sweet-medicine

The house may have been impressive in stature, but having gasped as they drove up the driveway, she had been disappointed by the interior. It was so bare. Lacking in things. She was mystified by this invisible wealth and the austerity of the house.She didn__ understand Mrs Zvobgo, she was rich but chose to live, in Tsitsi__ opinion, like a pauper. She was clearly uninterested in buying things. Maybe it was because she had never known poverty. Tsitsi on the other hand felt she was well versed in it.Tsitsi, unlike Mrs Zvobgo, wasn__ above noveau riche vulgarities. She didn__ want any sort of English boarding school minimalism. She wanted more. She wanted things. Things . Things. Things. Many of them. That much she was willing to admit. She made a private decision then that she would change this when she became the woman of this household. She knew they said wealth whispered and rich shouted, but what good was having all that they did if she had to keep it like some sort of secret?

The grief of widowhood, of losing a husband and only to be harassed by his brothers, remained pressed on her.

You know, Tsitsi, you are so quick to point out that you are not a prostitute. I just want to laugh because you are just falling into rank. You all should spare us your __orality_ that lauds __omen_ over the supposedly lesser __hores_ and __irls_. That__ how society sees us. That__ how you see us. You want it to be that we are like coal, only to be loved in the dark and tossed like ashes come morning.

You can__ fight an evil disease with sweet medicine,_ says the ng__nga.

Tsitsi and the rest of the nation who now found themselves degreed and broke, her parents and the parents of the nation with degreed children and still broke, had thought-convinced themselves-that the poverty of their lives could be eliminated by 'professionalisation'.