THE HONEST IMPACT with Gideon Kapuka

A scary, reality truth bomb that people of our time are vicious to converse about. "Women are groomed to hate men." And just like that, the room lost its mind. Gasps. Outrage. Fingers pointing everywhere. But here is what I have noticed with my own two eyes. When I say this as a man, I am called insecure. I am told I am not a real man. I get called a misogynist like it is my middle name. But let a woman say the exact same words. Suddenly everybody wants to sit down for a calm, rational discussion over tea and biscuits. Suddenly it is a valid conversation worth having. Interesting how that works. Very interesting. You would almost think the problem is not what is being said, but who is saying it. Funny how that never gets discussed over tea. Let me talk to the men who were raised by single mothers. You know exactly what I am about to say. You just do not want to admit it out loud. You love your mother. Of course you do. She is a superhero who raised you with one hand tied behi...

There is a particular kind of silence that does not come from an empty room. It comes from waking up next to someone and still feeling like a ghost in your own life. It comes from scrolling through a phone that never lights up with a genuine question, from realizing your closest friend has chosen distance not because life got in the way, but simply because they preferred it that way. That kind of silence does not shout. It settles into your bones like a slow fog. You start to wonder what is wrong with you. You replay conversations, second guess your tone, your timing, your very existence. You see others laughing in groups, posting celebrations, casually mentioning plans you were never part of. And you sink deeper into the lonely belief that you must be broken. But here is what no one tells you about loneliness. It does not always arrive because you are unloved. Sometimes it arrives because you have outgrown the shallow versions of love that surround you. Consider the person with a sign...

Oh great. Here we go again. "An ex is an ex because they failed the role. Stop crying. They left. End of story." Right. Let me just grab my emotional reset button. Oh. It's broken. Shocking. 🙃 Yes, technically, the math is mathing. An ex is, by definition, someone who took an exit. They failed the audition for the leading role in your life. They ghosted, they fumbled, they looked at your open heart and decided, “Meh, I’ll pass.” Logically? You should be throwing confetti. Realistically? Your brain is currently replaying the time you looked at each other like you were the moon, right before you both treated each like an unpaid internship. Here is the sarcastic truth bomb we don't want to admit. Knowing they failed the role does not stop your nervous system from treating the breakup like a five alarm fire. Because heartbreak isn't logical. Heartbreak is a little demon with a bad editing suite. It takes the 5% of the relationship that was magical and loops it on 4K ...

Let me tell you something straight. No sugar. No diplomacy. No fear or favour. This is the kind of truth that breaks friendships and ends dinner parties. But silence is betrayal. I am calling a spade a spade. Lies have short legs. We have always known the truth. Our ancestors gave us the power to grab the fake bull by the horns. The only question left is why we have not acted. Why we continue to talk while the land sleeps under someone else's fence. Zimbabwe Already Passed That Phase Let us look east. Zimbabwe went through the fire. They took the land violently, messily, and imperfectly. Their economy collapsed. Then it stabilized. Then they learned hard lessons about who should actually hold the hoe. But here is what we refuse to admit in Namibia and South Africa. Zimbabwe is past the phase of talking. They acted. We are still at conferences. They have black farmers on land that was once exclusively white owned. We have task teams studying the problem for the tenth year. I am not ...

Welcome to the modern relationship arena, where we have all somehow signed up for a comrade marathon without reading the terms and conditions. The question on everyone’s lips is whether someone’s mileage actually matters when two people decide to build a life together. The argument often starts with a very passionate declaration that a man should marry a virgin because no woman can ever tell you how many men have entered her if she isn’t a virgin. The logic, if you can call it that, suggests that a woman’s high body count is repulsive and detrimental to the future of a man. Period. End of discussion. Case closed. But let us pause for a moment of uncomfortable truth. If you do not want to marry a comrade, then you should probably refrain from participating in comrade activities yourself. You cannot fight to overwrite the innate nature of masculinity while simultaneously expecting a woman to overwrite her own lived experiences. The universe does not bend that way, no matter how loudly yo...

It is 11:47 PM. You are lying in bed, exhausted, but your mind is a crowded subway station at rush hour. A mistake from 2017 plays on loop. A worry about next Tuesday's meeting cuts in. A memory of someone's disappointed face flickers by. Your body is here, under the blankets. But you are scattered across time. This is what the mind does automatically. It runs. It runs into the past. It runs into the future. But it rarely stays here. The mind replays old conversations, missed opportunities, heartbreaks, regrets, mistakes, and the people we used to be. It whispers: You should have done better. You wasted time. You ruined your chances. And when it is done torturing us with the past, it jumps into the future. It tells us happiness is somewhere ahead. In the next achievement. The next relationship. The next version of ourselves. The next breakthrough. The next level. The mind constantly says: 'Once you become somebody, then you can finally feel enough'. Think about it. Have...