Editor : JoeVud (Joseph V)

  As the sun set over the familiar neighborhoods, we as a group of friends gather at our favorite hangout spot, reminiscing about old times and sharing the current. We had been had grown up together, exploring the streets, sharing laughter, and supporting each other through thick and thin. Some of our friends are late. Over the years, we had gone or separate ways, chasing dreams and building careers. Some had moved to different cities, while others had stayed close to home. Despite the distance and varying degrees of success, our bond remained strong. On weekends as  we sat together, we couldn't help but notice the different stages of life we had each reached. Some are married with kids, while others were still pursuing their passions. Some have achieved great professional success, and others have taken  more unconventional paths. One of our friends,  had been always dreaming of starting her own business. He had taken the leap and is now running a successful startup....

  Harare, once known for its vibrant culture and rich history, has now become a drug den that is destroying the lives of its younger generation. The once bustling streets are now filled with the sounds of drug deals being made, and the sweet smell of addiction hangs heavy in the air. I have watched as my city has deteriorated before my eyes, and the saddest part is that we are losing these young people to the grasp of drugs. I have seen bright futures dimmed by the haze of addiction, and promising lives cut short by the poison that flows through their veins. Just last week, I buried one of my young ones who had so much potential. She was a talented bubly girl, with dreams of running her own business and traveling the world. But those dreams were shattered by the lure of drugs, and she became another victim of Harare's cruel grip. As I stood by her graveside, watching as the earth swallowed her up, I felt a sense of deep sadness and pain. The loss of her bright spirit was a blow to ...

 Here's the story: We sat down with a man who had a harrowing journey with addiction. He began by telling us about his early days in tertiary education, where he would occasionally smoke dagga with friends. However, his focus remained on his studies, and he worked hard to graduate and secure a qualification. After landing a job, he started building a life for himself. He got married, bought a property, and even splurged on a car. Life was good, and he felt like he was on top of the world. But one fateful night, while out with friends, he was introduced to heavier narcotics. At first, the experience was exhilarating. He described it as an elevation from the mild high of dagga to a level 5 high, where he felt invincible and euphoric. The effects would last for days, allowing him to party from Friday to Sunday without sleep. The problem, however, began to manifest on Mondays and Tuesdays every week, when the withdrawal symptoms would kick in, and he'd struggle to function at work....

 In the heart of Mamelodi, life moves fast, and every street corner carries its own secrets. People hustle, struggle, and survive in different ways. Among these stories was one that shook the kasi, whispered in taxis, taverns, and spaza shops. There was a woman, married but living under strain. Her husband had been without work for a long time, trying but failing to provide. She was loyal, but hunger and needs do not wait. At work, she found a friend—one of those so-called “work husbands.” He noticed when she was down, stepped in when there was no bread at home, paid for her hair, nails, and other small luxuries that made her feel whole again. But there was a line she never crossed. Her heart was still at home with her husband, and her loyalty remained, even though she leaned on another man for support. The “work husband,” however, read it differently. He believed all his giving, all his help, was building something deeper. In his mind, she belonged to him. He thought one day, ...

In a nation scarred by war, a new kind of gathering is offering hope. Syrians from across the diaspora returned to Damascus for the Information and Technology Advancement Forum , determined to chart a technological future for their homeland. These were not politicians or generals, but engineers , scientists , and entrepreneurs who had built careers abroad. They carried with them not just expertise, but a belief that Syria could rise again — through innovation, education, and digital progress. At the forum, discussions ranged from artificial intelligence in healthcare , to renewable energy for communities , to coding lessons for schoolchildren . Every session carried the same conviction: technology is more than wires and screens — it is the lifeline of a new Syria. Beyond ideas, the gathering symbolized something deeper: unity. Syrians, once scattered across continents, stood together again, committed to channeling their skills back home. “Rebuilding Syria will not happen overnight,”...

 Yesterday I attended Feli Nandi's show at Hard Rock Café in Sandton, Johannesburg — and what a night it was. The show was epic. Just when we thought the legacy of voices like Chiwosino Maraire was gone, Feli reminded us that the genre lives on.  https://x.com/NandiFeli?t=p7yxFWzqtvHM6HD13b-QPg&s=08 Feli Nandi is the real deal. The woman is good — her voice, her energy, her ever-smiling presence lit up the whole stage. She’s a true people’s person. The crowd fed off her vibe and she gave it right back. Flanked by friends and fellow artists like Joe Thomas (yes, the Joe Thomas of “I Wanna Know”), Makhadzi and others, she held her own and more. It’s worth it to attend her shows — you leave feeling uplifted. She performed to a fully packed café. Zimbabweans came out strong to support the gig. Some were dressed traditionally, proudly showing off culture. I remember one couple in matching colors — it was beautiful to see. Feli herself was dressed in white, glowing under the lig...