Tinotenda.
Tinotenda Tamuka Makombe. The first of his family born on American soil, in the final month of the year just four years shy of the new millennium.
He is the son of Godswill & Farai Makombe, brother of Kudzai Makombe.
His name is Shona, Zimbabwe’s native tongue, translating to “we are thankful.” Growing up, the full blooded Zimbabwean, Fort Collins, Colorado native often wondered what he should be thankful for.
His times of joy were many; however, a dissonance prevailed. One key was off. As his peers played C sharp, he calmly observed whilst playing A minor.
Minute diaspora was synonymous with his life. It was a main character — Makombe’s foil.
He was never entirely out of place, but rather, barely left of center. Not to the extent of outright discomfort, but enough for the discerning eye to notice and enough for Makombe’s intuition to sense.
Perhaps, it was due to the fact that the country in which he resided and the home of his heritage shared vastly histories, though both were once colonized by Britain. Or the fact that the pronunciation of his name was frequently butchered by his teachers and peers elementary and middle school.
He spoke with no overt accent, yet, one that was nonexistent was still heard by some.
The perceptions of those around him, in the city dubbed “Vanilla Valley,” reflected Sarah McLachlan-scored commercials featuring sun-kissed children with hungry bellies and flies surrounding them.
They couldn’t have been any more incorrect.
“Sure, there are villages, and in some areas there is extreme poverty. But other parts, the cities are metropolises, it’s like New York,” Makombe says, reminiscing.
The dissonance followed Makombe across the hemisphere as he received similar treatment, skewed perceptions, while back in the southern African country.
His cousins and distant family members chuckled at his “funny American accent,” and the manner in which he spoke in Shona. They never outwardly questioned his Zimbabwean validity due to his American upbringing, but he knew it lingered in their minds.
Then, in terms of Black American culture, little to no room lied for Tinotenda to fit in either. He hadn’t grown up on “soul food,” barbecue, or 90s’ R&B.
He never ate pork.
His mother played Ladysmith Black Mambazo to wake the Makombe boys to do Saturday morning chores.
In his late middle school years into high school, he attempted to “act black.” That black performance was synonymous with “the hood”, Hip-Hop, and basketball. He submersed himself in 50 Cent lyrics, and lines from Get Rich or Die Tryin’, and occasionally indulged in hazy vices.
To a certain extent, he enjoyed these things. But he knew it wasn’t him.
Today, freshly tightened dreadlocks fall upon his forehead. A few piercings grace his face.
He can often be seen in vintage windbreakers, loose band tees, retro sneakers and round-framed glasses as if he just stepped off of the set of A Different World. His outward expression reflects what lies beneath his gold chain — he is authentically Tino.
Tino, the name he chooses to introduce himself with, caught his stride in individuality in his young adulthood.
Now 21, he proudly proclaims the title of Zimbabwean-American, but more-so the title of Tinotenda.
“I realized that being who I am is far better than the many attempts of fitting in,” Makombe says.
Makombe became an amalgamation of culture.
He embraces his home in Fort Collins, despite the lack of diversity. He holds onto his Zimbabwean roots, learning more about his Totem (continue for additional context).
Tino strives to be nothing more and nothing less than Tino.
