By Maureen Kademaunga
The fires we light are not fires to set alight police cars, they are small cooking fires we make in our township backyards to feed the children when there’s no electricity.
The fires we light are not fires to set alight our neighbor’s small-time business, they are rare passions we ignite in each other to soldier on, set up vending stalls and make a living against all odds.
The fires we light are not fires to torch public buildings, they are rare passions we ignite in our little children’s hearts to get up and learn something new even when we know their future stands uncertain.
The fires we light are not fires to burn our flag or bring shame to our beautiful Zimbabwe, they are small fires we put together on Jozi’s street corners to keep warm while we cross the border and engage in a useful trade.
The fires we light are not fires we sit around and laugh, they are fires we sit around at a relatives funeral and mourn our dysfunctional health services and the life it purloined.
The fires we make, we the women of Zimbabwe, tell our daily story of struggle.
We are sorry Sir, if our small fires make for space for political talk that makes you uneasy.
We are deeply sorry our dear leader, if our small fires have ignited, in our people, the passion and fiery that will consume you.