The Sunday Mail
Munyaradzi Huni
At one time, I thought the smile was a permanent feature on his face. He was a frequent visitor, too frequent sometimes, especially towards the end of the day on Fridays and if this didn’t happen, early Saturday morning he would be the first visitor. Again with that beaming smile. Those familiar with the newsroom will tell you that visiting the deputy editor of a Sunday paper on a Saturday morning is just not on.
It’s like visiting a musician just as he or she is about to go on stage, expecting that musician to give you some attention.
The timing is just bad.
But not for this ever-smiling gentleman.
He would smilingly enter the office holding his memory stick and as usual give you that look which says, “I know you are very busy, but I won’t be long.”
Soon after the greetings, he would get straight to the point. “Kwanzi namdara this is my article for the week. Kwanzi, I hope it’s not too late.”
You look at the guy and feel like shouting: “Of course, it’s too late, it’s Saturday for goodness sake!” but he disarms you with his permanent smile.
In no time you are copying the article into the system or you call the News Editor Morris Mkwate to attend to him.
Within a few minutes, he politely bids you farewell.
That’s Cde Trynos Madzimure, the Deputy Principal at ZDECO, a college that was established by Dr Sikhanyiso Duke Ndlovu soon after the attainment of independence in 1980.
As he came to submit the articles written by Dr Ndlovu, many, including myself, thought he was just some driver or messenger. He was so humble and so down-to-earth such that it was difficult to imagine him as the Deputy Principal of a reputable college like ZDECO.
When news filtered through that Dr Ndlovu had passed on, I got in touch with Cde Madzimure and he revealed to me where he had got this humble character.
“Cde Huni, I am in pain. I have lost a father, a pillar in my life. Dr Ndlovu was a humble character and he was unique in his conduct. I learnt at lot from him and in some way, I think I borrowed many of his attributes. Comrade, my father is no more. The pain is just unbearable,” said a sorrowful Cde Madzimure.
I could feel his pain on the phone.
His voice was heavy with grief.
About two weeks before Dr Ndlovu passed away, he had approached The Sunday Mail Editor Mabasa Sasa proposing to submit a series of articles chronicling the genesis of distance and open learning in Zimbabwe.
After submitting the first article, he phoned to check whether we were going to publish the article and Sasa referred him to me.
“Hie Cde Huni, have you seen my article? Do you think you will be able to publish it this week?
“I really think I need to educate the nation on how distance and open learning came about in Zimbabwe. I was among the pioneers of this concept in Zimbabwe after establishing ZDECO soon after independence to provide education to comrades at assembly points and in the new Zimbabwe National Army for Zipra and Zanla comrades.
“This has to be recorded for future generations and I think my articles will go a long way in enlightening Zimbabweans on the issue,” said Dr Ndlovu on the phone.
One of the paragraphs in the article reads: “Distance education is like a religion. You have to believe in it, understand its principles and never sacrifice those principles for expedience.”
I promised Dr Ndlovu that we would look at the article and make a decision when to start serialising the articles. And in his typical fashion, he thought of turning up the volume a bit.
“These articles are important. I discussed them at the highest level and a decision was taken that I should proceed. These are important issues, you see,” said Dr Ndlovu.
Highest level? What was he talking about?
Unfortunately, that was the last time I spoke to Dr Ndlovu.
When I heard that he had passed on, my heart sank.
Dr Ndlovu was a humble educationist. I don’t want to claim that I knew him that much, but for the few times we spoke, he showed me what Ubuntu is all about.
Cde Madzimure, after working with Dr Ndlovu for about seven years, is in a better position to describe the gentle giant Zimbabwe has lost.
“You see, I was the Deputy Principal at ZDECO and one day after his drivers had resigned, he just chose me to drive him around and since then I became part of the Ndlovu family.
“What pains me most is that the day before he collapsed, I had spoken to him on the phone. He was telling me that he would be coming back to Harare the next day which was a Sunday morning.
“When we finished talking, he signed off saying to me ‘lovely’ after I had told him that I would be at the airport waiting for him.
“On the Sunday, I went to the airport early morning and as I arrived at the airport, that’s when I received news that he had collapsed in Bulawayo and had been taken to Mater Dei Hospital. I was really shocked because when he left for Bulawayo he never showed any signs of sickness.
