When I rise in the morning and when retiring at night, I praise Maawu. I praise her with my mouth; honour him with libation.
On my behalf, Maawu tells Nsho to give me red snappers and giant tuna. That which I cannot control, listens to the voice of Maawu and my net is filled.

I have never seen my mother cry before. Her grief is unstoppable, cannot be hidden. It seeps through all the walls. My mother, crying for Phiphidi Falls.

When you think of Zimbabwe, think not just of Mugabe. Think also of Thomas Mapfumo, the Mbira Man. Beautiful mbira. Metal, wood and calabash. Ancient instrument of Zimbabwe - channel to the ancestors.