WHEN A SONG BECOMES A MEMORY
Akanaka Akarara – Paul Matavire
Growing up, I never imagined that one day I would live long enough to understand the late Paul Matavire's song, Akanaka Akarara.
Today, I do.
And believe me, it is a different kind of understanding.
Yah, the saying “Rinonyenga rinohwarara, rinosimudza musoro rawana” is not for men only. Women, too, can leave behind broken hearts, shattered trust and memories that refuse to go away.
Dudzai showed me flames during our marriage. To this day, I have no desire to attempt marriage again. Some experiences do not simply end when a relationship ends. They settle somewhere deep inside you, changing how you see love, commitment and even yourself.
Listening to Matavire now, I find myself paying attention to every line. The song's imagery, the warnings and the declarations of a man who has reached the end of his patience all seem to speak a language I have come to know personally.
Lyric by lyric, the song lives rent-free in my head.
So do the memories.
I don't just hear Matavire anymore. I hear my own house.
I hear the nights I kept quiet because I thought silence would preserve peace. I hear the mornings I woke up beside someone who somehow felt like a stranger.
I hear the version of me who loved softly, trusted easily and believed that love, no matter how difficult things became, would eventually find its way.
And then I hear how that version of me slowly disappeared.
There are experiences that teach you lessons you never volunteered to learn. They change your expectations, make you question your judgement and leave you cautious in places where you were once fearless.
I used to believe that marriage was something you could keep working at, something you could protect through patience, compromise and love.
I still believe in love.
But I have also learnt that love should not require you to lose yourself in order to keep it alive.
I am not angry anymore.
I am just careful.
And perhaps that is what people sometimes misunderstand about those who choose not to try again. They assume bitterness, resentment or an inability to move on.
Sometimes, it is simply a person who has finally made peace with the decision to protect what remains of themselves.
Some songs you don't sing along to.
You just listen, nod, and remember why you stopped dancing.
Akanaka Akarara by Paul Matavire
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