In 1996, the ever-affable, Colgate-smile Marshall Munhumumwe released yet another gem titled Ane Mari Ndiye Mukuru. It spoke truthfully of the dynamics in friendships and families – the loaded take the lead. The rich friend dictates the weekend agenda for those who partake of firewater.
Once upon a time, every family had a Mutongi Gava Maenzanise – that proverbial jackal character in Zvishavane Sounds’ 1987 song. In our lives, this was the tete or sekuru who would be summoned from afar to come and arbitrate on family matters. They listened patiently and advised in gentle voices, emphasising the unity of the family. In my younger, hot-headed days, the moment I heard that Sekuru Steven Tambula from Rusape was on his way to Mutare to investigate my issues, I knew I had nowhere to run. Conformity was the only card left on the table. Yet, years later, one looks at those interventions with deep appreciation.
Nowadays, the dynamics are such that in the event of a funeral, until the rich sister or brother has arrived, nothing can be decided. However, it could be that the wealthy relative is abroad and cannot attend. Everyone awaits the funds and instructions on how the proceedings should unfold. If they manage to come, they will consult and give direction. All the men then surround them, waiting for the intoxicating waters to quench their thirst.
Lost in the sycophancy is a simple appreciation of the not-so-privileged workhorses – the relatives who always turn up and do all the hard work. I wish to pay tribute to these amazing people.
Tomb of the Unknown Soldier
Although now spread across the globe as a concept, the ceremony and monument of the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier started in France after the First World War. The idea is simple and powerful – how does a country honour those who die in battle defending the values of their nation, but whose remains cannot be identified or recovered? Zimbabwe has its own Tomb of the Unknown Soldier at the National Heroes Acre. Maybe we need a Tomb to the Unrecognised Family Member?
Biggie Cherairo – the man you will never know
The Malawian community in Mutare used to be a very closely-knit one. Growing up, every other piece of work we needed assistance with, we knew a Malawian “relative” who could assist. For house painting, there was aMiles (Baba aHappy). For building, there was Sheikh Rairo (we corrupted that to Cherairo). Cherairo would come to assist us, accompanied by his son, Biggie. As Cherairo grew older, Biggie began to step in and then took over when his father rested forever. Over the years, Sekuru Biggie has become a key pillar of our family. He works for the Mutare City Council at the Yeovil Cemetery. There, he is valued by many, even people who long left Mutare and would like to have the graves of their loved ones tended to. In the Muslim community, Sekuru Biggie is valued and recognised. When my father died, Sekuru Biggie played a critical role in advising on the grave digging, the materials required and so forth. He and my Mukoma Nhamo Zebiya make an amazing and effective duo.
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Nhamo Zebiya – the special commando in my family
Nhamo is the son of my aunt (big sis to my mother). He is a fiercely loyal man to our clans across the Gufu, Tambula and Kabwato families. He is uniquely 100 percent dependable – something hard to say about anyone. Despite the lack of opportunity to advance his education, he has persevered, securing a plot of land in the Goromonzi area where he lives and farms at the same time, holding a day job in Harare. When my family held a tombstone unveiling for my father, Nhamo or Baba aCaro turned up and asked about our plans. A day before the ceremony, the heavens opened and it poured like Comrade Noah was back with his Ark. But there was Nhamo together with my brother Levi and Sekuru Biggie commandeering the tombstone-laying operation. As a typical impractical writer with senior privileges, I stood under my umbrella watching. Elders should be protected from the elements. Pneumonia.
Sekuru Steven Gufu and Mbuya Kezia Gufu
At every funeral, wedding or major family event there are only a handful of people who are consistent in their participation. These people really put me to shame, as I am not like that. In addition to my sister Ethel, who manages the incredible feat of attending every special occasion for our clan, we have Mbuya and Sekuru Gufu. Farmers in a place which we as a family refer to as kuPifeni (corruption of Epiphany Mission), the Gufus gave us my maternal grandmother, Theresa, who married my Sekuru Nyongo Tambula, father to my mother. So, the Gufus and Tambulas are my blood. And boy, do they come to the party when we are down!
If you may allow me to digress a little to add some detail on my grandfather, aNyongo. He was a famous and successful tailor in Headlands as well as being an imam. Whilst he was Muslim, my grandmother was Anglican – a mystery I still grapple with. The wreck of aNyongo’s car from the 1960s still sits on a farm at Eagle’s Nest along the Harare-Mutare highway. I should add, rather irrelevantly, that when the Tambula family moved to Dangamvura in 1962 from Headlands, they entrusted some friends with household effects, including a gramophone. Those folks only returned the records but not the gramophone itself. If their descendants are reading this, please know that I still want that player back…
Anyway, let us toast the members in your own family who always show up!
