Gumbo_W66

___

[Gumbo_W66 @gumbow66]

@KingJayZim Here in Siberia the young man is cleaning and testing spark plugs from ASH-62 Polish engine that powers the ‘old’ Antonov 2 aircraft.

[Gumbo_W66 @gumbow66]

@TheLifeZoomer @Alfred67686158 Ma1

[Tazo @TheLifeZoomer]

Never confuse loudness, workplace politics and speaking broken site English with actual competence. 😂

Some people dominate sites with noise, confidence and unnecessary radio commentary,
until the day substance is finally required.

A year and a half ago, I arrived at my current project as a Pipe Fitter.

The crew was mostly Filos, a handful of Koreans and a bigger group of Aussies.

One Zimbabwean:
Me. 😭😂

Straight away, I was the obvious outsider.

To make things harder, my leading hands were Filos and many times they would discuss the job in their own language right in front of me.

Then suddenly everybody would start moving pipes and fittings with serious urgency while I stood there looking like a tourist at the airport. 😭

Half the time I had to quietly ask afterwards:
“Boss, what exactly are we doing?” 😂

I was surviving on half information and full confusion.

Now younger me would have reacted emotionally.
And once you react emotionally on these sites, nobody cares what pushed you there.

You simply become:
“The angry African guy.” 😭

So this time I stayed calm.

Observed.
Listened.
Studied the environment.

But there was one thing I knew:
I’ve spent years building gas plants in Australia.

I understand piping.
I understand sequencing.
I understand construction flow.

So while others were comfortable with titles, cliques and acting like shareholders of the company, I quietly started identifying gaps in planning and execution.

Then I started offering solutions.

Fortunately, the Supervisor listened.

To his credit, he openly admitted:
“Mate, I’m a Mechanical Fitter. Piping isn’t really my strongest area.”

That honesty opened the door for me.

From then on, I started soaring like a lone eagle. 🦅

One particular guy who thought he owned the whole LNG industry hated every minute of it. 😂

A few months later management elevated me and gave me my own area to run.

That’s my playground.

Give me responsibility.
Give me decision-making.
Give me drawings and a deadline.

That’s where I become dangerous. 😎

Ironically, some of the same guys who once made life difficult for me were now allocated under me.

Again:
Emotional control won the day.

Fast forward to today - Sunday 10/05/2026.

The Supervisor has now left the project.

Now there’s nowhere to hide.
No senior guy to lean on.
No pretending.

Substance is now required daily. 😭😂

And all I can say without exposing too much is:
Tazo is kicking goals. 😎

Everybody now comes to me for solutions.

Performance review season is also approaching and suddenly people are becoming very humble.

Very respectful.
Very cooperative.
Very obedient. 😭😂

The same people who once treated me like an outsider now approach me carefully like church members approaching the pastor after a sermon.

Because plot twist:

I’m involved in the performance reviews. 😂

Life is funny.

If you ever find yourself in a similar situation:
Control your emotions.
Stay patient.
Keep improving yourself.

Even take instructions from pretenders if necessary.

Because eventually the day always comes when noise runs out,
and substance is required.

And when that day comes,
you better actually have substance.

[Gumbo_W66 @gumbow66]

@TheLifeZoomer @dabskays Ririmunzeve

[Tazo @TheLifeZoomer]

Afternoon thought:

Today my team and I hit a massive milestone on a project I’ve been leading at work.

We’re talking billion-dollar, highly sensitive equipment, the kind where one small mistake can become a very expensive story.

But everything we touched worked perfectly.

I felt proud. Not just of myself, but of the team.

And it reminded me of something:

Zimbabwe apprenticeship training was world class.

What’s gone well for you today? Even the small wins count.

[Gumbo_W66 @gumbow66]

@TheLifeZoomer @OctaviandlovuN Wow

[Tazo @TheLifeZoomer]

We almost ended up with a wedding feast and NO guests.

Hwange. 2001.
Faith was high.
Logistics in ICU.

Sabbath 28 July.

It was like we didn’t exist.
No announcement. No acknowledgement. Nothing.

Meanwhile, I’m out there with relatives,
Looking for a whole cow. 🐄
Yes. A beast.
In our setup, no beast, no wedding.

Village to village like desperate cattle detectives, no cow.
Everyone said the same thing:
“Short notice? Not possible.”

