I am not Zimbabwean. I was raised in a country twenty one miles long and fourteen miles wide. I played on Barbados' sun kissed beaches, breathed fresh coastal air and have had my share of man of war stings and sea urchin sticks. I belong to a people who are industrious and who take pride in their accomplishments. I was born free and blessed with a future as bright as the Caribbean sun. I am the descendent of slaves brought against their will to an island on which they now thrive. I do not know what it means to belong to a country that although it is free, has been enslaved for over twenty years by paranoia and old ideas. I do not know what it means to work for a government that can only afford to pay in fictitious dollars that cannot be withdrawn or held. I do not know what it means to submit a request to the Central Bank of my country to withdraw funds from my own bank account to purchase medicine that will save my life. No – I am not Zimbabwean – but I am human. These injustices can last no longer! As long as I have a voice, God given talent and a sewing machine – the world will ignore Zimbabwe no longer. So with this I present to you Mudiwa – it is a borrowed name from the Shona people of Zimbabwe. Mudiwa means ‘beloved’. It is not in my tongue, it is not from my culture – but it is a universal concept. Humanity is precious and once you are born into this world you are Mudiwa to God.
