In the quiet of a Nottingham kitchen, Whitney Chikowore, cooks for her daughter, she stirs a pot of sadza, a thick maize porridge often eaten with vegetables or meat, a cornerstone of Zimbabwean cuisine for generations.
Beside her, ten-year-old Nyasha watches closely, her small hands wrapped around a wooden spoon, eager to mimic the motions of her mother’s hand.
“Sadza is our traditional dish,” Whitney explains, her voice tinged with nostalgia. “It’s a connection to our ancestors, to our land, to our people. It’s how we gather, how we celebrate, how we remember.”
She smiles, then adds, “Sometimes I make muriwo une dovi leafy greens with peanut butter. These dishes can be time-consuming and exhausting to cook, especially after a long day. Sometimes, as a mother, I’m tired, and we could just have pizza. But I try, as much as possible, to cook them because I want my daughter to be familiar with their aroma and taste.”
Since moving to the UK in 2022, Whitney has made it her mission as a mother to ensure that Nyasha grows up with a strong sense of her Zimbabwean heritage.
As a mother, “I don’t want my daughter to ever be in a situation where she’s too African to be British and too foreign to be Zimbabwean,” she says. “I don’t want her to exist in that fog in between. So—be it the language, the music, or the values, I want her to learn her cultural heritage.”
She continues, “I’ve come across children who can only speak English and not their local languages, and I wasn’t happy about that. This is literally how we lose our identity to the West; colonialism still lives on. I don’t blame their parents. I just don’t think people understand the gravity of not being able to speak your language.
“It carries your history, your cultural stories, and your values. It’s definitely part of your identity. If you can’t speak your identity, it’s like losing a part of who you are. This is what separates you from others. I want my daughter to be able to speak Shona so she can pass it on to her daughter.”
As young as she is, Nyasha is already learning. Each day, they practice simple phrases like Mauya (“Welcome”) and Salibonani (“Hello”). Whitney ensures these words are embedded into their daily interactions.
“By speaking Shona,” she explains, “Nyasha is not just learning words, she is learning who she is and where she comes from.”
Whitney is equally intentional about the values she wants to pass down, which sometimes are at odds with mainstream British parenting approaches. At the core of Zimbabwean culture is respect for elders, community, and the importance of family.
“Ubuntu,” she says, referencing the Southern African philosophy emphasising shared humanity, “is about understanding that we are all connected. I want Nyasha to grow up knowing that her actions affect others, that kindness and respect are paramount.”
These values are reinforced through storytelling, a tradition that has long been used to impart wisdom across generations. Now and then, Whitney shares tales from Zimbabwean folklore stories of bravery, kindness, and the power of community.
“At the heart of Zimbabwean life is ubuntu, the idea that ‘I am because we are,’” she says. “I want Nyasha to grow up knowing that kindness matters. That respect for elders, for community, for our shared humanity matters.”
Whitney is clear in the ongoing tug-of-war between assimilation and cultural preservation: her daughter will not be a casualty.
“I want her to walk through the world knowing exactly who she is,” she says with quiet defiance. “To speak her language. To know her people. To carry her culture with pride.”
And as generations come and go, she hopes the tide is turning.
“Maybe one day,” she says, “our children won’t have to fight so hard to hold onto who they are.”
Aside from language, Whitney is also eager to introduce her daughter to other rich aspects of Zimbabwean culture, like mbira music, the soulful sounds of the traditional thumb piano, or the lively rhythms of sungura and jit.
“Even better,” she smiles, “I’ll teach her a few simple dance moves inspired by these songs. The music and the movement are all part of the story. It’s how we express joy, history, and identity.”
Whitney is just as intentional about what she doesn’t want her daughter to carry forward.
“As much as I want Nyasha to hold on to our culture, I don’t want her to inherit everything,” she says thoughtfully. “Some parts of tradition, like rigid gender expectations, I want her to unlearn.”
She reflects on how traditional norms often limit girls’ roles within families and communities, reinforcing domesticity, obedience, and self-sacrifice expectations.
“In our culture, girls are often raised to serve, to remain quiet, to put others first, even at their own expense. I was taught that a girl should be seen and not heard. I don’t want that for my daughter.”
Instead, Whitney envisions a different kind of inheritance, where cultural pride walks hand in hand with personal freedom.
“I want her to know she can lead, speak up, take up space that she can honour her roots without being confined by them. Culture should evolve with us, not hold us back.”
Since moving to the UK, Whitney has made it a central part of her motherhood mission to pass on the gift of cultural heritage to her children, a promise to the generations that came before her, and a gift to those still to come.
“Because to know who you are is to walk through the world with power,” Whitney says. “And for Nyasha, that knowledge won’t be an afterthought; it will be her foundation.”
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