Dear Mama my hero

Dear Mama, my hero



My mother with her nieces(vana amainini vangu) in Highfield

I am have not travelled back home to Zimbabwe in two months now and this has been the longest I have not gone home in the last few years. Somehow the current situation in Zimbabwe depresses me more and I keep on postponing the trip. I normally travel to Zimbabwe over weekends and stay for less than two days. In less than a weeks’ time, it will be exactly 10 years since I left the country and started living as a foreigner. You see for me living as foreigner is the hardest thing that I have had to do so far in my life. Most nights I dream that you are still alive and when I wake up, I realise that you have been gone for over 15 years. I am not sad anymore as I know that you are now in a better place, it broke my heart in your last years when you suffered so much and you begged for the lord to take you and spare you from further pain and suffering. Most nights I dream of Zimbabwe and all the beautiful places I have lived in from Belingwe, Highfield, Amaveni, Mbizo, Murewa, Mutoko, Mudzi, Harare,Chitungwiza, Bulawayo and our village in Jekwa where dad is resting next to his grandmother, less than 300 metres from his mother’s house. My first memories are of Belingwe Police station , where you used to take me to the shops.

I dream of all the houses we stayed in Amaveni Police station. I think of the examples that you set for me back then at Amaveni Police station sometime between 1983 and 1985 when one day I was playing with other kids near the fowl runs and I found a wad of bank notes under a brick, I came running to you with the money and you set up asking people in the police camp if anyone had lost the money. One gentleman came forward and said the money was his and you gave him the money even though we both suspected that he was lying. The same way, I would come back from the shops in Amaveni Township with extra change and you would tell me to go back and give the shop keeper the extra change. I think of the day I had anxiety attack in grade 4 at school and when people suggested that it was evil spirits, you disagreed saying there was nothing like that for you believed nothing could not be solved by a good beating. Thank you very much for setting a good example for me. Now as a grown man, I shake my head with disbelief seeing adults refusing to take responsibility for their actions and instead believing that a witch is responsible for their misfortunes.

I also dream of our life at Mbizo police station, I think of the time you went to Kwekwe District Hospital to deliver my youngest sister and I was expecting you to come home with my sister, instead they had to transfer you and the baby to Gweru Provincial Hospital as the baby was very ill and she passed on. The same hospital I was also admitted to for many weeks between 1981 and 1982.  I never got to see my sister and all I remember is her tiny white coffin when she was brought home before adults went to bury her at Mbizo cemetery. You once told me her name and I forgot the name and I never gathered the courage to ask you about the name again, I had seen how hard you cried before and after her burial and it broke my heart and I never wanted to remind you by asking for her name. When I started cycling, I would cycle past the cemetery many times to see where my sister was and now when I drive past the city of Kwekwe I say a silent prayer for my baby sister. I then remember how you always had faith and always believed in me when I could not even believe in myself. I remember being admitted to Kwekwe General Hospital sick with malaria a day before I had to sit for the grade 7 national examinations and I could not bear the thought of repeating grade 7. When I saw the doctor and nurses were about to do their rounds, I quickly went and took a shower and by the time they came to my hospital bed my temperature was a bit lower and they discharged me from hospital and I was able to sit and write the exam even though the symptoms of malaria were still there and I was sweating and shivering in the exam room.

I also think of our life and our new home at Dombotombo police station when dad was seriously ill.  I remember arriving in Marondera (that cold town) in the middle of the school term and I could not get a place for secondary school and I had to sit at home for 2 months waiting for the next school term to start. Eventually I found a place at Nyameni Secondary school and it was my first time to walk such a big distance to school. Everyone around was telling me that was the worst school in the whole town. I remember you telling me to believe that I would make it. I thought of you when my O’Level results came out and I had done better than 95% of the whole town including those at the so called best schools.  I think of how tough life can be even for a 14 year old boy and where adults can be unfair and I remember a very close relative telling me to hold my father’s hand when he could no longer see with this words, “ Bata baba vako ndimi munodya mari yavo”. I just obliged and held my father’s hand. I appreciate the time that I had with my father when he had to tell me a lot of things about life even though I was very young. I remember the months of October and November 1990 when firstly you could not go and attend your mother’s funeral and a few days later your husband also passed on. I remember  Mukoma Rememberance feeling sorry for me during the funeral that as the eldest child with these words, “munin’ina wasiirwa nhamo”. I simply replied, “Life is like that, life goes on”. Recently Brian told us that he does not have any memories of dad as he was only 4 years when dad went to a better place. I remember how true the saying, “when times are tough friends are few”. No one was willing to help us and some close relatives even stole some of our money. I remember how strong you were in defying the directive of both sides of the family when they instructed you to take your family back to the village and you knew your kids would get a better education in an urban environment and you then bought a house for us to stay in Yellow city.