“So after this, I drove to his house in Gunhill where I picked up his wife, Dr Rose Ndlovu. We drove to Bulawayo and on arrival around 6pm we went straight to the hospital.
“My brother, I was really, really shocked by what I saw. The situation was bad. It was as if someone had shoved a hot knife down my throat. The doctor explained to us what had happened and we all thought he was going to recover.
“The next day we went back to hospital and there was a slight improvement. At least he was showing that he could recognise me just by squeezing my hand. He could also respond by nodding his head slightly. I really hoped for the best.
“After this I drove back to Harare and while in Harare, I kept on calling mama checking on him. She told me that his health was improving and I was very happy.
“Then after a week in Harare, it was a Tuesday around 4am, I received a call saying Dr Ndlovu had passed on. His young brother called me. At first, I thought I was dreaming. This was 4am and it was very possible I was having a bad dream.
“I called back and it was confirmed that indeed Dr Ndlovu was gone. I cried silently. My father was gone. The man I could talk to about any issue was gone. My best friend was no more.”
Cde Madzimure breathed heavily and went silent on the phone for a few seconds. Am sure he was wiping tears off his cheeks.
After regaining composure, he was back on the line.
“I am sorry comrade. Really sorry. You see, Dr Ndlovu did not only teach me about life. He taught me what Zanu-PF is all about. While driving, he would take me way back to the days the party was formed.
“He spoke passionately about the liberation struggle. He spoke passionately about unity and he spoke passionately about love. Most people know Dr Ndlovu the educationist. I am talking about the easy-going Dr Ndlovu. The ever-smiling and always jovial father and friend.
“Dr Ndlovu taught me public relations through his conduct. Many people loved him. Even airtime vendors would mob him as we drove around. He was a man of the people.”
He was beginning to liven up and so I left him to pour it out.
“I know many people at ZDECO are devastated, but I want to say to all the comrades, let’s soldier on to achieve what Dr Ndlovu wanted us to achieve.
“Let’s continue educating the nation. That’s the legacy he left behind. We should never let him down. As for the Ndlovu family, especially mama, Dr Rose Ndlovu, I am not going anywhere. I won’t abandon you.
“I will continue to do for mama what I used to do for her when Dr Ndlovu was alive. I won’t stop rendering my services. Dr Rose is my mother. I can’t separate her from my mother.”
He went on and on talking about the good times he had had with Dr Ndlovu and I could feel that indeed, the guy had lost someone special, but somehow during the conversation he had made the decision that he was not going to moan but celebrate his life.
From nowhere, he started talking about his several trips to The Sunday Mail.
I listened attentively.
“Dr Ndlovu always said The Sunday Mail was his favourite newspaper,” he said.
I am not sure whether this wasn’t flattery, but what I know is that if he failed to get his copy of The Sunday Mail, Dr Ndlovu would call me early on Monday morning.
Cde Madzimure continued: “Dr Ndlovu was a fountain of knowledge and he wanted The Sunday Mail to help him share his thoughts with the whole country.
“He would lock himself in his office mostly on Wednesdays and I would know that soon I would be sent to The Sunday Mail. Sometimes, if we got to Friday without the trip to The Sunday Mail, I would remind him kuti, ‘Ko Dr, asi this week you are not writing something?’
“I had gotten addicted to his articles and it was always a joy visiting your offices. Although I could see you were busy, you went out of your way to attend to me. I don’t know what will happen now, now that the humble giant is gone.”
Well, The Sunday Mail remains your other home, Cde Madzimure.
We had become used to your permanent smile and you can’t play some disappearing act.
So see you soon! And please come a bit early. There is something called a deadline.
Before signing off, Cde Madzimure wanted to talk to Dr Ndlovu for one last time and I listened.
“Dr Ndlovu, yes you are gone. Gone in flesh and not in spirit. Give me the courage and wisdom to continue your work.
“From wherever you are, I remain at your service. Dr, you went too soon. Ko inga pamwe pese maindioneka wani? Why not this time? Why Dr?
“Keep smiling Dr. I will keep smiling. Till we meet again!”
