Wander and Weave

Yesterday, the 1st of August, was National Girlfriends Day. While social media was filled with beautiful photos, appreciation posts, inside jokes, and screenshots of conversations that probably should have remained private (we all have that one friend who believes nothing is confidential if it's funny enough), I found myself smiling quietly and reflecting on the women who have walked beside me through the different seasons of my life. Friendship has not always come naturally to me. I don't think I was one of those girls who effortlessly collected best friends wherever she went. You know the type. The ones who still have their kindergarten best friend, their primary school best friend, their high school squad, and somehow everyone still meets up every December wearing matching outfits. That wasn't my story. My younger years were filled with friendships that were pleasant but often temporary. We laughed together, shared classrooms, borrowed pens, exchanged secrets we swore wo...

There was a time when I believed happiness had an address, and somehow it was always outside of me. Sometimes it lived in another person's smile. Sometimes it rested in a friendship that made me feel seen. Other times it hid inside a relationship, a dream, a possession, a title, or even a version of my life that I desperately wanted to protect. I convinced myself that as long as I held on tightly enough, I would never have to experience the emptiness of losing it. But life has a way of reminding us that everything we grip too tightly eventually teaches us about letting go. I know this because I have lived it. I have been the woman whose entire emotional world revolved around people. When someone drifted away, changed, disappointed me, or simply chose a different path, it felt as though a piece of me had been ripped away with them. I wasn't just mourning their absence; I was mourning the version of myself that only existed when they were around. My world would crumble. I would c...

Through His Lens: The Quiet Art of Telling Zimbabwe's Stories Before I dive into today's feature, I want to say something I find myself repeating often: Zimbabwe is overflowing with talent. Not the loud, flashy kind that constantly demands attention, but the quiet kind. The kind that observes, listens, creates, and leaves the world just a little more beautiful than it found it. Every time I speak to another Zimbabwean creative, I am reminded that art isn't simply made, it is lived. This week's Shining a Light on a ZimCreative introduces us to one such storyteller, a man who doesn't merely take photographs; he preserves moments that time would otherwise steal. Meet Tinashe Brighton Jakarasi. Some people inherit cameras. Others buy them because they are on sale. Tinashe's relationship with photography, however, began with something far more dangerous: curiosity. We all know curiosity has a reputation for getting cats into trouble, but thankfully for us, it occasio...

One question I get asked over and over again, whether I'm talking to friends here in Japan, meeting people from different parts of the world, or chatting with readers of Wander and Weave, is, "What is your favourite Zimbabwean meal?" I always laugh because whoever asks that question clearly doesn't realise how impossible it is to choose just one. Zimbabwe has such a rich food culture that every meal carries a story, a memory, and a feeling. But since so many of you have been curious, I thought it was finally time to answer the question. So, my lovelies, come hungry because today I'm taking you on a little culinary journey through the meals that instantly make me think of home. If I had to begin anywhere, it would have to be with the meal that comforts my soul more than any other: sadza, muboora une dovi, and roadrunner chicken stew. If Zimbabwe had a national hug, I am convinced it would taste exactly like this. Sadza is the heart of almost every Zimbabwean table....

Fashion is a funny thing. Just when you think you've seen the last of a particular trend, it finds its way back into our wardrobes as though it never left. The flared jeans our parents wore in the '70s made a comeback. Low-rise jeans from the early 2000s returned despite many people swearing they never would. Chunky sneakers, oversized blazers, tiny handbags, cargo trousers, crochet pieces, everything seems to have its moment again. It reminds me that fashion doesn't really disappear; it simply waits for the right generation to rediscover it. That realization has made me think differently about the way we consume fashion. Every season, we're introduced to a new list of "must-have" pieces, colours, or aesthetics that promise to define the year. Suddenly everyone is dressing the same, buying the same items, and curating wardrobes around whatever is currently dominating social media. Before long, those pieces are declared "out," making room for the next...

There is a quiet little street near my home in Japan that I have walked countless times since I arrived in 2024. It isn't a place that would appear on a travel guide, nor is it somewhere people stop to admire. Yet, tucked beside a house that I still wonder is abandoned, stands a tree that has unknowingly become one of my greatest teachers. The first time I saw it, I couldn't stop staring. It had been burnt almost beyond recognition. Its trunk was blackened, its branches were stripped bare, and there wasn't the slightest hint of life clinging to it. It looked as though a fire had swallowed everything it once was and left only a shell behind. What puzzled me most was where I was. Japan is a country that takes such incredible care of its surroundings. Trees are cherished, parks are immaculate, and seeing one that looked as though it had survived a fire felt so unusual. Every time I walked past it, the same question lingered in my mind: What happened to this tree? There was nev...