We came back empty-handed.

Now imagine this:

Food planned
Pots ready
Firewood stacked

But 80% of guests banned by church politics.

We were about to host the most well-catered private wedding of two people. 😭

Sunday 29 July:

Plan B became Plan Everything.

A “now-now” wedding committee formed.
No training. No budget. Just vibes and determination.

People assigned themselves roles:
“You, cooking.”
“You, usher.”
“You, just stand there and look important.”

Transport? Another disaster loading.

Then miracles started trickling in:

One friend: “Take my Kombi, just put fuel.”
Choir bus: 25-seater unlocked
Two elders: “We’ll carry the bride and groom”

Suddenly, logistics started behaving.

But me?
Still no suit.
No shoes.
Just vibes and prayers. 😭

Tailor kept saying:
“It’s coming.”

Coming from where? South Africa by donkey??

Plan B:

Edgars.
They looked at my account and said:
“Brother, even faith has limits.”

Final Option: Topics.

Enter: Ella Mutipa.
Hwange High legend. My cousin’s school crush but he never developed the guts to shoot his shot.
Died a natural death.

I walked in desperate.
Explained everything.

She looked at me, probably saw stress + poverty + wedding panic.

She said:
“Let’s make a plan.”

She risked her job and approved the suit.
First suit I saw - done.
Not time to waste.

At this point, even if it was purple with glitter…
I was getting married.

Meanwhile,

Beast still missing. 🐄

Wednesday:

Beast secured.
But only available Friday.

Two days before the wedding.

Friday 3PM

I personally went to slaughter the beast for my own wedding.
Because at this stage…
Trust issues had entered the chat. 😭

Sabbath 4 July.

We skipped church. Exhausted. Broken. Done.

Meanwhile at church?

WAR.

An elder stood up:
“How do you close service without mentioning this wedding?”

Boom.
One after another, members stood up.

Holy ground turned into a complaint department.

By evening?

The entire church was at my house.

Same people who were “not allowed”…
Now saying:
“Sit down. We’ve got this.”

And they meant it.

Mrs Phunyuka (RIP) & Mrs Ncube a.k.a na Kevin, took over like seasoned generals.

Cooking. Planning. Commanding.

Outside?

Singing. Dancing. Rehearsals till midnight.

That night,

I saw what real Hwange Sda church community looks like.

Sunday 5 August:

Wedding day.

We arrived early, almost alone.

Then slowly,
The place filled up.

Edmund Davies Hall - packed.

Not just full.
Electric.

Ululation.
Dancing.
Elders with two left feet leading the charge. 😭

It was chaos.
It was joy.
It was unforgettable.

That “rebel committee”.

Delivered one of the greatest weddings Hwange had ever seen.

And just like I promised:

We got married.
With or without Mfundisi.

Sometimes the people who block you, accidentally reveal the people who will carry you.

Have you ever been written off, only to come back stronger?👇

[Tazo @TheLifeZoomer]

@sawnee0507 You encouraged me to turn my stories into poems. This is for you. Hope you will like it.

“We Will Still Wed”

May came dressed in quiet hope,
Plans laid out, a careful scope.
Elders gathered, heads all wise,
A wedding formed before our eyes.

No alcohol, just hymns and grace,
A holy sound to fill the place.
I brought my songs like schoolwork due,
They stamped “approved”, I thought it true.

But life, as always, loves a twist,
A subtle shift I somehow missed.
The Pastor left, a new one came,
And nothing ever stayed the same.

“Don’t worry, son, it’s all aligned,
A man from Bulawayo you will find.”
We nodded, trusting holy tone.
For who expects a lie from the throne?

June rolled in with silent doubt,
No sign of help, no word, no route.
But still the same rehearsed reply:
“He will be there.” We wondered why.

Then thunder struck without a sound,
Another meeting held, feet on the ground.
“You cannot wed within these walls.
The pure alone receive these halls.”

I searched their eyes for logic’s thread,
“But others walked this path,” I said.
“A new rule came.” That was the shield.
Convenient truth they chose to wield.

I bowed my head, but not in shame,
“Another place,” I said, “same aim.”
My wife sat close, no tear, no cry,
Just silent strength, her steady reply.

