pain and bless me. Daddy always pulled strings to make things happen for me. Wherever he is, today his memory and spirit is all I have. He is the only person I have to talk to. He is the only person whoever understood me. Maybe today he will see my tears, and pull strings for me above, and cause some publisher to feel convicted that even though I am black, and African born, my work is good enough to be publish.
For now, I am at a crossroads, where all I have on earth in my hand is my pen and my 7 children. My pen and mind did cost me the only husband I ever loved, I have nothing to lose now. Before I join my Daddy to rest, I have only two things I wish for, to see my children grow, and for my books to be published…That’s what I believe I live for, my pen and my children, for that’s all I have…and yes for that reason, I am now a single mother of 7…
Genesis Of The Revelation By
Mary-Tamar was Jean