The Sunday Mail
Makomborero Mutimukulu —
WHEN the first scuffle explodes everyone knows that the Christmas drink up is coming to its usual end. The queen of the house, Mai Nelia, storms out of the kitchen orders the deejay to stop the music and everyone out.
‘Ibvai pano, musadzoke futi next year. (Leave, don’t come back next year),” she says as I feign ignorance. Once again the boys – the ghetto youths – would have failed to keep their end of their bargain.
The deal is simple, I buy them beer and meat, host them at my place and all they have to do is enjoy and behave. But there is something about these wise waters, that famous plant and the cough mixtures that turns them into monsters even on Christmas day.
When she orders the drink up to end, the queen of the house will be angry, genuinely angry. However, deep down her heart Mai Nelia knows that her “don’t come back again next year” threat is never taken seriously.
Not by me, not by the boys. We do it every year and will do it until God calls me home or I leave the hood – whatever comes first.
If this is the way it ends why do it annually? It’s a ghetto thing. Every hood has its godfathers and in a part of Kuwadzana Extension I am the don, mudhara as the boys call me.
Because I am their mudhara every Christmas Day I wake up feeling indebted. Indebted to the young men who look up to me as a role model, young men who expect me to oil their day with booze.
The ritual starts a few days before the big day. In the build up to Christmas I usually come home to a vital piece of information. Nelia is the willing messenger.
“Hanzi tikuita sei paChristmas neboys repa carpark? (The boys from the car park want to know the plan for Christmas),” she says.
In simple terms the ghetto youths will be asking for the go ahead to put systems in place.
“Kahwani (It’s OK),” is the message Nelia takes back to the boys who immediately spring into action.
This exercise – zhet as we call it – needs everyone to play their part. The guy who knows how to create a massive sound system does his thing, sourcing speakers and amplifiers.
The sound system has to be on point lest it gets dwarfed by that of a rival faction. Our music – noise in all honesty – must be louder than any other being belted in the neighbourhood on this day.
Paul “Pongi” Bhariri is a busy body; he has no one area of expertise. He does this thing and that with amazing energy. Pongi’s brief is to ensure that almost everything that is needed for the Christmas drink up is in place.
He gets braai stands, charcoal, extra chairs and every other thing he deems necessary. By Christmas Eve everything should be gathered by my humble house, ready for action.
Early morning on the big day my car gets a full valet wash at the car park because it’s needed for errands to the local supermarket. With everyone having played their part it will be time for mudhara to do his thing.
The boys hand over their wish list! Cheap whisky, some meat and a consignment of stuff that should be used only when one is battling a cough is all they need. I don’t have to break the bank to meet the wish. What follows is the trip to Kuwadzana 2 shopping centre.
Our safe arrival back home signals for the deejay to unleash music, Bhariri to light up the braai stand and for Mai Nelia to know that sadza must be ready as soon as possible. As per tradition the first tot of whisky is for the boys we grew up with but have since departed to the yonder world.
The first song has to be Freeman’s, it’s an HKD thing. When the drinks start flowing Silas “Sawela” Gwagwadza comes to life, his job is to fish out gatecrashers.
For his role Sawela does not drink cheap whisky, last year he shared a bottle of Glenfiddich with my friend Kuda Mutandi while the “povho” drowned stuff he said was choking. Then the scuffle, Mai Nelia and the end of the drink up!
Merry Christmas! Huyai paKuwadzana kana muchiti ndinonyepa!
