Why I Began Writing

The Manifesto

Coming out of a nasty depressive episode has been a blessing in many ways. Poor, tired, disillusioned, and in pain I never thought possible, writing helped me to remember who I AM. And that pain is never meant to be crippling.

It also helped me to remember that others who had inflicted pain on me in as many different ways as their capabilities were — were just that — personalities — people who made mistakes, who had fumbled along, and just like me who ended up with facades to mask their own pain.

The clarity came in surprising, unexpected ways, but through it all there is one certain truth — I am, because you are.

In my culture, this is the central concept or philosophy of Ubuntu (Botho) much acclaimed, though often abused.

It's the unmasking that I love as a writer. So the stories on these pages are inspired by my deepest parts. The complexities of us humans is a never ending source of fascination. And how words and language shape ideas, people, cultures and places.

So we are many stories — as we meet, interact, come and go in each other's lives. My dream is to share those stories of others too.

May they hold up mirrors for us to truly see how all life on this beautiful Earth is connected.

Before The Selves of Us

I fell into writing at almost eleven — the first time I watched the complicated things raging inside me grow quiet, simply because I could finally see them on paper. I have written ever since, as much to understand my life as to survive it, and reading followed close behind: books are, for my soul, what air is for my body. My story runs across Botswana, South Africa and Zimbabwe; I grew up in Botswana and spent some of my happiest years working in the magical Okavango Delta. It has been an unconventional life — no higher education, a couple of brave failures, and a soft spot for rainbows, butterflies and the colour indigo — but its greatest lesson is this: writing and I are intertwined, yet remain two distinct works.