Gilbert Munetsi
Grief-stricken and void of wordily expression, I sit down to pen an obituary. Not because of the small stipend that comes with making a contribution to a newspaper, no.
It is in fulfilment of a rather absurd promise I made, absent-mindedly, to a gentleman that I grew up not knowing but was later to become one of my best friends – just as fate had it.
Though communicated to me in one of the most gentle voices, his words, as I punch the keys of my keyboard now, eerily reverberate in my mind. Michael Galiao (MHDSRIP), in one of my visits to his “office”, made a startling statement to me then.
He said: “Gilbert, let’s make a vow. If you die first, I will dress you nicely and lay you to rest for no fee. But if it’s me first, then you do me an obituary, a nice one, right? Deal?”
I may not have accented to the deal verbally, but I guess that leaves me with little or no option at all. He has gone first.
Back in the day (1996 to be precise) when death did not come as cheap, we lost a brother in the neighbourhood, David Godfrey. Driving the big black Mashfords-branded hearse that brought his body home was this handsome young man, anyone who met him would have recommended the ramp to him.
He had the profession “model” written all over him, a Michael Jackson look-alike.
Like most people gathered for the burial I was curious, watching the funeral director closely, the intention being to establish if at all he was enjoying his call. That is when I saw him wipe away a tear from the corner of his eye. The sorrowful gesture automatically ignited my journalistic curiosity such that soon after the burial, I confronted him to establish the reason behind that tear. Was he in any way related to Godfrey? He just shook his head and walked away. I knew I had a good story. Stories related to death seldom make headlines unless the characters in them die in tragic circumstances or in large numbers, such as the case with accidents. I was determined my story about that tear would deservedly find its space in The Sunday Mail as a lead article.
It did. And on the Sunday of 1996, a headline came out screaming: “Death is his daily bread!” That is how I became friends with Mike. Explaining the reason behind the tear, he later told me it was a public relations gesture of identifying with the family of the deceased, “a way to show you belong and that you, too, have been saddened by the death”.
The last time I interviewed Mike was in June last year, and I was actually surprised when, on March 4 this year (four days before he passed on), I received a call from him when he was in hospital asking me for a favour.
He said it was probably high time he retired to pursue his dream of establishing a school of mortuary science, a first for Zimbabwe. He then asked me to compile for his collection all the articles I had written about him. He should have been reminding me, by that call, not to forget the “vow”.
The chat lasted a quarter of an hour. Then last Sunday, the news was communicated to me that Michael Galiao was no more.
Death is terrifying territory and yet for more than three decades, Galiao worked with it. He considered himself an artist as he told me in one of our interviews: “I’m blessed with the artistic skill to make the dead appear more life-like when they depart this world for the next. It is all about making family, friends and acquaintances remember their departed in the same way they knew them during their living days. You could say that I’m like a carpenter with chisel and hammer, or a potter with mortar and water.”
For one who joined the profession more by accident than by desire, Galiao, who can safely be qualified as a celebrity undertaker, laid to rest the Who’s Who in Zimbabwean politics, entertainers and other well-known personalities. The list includes the late Amai Sally Mugabe, Maurice Nyagumbo, the Ushewokunzes (Christopher and Hebert), Moven Mahachi, Safirio Madzikatire, Simon Chimbetu . . . right down to the common man.
But despite all this, he remained a sociable, humble, down-to-earth character who had this to say about his own demise, should it come, like it now has: “It is not like I have developed a thick skin for death, despite working with and around it every day, I’m very much afraid of it such that I would not set my eyes on someone about to lose their life.
“Come to think of it, I cannot even stand the sight of a fly being squashed to death. But when life has departed and the body is still, ah, then bring it to me because I’m the best person to attend to it.”
So modest was Mike that he yearned for simple things even in death.
“When that time (my death) finally comes, all I want is for my body to be prepared by someone I have trained because I’ll be rest assured that they will do it in the exact way that I would have wanted it done.
“I would prefer a simple burial with an ordinary coffin (no casket for me please!) And very few people from my family and the neighbourhood in attendance. Nothing fancy.”
Last Wednesday we bade farewell to the most prominent personality in his trade.
At the memorial service held at the St Francis Xavier Catholic Church in Braeside, Elias Masiye, a workmate since 2000, described Mike as “a man who gave much to his work and through the years continued to develop those he worked with and for.