The Sunday Mail
Bishop Ngwiza Mnkandla
My Perspective
FOR many years after leaving the village, I would visit my parents faithfully. I did my best to ensure they were well taken care of until the day they died. My father died at a ripe age of 102. My mother survived him and died eight years later at 97 years of age.
Over the years, I would drive my nice car to the village, do what I needed to do to take care of my parents and the extended family and then I would drive out. But then I began to be bothered by some of the observations I was making. I realised for instance, that the trees I climbed as a young man were gone.
The fences were disappearing and animals were roaming freely. There were not enough bushes to make fences with and this was becoming a real issue for food security. Then there was the problem of water. The rainfall patterns have changed over the years. For some reason, the water table in the nation has fallen. Gardens that used to be well watered are no longer that wet. The agricultural yields were diminishing over the years.
A large part of that was because people in my area still grew maize in the same way they had done before I was born in the village and then they wondered why the gods were seemingly forsaking them. The soils were tired and leached from lack of any scientific advancement in their farming methods. Agricultural extension workers didn’t seem to be making any impact at all. Then there would be those times when somebody in one year would make good money from a particular crop.
Everybody would follow suit the following season resulting in a glut in the market exacerbated by transport woes that made markets inaccessible. These conditions are true of most rural areas in Zimbabwe.
As a result of these conditions, young people were leaving the village by the droves to find a better life in the cities. On getting there, they would discover that jobs were not easy to come by, there was often crowding around relatives and many of them would end up in a life of crime or prostitution.
While in the past it didn’t seem to be my problem, I began to feel uncomfortable. Here I was living reasonably well in the city but contributing very little to the village that raised me. My conscience was bothered about my own family.
I had tried to help my brother who was four years younger than I was to go through secondary school and failed. He died leaving a son behind who I also battled to see through secondary school and failed. And now this young man has a daughter growing up in the village! When I thought about what chances she has of competing against other young people of her age in the global village, panic gripped me. I realised unless I did something, she would repeat the cycle of her fathers. This began my journey back to the village. I decided I would do something.
With over 60 percent of Zimbabwe’s population living in the rural areas, we cannot ignore the village if we are to talk about development. Instead of the village coming to the city, we need to take the city back to the village!
For the rural person, life in the village can be more comfortable than in the rat race pace of city life. They breathe more freely, don’t need cash for everything as we do in the cities and have far less expenses
And so I began to think about what I could do for my village. I expanded the acreage, secured it so well that a chicken would need a visa to get in or out, got help to sink three boreholes, put up several water tanks, feeding a drip irrigation system.
Working through the local government extension worker, I selected thirty five families, mostly women, to run an irrigation project under the extension workers supervision. We found something to help the police in our area with transport.
Our chief was meeting in the open with his people and we built him a hall. A young lady who had finished her Advanced Level studies achieving twelve points was sitting at home because her parents couldn’t afford university fees. Though it’s been uphill, she is in her final year this year. All this has not been without headaches and failures. But it’s an experiment I’m prepared to do over and over until we get it right. I owe my village something. I’ve got to give back to my people.
You too come from a village somewhere. Ever thought about doing something for the kids in the school you went to? Maybe just footballs? We are supporting a few teams in small ways. What are you doing for your village? As a pastor I am sometimes embarrassed to see a member of our church with a nice suburban house going back to bury some parent or relative in squalid conditions back in the village. You now have knowledge, experience and good exposure that can benefit the people in your village.
If every privileged Zimbabwean was to give back something to their village we would lift this nation. Greatness is about the legacy you leave behind. Build bridges so the next generation can cross rivers that seem impassable. Leave enough footprints so our young people can have local heroes and not just international soccer stars. Do something for your village.