We found a hall, more grand, more wide,
Yet something sacred stayed denied.
Not walls of brick we longed to claim,
But blessing tied to heaven’s name.

That night I knelt, my spirit bare,
“Forgive me, Lord, I place it there.
If this is loss, then let it be.
Still guide this path for her and me.”

Peace came softly, like a friend,
But chaos waited round the bend.

July arrived with empty air,
No Pastor came, no sign, no care.
Till one old voice, both firm and low,
Said words I needed not to know:

“My son, no one is coming here.”

Truth has a way of sounding clear.

I found a man outside the fold,
A Magistrate with heart of gold.
“No charge,” he said, “just come and go,”
While those within demanded more.

I stood between two worlds that day.
One asked for less, one pushed away.

Then came the final rehearsal night,
Songs in tune and steps just right.
The hall alive, the moment near,
Till judgment chose again to appear.

“This music’s wrong.”
“These steps too close.”
And just like that, control imposed.

Something broke I held inside,
A quiet storm I could not hide.
“My wedding’s next week,” I replied,
“Too late for rules you now decide.”

“If you don’t change, we won’t support.”
I answered plain, I answered short:
“Then take your church, and leave us be.
We’ll still be wed, just her and me.”

Silence fell like shaken ground,
No louder truth had made a sound.
“Are you choosing sin?” they cried.
“I’m choosing her,” I said with pride.

Eight days left, no help, no hand,
Plans collapsing like desert sand.
No food, no funds, no safety net,
Just faith and love, and rising debt.

I told my team, “You’re free to go.”
They answered, “No, we’re with you though.”
In that moment, clear and true,
I saw what loyalty can do.

And through it all, she stayed the same,
No blame, no anger, no loud claim.
Just quiet strength beside my side.
That’s when I knew: this is my bride.

Then came the day we thought we’d lost,
A wedding built at heavy cost.

And there they stood, a whole congregation. Gave the Pastor a middle finger.
Filling up the very spaces.
No invitation. Still they came.
Human hearts are strange that way.

The music rose, the dancing wild,
Elders laughing, free as child.
Holiness took a gentle pause,
As joy replaced their rigid laws.

And when she walked, the room gave way,
A thunder no words could ever say.

In that sound, so loud, so free,
I heard what heaven meant to be.

They closed the church, they barred the door,
But love stood taller than before.

For what is blessed is not a place,
It’s two hearts held in truth and grace.

And though they tried to say “not you”…

We said,
“We will still wed.”

[Tazo @TheLifeZoomer]

THREAD PART 1:

My 2001 wedding almost got blocked by the church Pastor and I didn’t see it coming. 😅

May 2001.

I did everything right.
Informed elders: Wedding in August.

Committee formed.
Plans approved.
Everything smooth.

Too smooth… 🚩😂

We were the only Adventists in both families.

So we agreed:
No alcohol
Gospel music only

I even brought the DJ playlist for approval like I was submitting an exam 😭

The committee approved everything.

Then plot twist.

Current Pastor gets transferred.
New one comes in.

Problem?
He can’t officiate weddings.

But he says:
“Don’t worry, a Pastor from Bulawayo will come.”
We believed him.

June comes - We follow up.

Same answer:
“Don’t worry, he will be there.”

Meanwhile:
I must pay transport
And quoted upkeep fee for his convenience.
Sponsoring my own Pastor 😭

Then BOOM 💣

Next Committee meeting.
Message from Pastor:

“You can’t use the church.”

Reason?

We had sinned. We had sex before marriage and the evidence was there😀
We were censured

Translation:
Church weddings are for the ones with no evidence they had sex before marriage😭

I asked:
“But others just got married like this before us”

Answer:

“Conference’s new rule introduced last month.”
Ah yes,
Rules that arrive exactly when you need them. 😂
Last few months prior, never heard any announcement about such a new rule😀
But who can argue with the man of God.

I swallowed it.

“Fine, I’ll find another venue.”

Inside? Finished.

My wife?

Calm. Quiet.
Sitting next to me like, “We move.” ❤️

We found Edmund Davies Hall.

Honestly?
Better than the church 😅

But still,

We wanted that church blessing.

But apparently, we didn’t qualify. I felt really sinful and resented the church building for a moment.

That night I prayed:

“Lord, I accept. Forgive me.
Bless whatever happens next.”

