By Kenneth Mufuka
I had only one purpose as I travelled to Zimbabwe, to mourn the passing of my mother, and to make peace with my ancestral spirits.
Before I started my journey, an unusual event had prompted me. I woke up in the middle of my night drenched in sweat. With Covid-19 around, my wife inspected my head.
There was a huge smooth space, the size of a large penny on my head. It was clean shaven.
“Were you trying to barber yourself?” She asked.
I was not trying to barber myself in the middle of the night. Three days later, another spot appeared on the left side of my head.
I was now certain that something or somebody had taken the liberty to shave off my hair during my sleep. My mother used to remark that my hair should have been given to my sisters. I knew there and then that I must travel to my homeland and make peace with my ancestors, including the spirits of the people of the Rain bird, the Hungwe, my mother’s people.
My doctor said sudden loss of hair is called alopecia; though the cause is unknown, stress is one of the culprits.
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So I arrived at Robert Mugabe International Airport, with a heavy heart.
But I had not reckoned with African customs.
I think I was 12 years old or there-about when I was introduced to the adult custom of “kuchema,” showing grief for a deceased one. The custom goes like this.
We were as happy as can be, discussing the life of our departed uncle and saying some bad words. This particular uncle, a Muchenje, though generous, was sometimes contemptuous of people he regarded as uneducated. So I did not prepare for what I was about to see.
As we neared the Muchenje village, there was a discussion as to who had the loudest voice, and who was going to bellow out the “Cry” (mhere). And all hell broke loose, as each one of us tried their best to “cry” competing with each other as to what a great loss it was, uncle Muchenje was no more.
Then, as if a whistle had been blown, there was silence, and normalcy returned.
I left Zimbabwe in 1984 and I had forgotten. So, this time, the manager of the Mufuka Foundation, Angie Mikiri was in charge of who I could see and where I could go because of Covid-19.
Christians have modified the custom from a full blast “kuridza mhere” (loud shout/cry) to comforting words guided by the Holy Spirit. But this creates a ridiculous syncretic mixture whereby my uncle Pauros and his five beer drinking buddies gear themselves into a pretend cry and shout while Christians enter into half sorrowful sobs and half cries.
But the most hilarious occasion comes when having missed some pillars of society, they then contact the family so they can visit, shake hands (kubata maoko) and make a shout out.
My beloved nephew, Tidings Shamba, his wife and two children, having missed the great chema, visited and stayed with us for five hours.
The African griot (storyteller) in emphasizing the male patriarchy often ignores the fact that among women, there is an intense debate also as to who will become the next big mother, a role my mother played.
Among the people of the Rainbird, the complication comes when the women want to maintain their reputation as the prettiest women among the Bantu as well as gain some gravitas as the daughter ruler. These two situations are self-contradictory.
Raymond Van Velsen
The local bus system is so chaotic and oppressive that one needs a high lift automobile to navigate the pot holes of Zimbabwe.
My sister Tete Mebo is the most generous spirit among people of the Eland. As usual, she offered me use of her Toyota Corolla. In that generous spirit, she mentioned in passing that the tires needed to be checked, and the engine was smoking.
Then she added that perhaps Brother Raymond should inspect the car. Raymond has a tyre outfit in Marondera. It dawned on me that for the last 20 years, the process is the same.
“Mukoma, you need my car. You may need to check the tyres before you go to Masvingo.” So, my sister had the car bought for her by my big brother Douglas, For the last 20 years, I have been responsible for buying new tyres and servicing it.
Raymond loved my mother. My mother was solicitous after Raymond’s children whom, even in her nineties, she remembered by name and always had something for them when he visited our home .
When I arrive in Marondera, Raymond recognises me right away and proceeds to show me the bad tyres on the Corolla. The car is fixed but Raymond has gone to Bulawayo to play golf. What is the payment? Nobody knows and they say, “Raymond will get in touch with you when he gets back.”
I want to cry, such trust is not found even among the children of Abraham.
Shall we return to Jerusalem?
As we went into the belly of the Emirate bird bound for Dubai and Asia Magna, I was reminded of my promise to visit the African Christian Fellowship in the Sheikdom of Shajar.
After ministering to them and strengthening them in the faith, admonishing them to be courageous, they were filled with the Holy Spirit and would have entreated me to stay another week with them.
As we fellowshipped, the elders took me aside. “What is the condition of Zimbabwe at thus moment? Shall we see our homes again?”
My answer was as follows.” Zimbabwe is a state of flux right now. While you are in the Diaspora, gather all the wealth you can. Build yourself a house back home. For now invest in some passive income generating business at home. Do not leave money in any Zimbabwe bank. They steal your money. Forty years plus one, we have been in the wilderness. Soon, all the children of Abraham will be asked to return to Jerusalem.”
- Ken Mufuka is a Zimbabwean patriot. He writes from the United States.
