The Sunday Mail
Africa Moyo —
BORN at Mnene Mission Hospital in Mberengwa district over 30 years ago, I spent most of my time in the rural areas. As I grew up, the most exciting time was Christmas. New clothes and heaps of “new” food punctuated the day.
Since my father passed on while I was very young, my mother could not afford buying me new clothes as she had the humongous task of balancing between buying food stuffs for the day, and keeping some money for the following year’s school calendar.
My colleagues would put on “trendy” outfits while I wore my old ones. However, that did not dampen my spirit, as food was more important.
The day would start with a two-hour church service at the Lutheran church situated at Mawani Primary School. The church service served two purposes – to thank God for guidance and protecton and to show-off the new clothes.
Unfortunately for me, I always had nothing to show-off. But still I looked forward to Christmas. Some people that would have never set foot in church all year, would find it in their hearts to attend church on Christmas day.
Straight after the service, people dispersed to their respect homes and the “real deal” would start. On any other day, I would avoid the kitchen, but not on December 25.
I would be at the forefront assisting my late mother – may her soul rest in peace – in finding out if everything was in place so that we could have our breakfast early.
Tea with milk, yes with milk, mainly Steri (sterilised milk), would be served together with bread that had margarine on one slice and jam on the other. What a delicacy!
Because we would have placed orders for bread at the local shops ahead of Christmas, a family of five would have no less that 20 loaves and it would be put in a winnowing basket (murusero.)
It would take a miracle of Biblical proportions for one to be full when the bread was still in my sight. After tea, together with a few relatives of my age, we would start dancing to music.
New batteries and cassettes would have been bought in advance. The biggest headache on the day was going out to herd cattle. You were never sure if you would get a share of food equal to what others would have gobbled.
Grudgingly, we would take the cattle out but tend them in the vicinity, just in case some food would be provided before lunch. When lunch was eventually served, there were very few, if any takers for sadza.
Everyone wanted rice and meat, which was exotic to us because green vegetables and sadza were the staple diet during the year.
After lunch, we would drive the cattle into the nearest hill and abandon them as we embarked on a 4km walk to Mawani Shopping Centre where we would dance to music, mainly by Leonard Dembo, Pengaudzoke, Tedious Matsito and Simon Chimbetu.
Several villagers would congregate at the shops and dance the day away. Those that would have done part-time jobs, would be imbibing soft or alcoholic beverages.
Girls that we would have last seen a year or so ago, would resurface and fist fights normally ensued if one encroached into the other’s territory. The dances would continue till late in the night for others, but because we had an obligation to drive cattle back to the pens, our day would be over early.
However, I am a grown up man now and so I have surrendered the duties to herd cattle to the youngsters. I know they dont like it but its their turn.
When I go to the shops, I stay up to 10 pm because fist fights are guaranteed. Grudges that would have simmered during the year, would explode on December 25 at the shops.
Free entertainment! Let me confess. I have never spent December 25 in an urban setting, with 1999, the only year I “marked” Christmas Day (as my Deputy Editor Munyaradzi Huni put it last Tuesday), away from Mawani.
That year, I went to Zvimba to meet my mother’s relatives but again, spent the day at Matsvitsi Shopping Centre. Now that I am a grown up man with some decent job, expectations are always high among relatives on Christmas Day as I join them in the rural areas.
When I got married to Chiratidzo, the first request to the wife was that she had to bear with me, and join the rest of the family members in the rural areas on this special day.
She was visibly unhappy at first, which was understandable for a Zimbabwean by birth and not by descent, but now, each year she starts Christmas shopping in September getting ready for December 25 kumusha.
A close relative of mine called me last week enquiring when I would be arriving, not if I would be travelling. Mudhara vanotouya chete – thats the spirit.
Neighbours also come, to spend time with me, telling me of deaths that would have occurred during the year. Apart from consoling the bereaved families, I also meet neighbours, who are always keen to know what is happening in Harare.
I also carry heaps of old newspapers so that they can catch up with news.
Today is no exception, I am in Mberengwa, and am expecting a few fist fights at the shops later in the day, when I go to meet former classmates and friends that are living in different parts of the world.
It’s not Mudhara Vachauya today. It’s mudhara varipano!