Peace came.

Then chaos resumed immediately 😭

[Gumbo_W66 @gumbow66]

@TheLifeZoomer @OctaviandlovuN It’s nice to hear good things about about marriages from people who are married

[Tazo @TheLifeZoomer]

From hiding in a hostel,
To building a home.

That’s what happens when two people refuse to quit.

It’s always the ones with no real partnership experience
who have the loudest opinions about women.
Yes, those ones, Alfa and Omega 😀😀

Anyway………we move.🤗

Good night.

[Tazo @TheLifeZoomer]

THREAD 1/3

I once smuggled my wife and newborn baby into a men-only hostel and risked my entire future.

No plan. No backup. Just love, pressure and pure madness.

After a chaotic Lobola/Roora session, I went back to Hwange to face reality.

A first year apprentice.
Broke.
Living at White City Hwange ( Apprentices accomodation)

Strict rules:
NO women/girls allowed.

But life said: “Let’s test this boy properly.”

Pregnant wife - nowhere to stay.

Family with ability to help?
Vanished like rural network.

She ended up at her brother’s house.
You could feel the unwelcome from the gate.
Maiguru - not ready to be inconvenienced.

Food denied.
Woken up early like an unpaid worker.
Respect? Finished.

All I could offer was:
“All will be well my darling.”
(Meanwhile even me didn’t know how 😅)

Then labour came.
No support. Alone - 6 hr labour.

No husband to hold hands.
Told not allowed in the Maternity ward.
Visiting hour only.

That night- I played an Acapella song on cassette.
Tittle: Rescue by Acapella group. On repeat all night. We needed rescue.

Meanwhile at Hospital:

“You brought this on yourself, don’t annoy us” Yelled one nurse.
“This is the price of sleeping around.”

My wife, who had only known me.

Society doesn’t ask questions.

It just judges.

Finally pushed baby with no husband support like she was alone during the crime.
Life can be so brutally unfair to women

And it got worse…

👇🏾

[Tazo @TheLifeZoomer]

PART 1

We are back in Filabusi.

End of March 1996.

Left Hwange early Saturday morning.
9am - Bulawayo Main Bus Terminus to connect to Filabusi.

Negotiator was arranged a month earlier.
The plan was simple.
Arrive in Bulawayo - Negotiator - proceed to Filabusi.

Life was laughing at me😀😀

Negotiator - No show😩😩

Remember this was 1996.

No mobile phones. No way to call and ask what was going on.

My brother worked nearby at Fortwell Wholesalers/Bakery, Renkini. I still had about an hour before the Bafana Bafana bus service departed.
Walked there to ask if he knew anything.

Negotiator had fallen sick and could not travel from Kezi to Bulawayo.

My brother had known since the previous day but had no way of informing me.

There I was at Bulawayo Bus Terminus feeling completely forsaken and confused.

Meanwhile the bus conductor was shouting:

“Filabusi! Avoca! Silalatshani! Asambeni abahambayo!”

Old ladies and men boarded the bus. The loaders on top were packing the last luggage.
Steel-framed beds, ploughs, scotch carts and all sorts of rural cargo.

Me; Still standing.
Navy-blue ‘future son-in-law’ suit.
Small bag.
Some change of clothes, four yellow buns and a bottle of Orange Cascade.

My entire survival kit.

Ten minutes before departure the bus was already full and now taking standing passengers.

Stood a few metres away wondering what to do.

Then I remembered the expression on my girl’s face when I left her three months earlier.

Pregnant.

Alone.

Facing her family.

Suddenly courage came over me.

“This is not the time to abandon her.”

Before finishing that thought, I found myself on the bus.

Last standing passenger.

We were on our way.

That journey from Bulawayo to Filabusi is one I hardly remember. I didn’t notice the scenery. I didn’t hear any conversations, yet people were yapping away.

All I thought was:

“Today I might become mince meat.”

11am I disembarked at Chief Sibasa bus stop.

Could see a lot of activity from a distance.

More than a dozen men gathered under a tree, drinking, chatting and laughing.

Women moving up and down doing their chores.

It looked less like a home and more like a court waiting for the accused.

I stood at a distance where I could be seen.

Thirty minutes later my girl came over.

The pregnancy bump was now very visible.