I remember the struggle we would have to get enough food, clothing and blankets. Our best clothing was our uniforms. I remember that even if we did not have much, every time I came to you with someone who was selling a school book that I really needed, you were always able to buy that book for me.  I remember the cold months especially the month of July in Marondera when the frost would start to take effect early in the morning I would wake up due to the cold as we never had enough blankets and it would signal time to start reading the books. This is the reason I never wanted to build my house in Marondera. I remember how you would take no prisoners and one day when I was still doing O’Level, you saw me from a distance walking with a girl on my way from school and in your true style you shouted , “Dabbie, is that my daughter in law?” and I just wished if the ground would swallow me and save me from the embarrassment  I felt at that moment. They say it takes the whole village to raise a child and true to this statement every child in the township was your child and you would not shy away from reprimanding any child that you saw misbehaving on the street and you would voice your opinion there and then. I remember you vetting my friends that I could play with as you had veto powers on whom I could hang out with and as a result I only smoked my first joint and drank my first beer at 20 when I was already working. I remember when I got my first job as a temporary teacher and you told me that you were happy as your dream for me was to become a teacher. I then told you that I would not go to a teacher’s college as it was not my dream and you accepted my decision. I remember how proud you were of me when I finally got the job I wanted in the insurance industry in 1997. I am grateful that you got to see your daughter in law Manyoni and you had a chance to talk to her.

I remember coming to see you at Marondera Provincial hospital around January 2002 when you were admitted there. Firstly you would complain why everyone kept on telling me that you were sick and having me take time off from work to come and see you instead of letting me keep on working for the family. Secondly even though you were very ill, you would worry about my safety when you saw me coming from Harare holding the Daily News newspaper that was “banned” by the war veterans in the town and the war veterans would burn copies of the newspaper on sale. I would always answer that it was my right to read what I like. I decided even then that it is better to die on my feet than to live on my knees. Now 15 years later those same war veterans are now at the receiving end of the same leader in whose name they used to maim innocent citizens. I remember a few days before you died when you made it clear to me that you would not want to be buried back at the village and your wish was to be buried in Marondera. You knew that I would make sure that your wish would be respected for I had learnt from you not to take sh*t from anyone. During the funeral I did not have much time to grieve as I had to defend your wish against both sides of the family, I had to be strong and hold it together and defend my sisters and my wife from unfair indabas that were being held at the same time as the funeral. I only managed to shed my first tears at the grave side at Lendy Park Cemetry after the last viewing.


Later that year, you were not there to see me becoming a manager for the first time. You were also not there to see me driving my first company car that year. You were not there at my church wedding as well as see your grandson who was born that year. You were not there the following years when Phillipa graduated from University of Zimbabwe and became the first person in our family to get a degree. You were also not there to see my Associateship Diploma after I could not afford to pay for the travelling costs to Johannesburg for the graduation ceremony.  You were also not there for me to tell you about my new and bigger position and the birth of your second grandson. You were also not there in 2007 for me to tell you that like hundreds of thousands of other young Zimbabweans we had to leave our country of birth and become foreigners just because our leader had made our country a wasteland.  I am sure if you were here you would have told me ,“Kusina mai hakundwe”. You were not there for me to tell you, how difficult it is to live the life of a foreigner where the most constant answer you expect to get is “No”. A life where I start to question some of the things you taught me such as if you study and work hard you will progress in life. As a foreigner most of the time people will not invite you even for an interview.  Where your hard work seems not to count for much expect towards your next pay check. When people invite you for an interview, they do not even mention your experience and the qualifications that you sacrificed so much money and time on. Where it is a fact of life that even after you have gone for an interview you expect and accept an answer like, “sorry we did not realise that you are a foreigner, we can’t continue with this process”. You were also not there to see our house that we built, to tell you about my experience when I went overseas for the first time, to see your daughter Phillipa going to Germany to read for her PHD, see your third grandson that we decided to name after you and to see me get my degree.

