In a world where people too often wait until it’s too late to appreciate those who have touched their lives, I believe we must normalize showing gratitude while we and those we love are still here. Today, I want to share the story of a man who has been a guiding light in my life for the past thirty-five years—Isheunoziva Chinyoka. To me, he’s simply Ishe, a man whose kindness, wisdom, and brilliance shaped my life in ways I could never have imagined as a young boy.
Our paths first crossed when I moved to Jairos Jiri Kadoma for primary school. Ishe was one of the older boys, and from the beginning, he took me under his wing, offering life lessons in the most unexpected of places. Behind our classrooms, we had makeshift structures built from car tires and zinc sheets. Among them was one special structure with an upper and lower part, the upper being a hallowed space reserved for older boys. Yet Ishe would invite me up, where I would listen to stories and nuggets of wisdom shared by him and the others. In that sacred space, Ishe taught me to spell my name and introduced me to stories from the Bible—skills that not only improved my academic performance but sparked a hunger for knowledge that would carry me through life. In fact, those teachings catapulted me to the top of my class at the end of the year.
Ishe was a born innovator. With soft wires and empty sterilized milk bottles, he made toy microphones that produced an echo, and many boys would imitate the speeches of the late President Robert Mugabe through those clever creations. Another of his genius inventions was a master key made from wire, which could open almost every bookcase in the boys’ hostel. But Ishe wasn’t a thief—far from it. He used his creation to help those who had lost their keys, earning him a reputation as the go-to person whenever a problem needed solving.
When Ishe completed Grade 7 and went to secondary school in Masvingo, we kept in touch through letters. Even from afar, he was still encouraging me, still investing in my growth. He eventually moved to Lower Gweru Adventist High School, where he began writing beautiful poetry. One of his poems, *The Best of Your Talent*, was published in *Chiedza*, a magazine from the Dorothy Duncan Braille Library. I remember reciting the poem in front of the whole school during assembly, and one stanza in particular has stayed with me to this day:
“The best of your talent is your conscience’s urge
To survive and withstand the harsh atmosphere:
That which blankets the world and her children.
The best of your talent breeds for your future,
it determines your success.”
Five years later, I found myself following in Ishe’s footsteps at the same high school, studying the same combination of Literature in English, History, and Divinity. By then, Ishe was studying law at the University of Zimbabwe, along with another friend, Blackson Matemba (may he rest in peace). At the time, life felt like a series of insurmountable challenges. Our specialist teacher was seriously ill, there was a shortage of Braille books and equipment, and my dream of pursuing law seemed to be slipping away. I almost quit school. Desperate, I poured my frustration into a letter to Ishe, explaining how my dream felt increasingly out of reach. “The situation is sobad”, I wrote, “that everyday I wake up to realise how elusive my dream is. My desire for getting into the legal profession is no longer backed by any tangible reality and I am afraid, I have no second option”. I remember quoting Chinua Achebe’s *Things Fall Apart*, saying, “I feel that I have lost the sky and I am fast losing the ground and I might fall where my pieces cannot be gathered.”
Ishe’s response was swift and powerful. He reminded me of how he had always held me to be intelligent and painted a vivid picture of hope. “Darkness,” he wrote, “comes before dawn. You are still on course to become the person you dream of. Like the biblical Joseph, you will rise, and all who surround you will eventually treat you like a king.” His words reignited my faith, and true to his promise, he visited me by the end of the month. His visit wasn’t just about comfort; it was about strategy. He brought history textbooks in Braille, a tape recorder, and blank cassettes, tools that would fuel my studies and, ultimately, help me pass my exams.
We also had a stimulating discussion about relationships. He told me about his girlfriend that he loved so much and would want me to meet when I would visit him at college. He said, “Marriage is not an experiment or something you do for others. As blind people, we’re pressured to marry the so-called typical wife, but we must marry because we want to, not because society expects it.”
Throughout my academic journey, Ishe was always there, a steady presence. During my second year at the law school, I sent countless hours in his office exchanging information on access technology, a field that he pursued with zest until he became a computer wizard he now is. When in my third year, I struggled especially with a course called Accounts for Legal Practitioners, Ishe once again came through, facilitating a fellow student to help me grasp the concepts I found challenging.
Both Ishe and Blackson used to call me “Mufanha” which loosely translates to young brother and they referred to each other as “mudhara” which loosely translates to elder. When I completed my law degree, it was agreed that I could now be called mudhara and so the two called me mudhara. Up to now, Ishe and I still refer to each other as such.
Starting in September 2009, Ishe and I invested in accessible phones, starting with the Nokia models. During those days, we used cracked software but that’s a story for another day. I vividly remember my disbelief when one day, in 2010 or 2011, Ishe first showed me a phone without buttons. At first, I thought there was a man who was going insane until he started confidently using the phone as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It was a glimpse into the future, a future he was already living in. that was an IPhone. In July 2011, I joined him when I bought my first iPhone. In 2015, Ishe told me that he was leaving the IPhone for Android. He indicated that there was freedom in Android. It wasn’t until after three years that I joined him after my IPhone got stollen and I didn’t have money to replace it then. I just bought a simple Android phone and experienced the freedom he was talking about and up to now, I still enjoy the freedom.
Ishe’s impact on my life cannot be overstated. He helped me, not once, not twice, but countless times. Whether through the powerful words of his letters, the practical tools he shared, or the life lessons he imparted, Ishe played a crucial role in shaping who I am today. He is one of those unsung heroes who has touched many lives in ways that may never be fully known. And though this story captures just a fraction of his influence, it serves as a testament to the power of one person’s kindness, intelligence, and selflessness.
Isheunoziva Chinyoka is my hero, and today, while we are both still here, I want to honor him.