No denial anymore.

Explained missing Negotiator situation.

She went back to report.

Came back with a suggestion.

To go see XX’s auntie, the family that looked after me the first discovery trip.

Disappeared in the mopane trees bushes and off I went.

Four kilometres on a dusty footpath in my navy blue suit, villagers along the way staring at me with curious eyes.

And that’s how my desperate search for a last-minute marriage negotiator began.

But things were about to get worse.

[Gumbo_W66 @gumbow66]

@TheLifeZoomer @The_Tax_Chief 8 hrs into a 12 hr shift 😅

[Tazo @TheLifeZoomer]

1994–195

For the first time in my life, I knew what true love felt like. I was jobless, but somehow we still managed bush picnics and romantic adventures on a zero-dollar budget.

November 1995-I landed a job at Standard Chartered Bank.
Big plans started loading in my mind;

Holidays ✅
Shopping ✅
Soft life ✅

Money hadn’t even arrived yet, but mentally I was already spending it 😌

One Sabbath after church, walking her home through a famous bush footpath. The lovers’ route. Away from the public eye.

My arm around her waist.
Her arm around mine.
It was just us. Life was the most beautiful ever.

Trees 🌳
Butterflies 🦋
Lizards 🦎
And future wedding plans floating in the air.

You know that instinctive check you do before attempting a romantic kiss. Just to make sure no witnesses are present? 😅

I did that check.

And boom.

Her brother appeared behind us, pacing fast like a man on a mission.

The kind of fast that says:
“I have seen enough.”

I calmly unlocked my arm from her waist and stepped aside, creating a respectable Holy Ghost distance between us.

Didn’t alert her.
Didn’t panic.

Just whispered a silent prayer and prepared for impact.

Within moments, he caught up,
and flew past us like a Hwange Colliery company bus late for shift.

Didn’t say a word.

She froze.
I froze.

We looked at each other in shock.

Then he glanced back.

We locked eyes.

Still frozen.

Then he disappeared into the bushes.

Just like that.

No speech.
No drama.
Just a passing judgement.

We stood there wondering:
“What just happened?”

Later we realised he was rushing for his 2pm shift at Hwange Colliery, which probably saved my life.

Emergency strategy was activated:

She would NOT go home until he had left for work.

So I escorted her to her aunt’s place on Edinburgh Road and left her safely at the gate.

On my way back home,

I saw him at the company bus stop.
Our eyes met again.
I immediately looked away and walked off quickly.

Mind you, I was in borrowed tie and socks.
Full church drip, sponsored edition.

That night I didn’t sleep.

No coins for the call box.

Just anxiety.

The next day she came to see me at the back door of Standard Chartered Bank.

She was being sent back to Filabusi the following weekend.

No beating.
No shouting.

Just:

“Pack your things.”

This was my first week on my first job.

And now my love was being deported.

I promised her:

With my first ever paycheck, I would come to Filabusi to show loyalty.

God then introduced me to destiny in the form of two workmates:

Japhet Ngwenya
and Xakaxwayo (XX)

XX was from Silalatshani.
My girlfriend was from nearby Sibasa.

Divine logistics unlocked.

He arranged accommodation for my visit.

(If anyone knows XX today please connect us. I owe that man.)

Then plot twist.

Two weeks before my trip,

Hwange Colliery offered me an apprenticeship.

Without hesitation,
I resigned from the bank before even receiving my first salary.

Managers begged me to stay.

Japhet and XX tried convincing me.

But apprenticeship meant certificate.
Bank meant vibes, I reasoned.

Decision made.

Month end came.
Got paid.
Quit on a high.

I was untouchable 😎

Then I travelled to Filabusi.
Kukura Kurerwa Volvo bus to Bulawayo.

Then Ncenga Ncenga bus.
Which lived up to its name.

Four buses later,
Breakdown before Danger.
Breakdown after Mbalabala.
Another breakdown.

Finally arrived in a bus with a broken windscreen.

Driver wrapped in a cloth ninja-style.

Red dust everywhere.

My navy suit turned maroon.
Hair turned blonde.
Teeth turned brick-coloured.

Meanwhile, drunk passengers at the back singing:

“Mpalanyana Mpalanyana, Zhiya wo Mpalanyana”.

Spirits high.
Dust higher.