I have to come home to Zimbabwe so often just to remind myself why I have to endure this life. I am always happy crossing the border into Zimbabwe early Saturday morning and getting the chance to eat green mealies that taste like real maize, chicken that tastes like real chicken. I also get very happy sleeping in a house that is not owned by the bank. The hardest part is on a Sunday morning when I have to drive back to Pretoria and I always debate whether I should just stay put in Zimbabwe and suffer like millions of Zimbabweans. I know I no longer have the strength to continue living the life of a foreigner.  As years pass on and I get older, I resent being far away from home. About two years ago Mbuya Chishongo passed on and I was not there to comfort grandmother after the death of her younger sister as I was 1 300km away. All I have left is the memories of Mbuya Chishongo from 1997 in my last year as a teacher, I would meet her several times at Murehwa bus terminus whilst she was waiting for the Shiriyekutanga buses on her way back to our village and we would talk for hours and when I started working in Harare, I would meet her at tete’s house in Sunningdale and the last time I got to talk to her was at Tere’s wedding in December 2010. I never got to tell her that I also missed her son Babamunini Masimba who towards the late 80s would protect me from bullies in the difficult environment of herding cattle. Some of the things are just difficult to talk about, how do you even begin that conversation and talk about the only two sons she had and she had to bury them and then her daughter who passed on leaving such young children. Also Sisi Juliet was very sick and she passed on and I was too far to attend and only last year your eldest sister Maiguru mai Faresi also followed you and I was only able to attend her nyaradzo this year.

Life in Zimbabwe keeps on getting hard and difficult, public hospitals do not have medicine and people have to skip the border to neighbouring countries for proper medical care, yet there is always money for the 93 year leader to commandeer the last functioning planes from the broke national airline to take him and his family to see doctors in the Far East. Corruption is getting worse I know dad would turn in his grave if he knew that his colleagues in the police force are now regarded by citizens as the most corrupt. Many able bodied people who can are desperate and they are leaving the country in droves. It is very difficult to raise children in Zimbabwe as the role models are people who get tenders from the cash strapped government and then they do not deliver on the tenders and they get away with it due to their proximity to the leader. How do you tell a child to concentrate on school work when graduates sell airtime in the street, government trained nurses are not employed even though the health sector is in crisis. Maybe it was the lord’s plan to spare you and dad the agony of seeing how run-down our once proserous nation has become.

I have heard harrowing stories of desperate Zimbabweans crossing Limpopo river to look for a better life. Some die on the way like wild animals and I just wonder who will tell their mothers the fate that met their precious children. I have seen desperation driving professionally qualified Zimbabweans to do unbelievable jobs in foreign lands. I have seen qualified teachers working as house maids, a person with a master’s degree working as a waiter, a qualified teacher driving a bread delivery van, qualified engineer doing menial jobs etc. No one knows when it will end as the opposition politicians seem to hate each other more than they hate the leader who has made our country a laughing stock. Right now my greatest fear is that we might never come back to stay in this beautiful country as the situation keeps on deteriorating. None of my kids want to visit Zimbabwe as they no longer regard this country as their home. Imagine even a 4 year old sensing something is not right with the country!

I want to thank you for all the sacrifices that you endured for me and my siblings. Thank you for all the values that you instilled in me. In your life, you might not have got the opportunities that we have had, you might not have visited the countries that we have visited, met important people that we have met and sat in the boardrooms that we have sat in. All of this was due to the vision that you had. We would not wish to have had a different mother. I will always remember your words when I left your house in September 1996 to start my first job when you said,”usanondinyadzise ikoko kwauri kuenda. Wonoita semwana akabva kunevanhuwo”. I know wherever I am, I should endeavour to be your true ambassador and not tread too far from the values that you instilled in me.

Zorora murugare Mamoyo, till we meet again.