Rising from the silence

PATIENCE MUSA

Her story begins in the soft hum of a church choir, a little girl standing beside her older sister, shyly echoing the harmonies of voices that filled the air with faith.

Pauline Gundidza was only eight when her voice was first noticed. The choir leaders at her Roman Catholic church saw in her something rare, something tender and she was welcomed into the adult choir, her voice carrying both innocence and promise.

At home, music already lived in her blood. Her father would often play the mbira as a hobby, its metallic hum weaving through the evenings. Pauline watched, fascinated, as the music became a quiet language of connection. Television, too, pulled her deeper into the spell Mutinhimira weMumhanzi Ezomgido, Coke on the Beat — and the powerful women who graced the screens: Toni Braxton, TLC, Missy Elliott, Whitney Houston, Destiny’s Child. She saw in them what she could one day become.

Yet becoming an artist was never part of her plan. Pauline wanted to be a lawyer — she was an intellectual, drawn to ideas, driven by purpose. “I never intended to become a musician,” she says.

“I was forced on stage by others.” But fate has its own rhythm. At Dominican Convent, she was exposed to art and performance, where she began to shine in school musicals. It was there that fellow singer Tererai Mugwadi invited her to join an a cappella group — and Pauline’s path began to unfold.

Later, with the iconic group Mafriq, she found her voice on the national stage. Their music — vibrant, raw, and relevant — shaped a generation. And when the group eventually split, Pauline rebuilt herself through Music Crossroads, where she learned the business of music, sharpened her mbira skills, and discovered how to blend tradition with her own evolving artistry.

But success does not always shield the soul. Pauline’s life spiraled into darker places — a troubled childhood, painful relationships, the weight of expectations, and eventually, the numbing lure of drugs and alcohol. “It was a bit of peer pressure,” she admits, “but also the inability to cope with reality and my life situation.” The substances dulled the pain, until they didn’t. They became a prison.

Her lowest point came when she felt she had nothing left to live for — a moment of deep despair when even music had fallen silent. “I had become a menace to society,” she recalls, “I lost my friends, my loved ones, even my partner.”

But in the stillness of her own breaking, her daughter’s voice called her back. “She challenged me to take my happiness back,”Pauline says softly. “That was the moment I decided to quit drinking and face my problems head-on.”

What followed was a slow resurrection — one built on faith, community, and self-discipline.

Church became her sanctuary. Deliverance, her renewal. She began performing at substance abuse awareness events, using her platform to spread truth and hope. “It reminds me of my boundaries,” she says. “Whenever I feel low, I read, I play music, or I spend time at church. It helps me stay grounded.”

The journey has not been easy. “I’m a work in progress,” she admits. “Relapse does occur, and people often treat you like a failure. But I no longer put pressure on myself to live up to anyone’s expectations. I take every day as it comes. I know with God, all things are possible.”

Pauline’s message to those struggling with addiction is clear and compassionate: “The damage ahead is not worth those few moments of being high. It’s a false sense of security. It’s best not to start at all. But if you already have — know that recovery is possible. God doesn’t give up on us.”

Now, she sings not only with her voice, but with her life. Every note carries a story of surrender, strength, and rebirth.

The little girl who once stood beside her sister in a church choir has found her way back to the light — not untouched by pain, but transformed by it.

Her song today is quieter, wiser, and full of grace  a reminder that even from brokenness, beauty can bloom again. For Pauline Gundidza, music is no longer about fame or applause; it is the language of healing, and the sound of a soul that refused to stay silent.