I arrived looking like I survived a sandstorm. Remember @Mamoxn’s Nkayi trip, that was me.

That was the state I disembarked in😀
to meet my unimpressed girlfriend at Sibasa bus stop 😅

And this the story I was struggling to fit into the actual story.

For now feast on this. Actual story on the way. 😀😀

[Gumbo_W66 @gumbow66]

@TheLifeZoomer We pray it becomes a volume 😂

[Gumbo_W66 @gumbow66]

@Vie_matongo @TeamFuloZim We are proud of you

[Chef Vie 💙 🇿🇼 @Vie_matongo]

When you are asked to cook on someone’s special day, you are being entrusted with memory-making. I’m glad everything was perfect. Proud of myself. @TeamFuloZim

[Tazo @TheLifeZoomer]

My mum drilled one thing into me from a young age. Don’t beg, build.

She used to say, “My son, do whatever you can to make your own living. Sell mangoes, fat cooks, freezits etc just stand on your own feet.”
So I did. I sold mangoes and fat cooks to top up her tiny salary. Sometimes bullies would confiscate my entire business inventory like they were doing a tax audit, except they never issued receipts. I would go home sweating, rehearsing excuses, because reporting them meant round two of bullying. Character development started early 😅.
Fast forward to 2004, Palmerston North, New Zealand.

I lost my Boilermaking job and Finding another trade job took months. My wife had just started university, so income was thinner than instant coffee.

I took a job at a clothing factory where I was one of the few men among 90% women (that’s a whole documentary on its own 😂). Still, the money wasn’t enough. Rent didn’t care about my feelings. It wanted payment every Wednesday.

So I picked up night shifts at an aged care home.
Night two, disaster struck.
I was told to empty a bedpan and clean it using this high-pressure washer, the kind that looks innocent until it decides to baptise you by force.

Instructions were simple, place pan upside down, hold it down, then press the foot pedal.
My brain said: “Let’s freestyle.”
I pressed the pedal first.
That pan launched like it was auditioning for NASA. Bounced off the ceiling and suddenly I was standing in what felt like indoor tropical rain. Water everywhere. Ceiling, walls, floor, me. I froze like a statue while continuing to spray the room because my foot was still on the pedal.
A nurse ran in shouting, “Take your foot off!”
Too late. The room looked like we were preparing for a swimming carnival.

I dried off, cleaned up, and seriously considered resigning on the spot. But then I remembered, rent is undefeated. So I stayed.
Next night I came back determined not to start a water park again and did the job properly.

Soon the nurses were requesting me. Residents I helped shower and care for became like family. When I finally left three months later for a boilermaker job, some of them cried and wished me well.

One resident told me she had never felt such patient, kind care before. That moment alone made every awkward, humbling shift worth it, even the flying pan incident.

Some friends laughed at me back then. Life has a way of teaching everyone eventually. Let’s just say the laughter didn’t age well. Use your imagination what became of them when they found themselves jobless.

Here’s what I’ve learned:

If you’re going through something tough or even embarrassing, don’t quit.
Do what you must. Pride doesn’t pay rent, persistence does.
Hard seasons are temporary, but the character you build lasts.
Keep pushing. Stay focused. Your breakthrough might be just after the moment you feel like giving up.

And if life throws a “flying pan” moment at you, laugh, dry off, and show up again the next day 🙂

[Tazo @TheLifeZoomer]

My daughter was born in New Zealand, growing up far from the ancestral soil and stories of Zimbabwe. Yet for her school art project she chose to draw herself through the lens of who she is.

She doesn’t really know Zimbabwe. She’s only been there twice, when she was still in primary school. But as I looked at this drawing, I felt something only a father can feel. The quiet, overwhelming pride mixed with gratitude.

What melts my heart is that her favourite song is “Simbimbino” by the Bhundu Boys.

Somehow, without long lectures or history lessons, the rhythm of home reached her soul.

It reminds me that identity isn’t forced. It is inherited in ways we can’t always explain. In the stories she overhears, in the music playing in the background, in the love we try to pass down.

As a father in the diaspora, moments like this feel like a gentle whisper, “Your roots are alive in your children”.

No matter how far we travel, home still finds them.

#ProudZimbabwean
#ProudAfrican
#ProudImmigrant