Today I was reminded about the greatest impact on my life.


My father was born in Guruve today almost six decades ago. Since then he has led a life most gods would wish for. Honorable and strong he has blazed the trail for yours truly, #sonofguruve.  He has advised, chastised, loved and cared for hundreds and impacted thousands.  He has guided me the moment I arrived June 1986 and kept me from harm’s way.  He is not perfect, as none of us are, but I couldn’t imagine anyone else to take the title of my father.

He was smuggled out of Rhodesia in pursuit of his academic dreams to one day rise to the helm of his career.  He has travelled to almost all continents of our troubled land and has unimaginable stories from North Africa, Eastern Europe, the Middle East and South America and Zimbabwe of course.  If you’re wondering, what he was doing there he was doing Humanitarian work for one of the World’s largest charities.  He is never the loudest unless we smuggle some Guinness into his chalice, but these have wittingly provided some of my fondest memories of Baba.

Baba was and has always been a helper. We often argue about the concept of tithing, but I know through his daily support of his extended family he has always tithed more than the Bible says.  I write  today because it his birthday  so while distance separates us, the spirit of fatherly love furnishes my memory every day.  We talk, text, argue, debate and love each other because we are much the same in appearance, but also in personality and demeanor.

At the helm of his career he worked at the largest Oil Company in the world and I remember his two-week absence in Paris during the ’98 World Cup.  He brought home a grey France t-shirt for my brother and I and Lotto soccer boots.

One year he sold a house, quit his job and bought four air tickets for our family to migrate to England, to start all over again!

He’s the reason I’m quite comfortable riding a bicycle around my humble Upstate city meeting humble men and networking with noble men. It’s because Baba taught me about networking and most importantly sacrifice and the need to always work hard no matter the task, the challenge. He always sat Razzle Dazzle and I down before EVERY school term and said,

“Guys, what do Guruve Men do? They Work Hard, because hard work pays off.”

image Razzle Dazzle, FatherofGuruveand,sonofGuruve, Kariba Lake, Zimbabwe

I’m actually beginning to realize what he meant only now.

That’s my Dad, so if you’re reading this snippet, say CHEERS, three times!




While I call myself the Sonofguruve, he is the FatherofGuruve. He gave me a talent of communicating effectively, reducing risk and buying time so today’s post is dedicated solely to him and his life’s works. Read a piece he nonchalantly wrote one evening.  I present to you #FatherofGuruve’s poem:


We lived yesterday for tomorrow’s blight,
We live today for yesterday’s plight,
We live now for tomorrow’s lie.
We die today for tomorrow’s life,
But tomorrow’s life will die before it is born.
We ask for no reprisal.
We ask not for last year’s mercy,
But plead for an emotional rescue.
We ask not for forgiveness.
We bear no grudges,
Even though grudges reside in our conscience.
Our conscience knows no guilt,
Because guilt is a foreign imposition,
That knows no friend or foe.
We brook no pleasure
In the imposition of emotions
On our mental common room,
Already over-crowded by the mercies of yesteryear’s guilt.
We will live tomorrow,
On the benevolent promise
Of a bumper harvest of ashes,
From the badly burnt treasures,
From down memory lane.
We will outlive tomorrow,
As we have done in centuries past.
We will outshine the sun,
Because we no longer fear,
The shadows that hang on our everyday existence.
We will. We will. We will. We will.
Because we are Mhofus, Africans, and proudly Zimbabweans.


**I added..”, Africans, and proudly Zimbabweans.”

Check out his book here:

Mzukuru waSarikosi

© SonofGuruve 2016


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