When my gogo died

04 Sep, 2016 - 07:09 0 Views
When my gogo died

The Sunday Mail

Anashe Murombedzi Herentals College
FOR as long as we have greedy people abusing the societal and family positions all in the name of culture then we are guilty of breeding hypocrites and giving them space.

These hypocrites confuse families as they hold the culture card up and argue that this is taboo in our ‘culture’.

Our African or I should say Zimbabwean culture honours death more than it does life. Speaking from experience, I have seen a loved one get ill, deteriorate and only have a handful of their relatives visit.

There have been times when the ailing one has lacked medication because the caregivers have run out of cash. To talk of giving the ill the correct food they require is a luxury. An ailing one needs supplements usually found in powder form and mixed with water to make the replacement necessary for the body as in most times they fail to eat solid food. When that basic supplement runs out the ill may be fed porridge and other foods they do not even like.From what I have seen the relatives with the least usually travel to see the ill person.

They come from the rural areas sacrificing the little cash they have on bus fare. I have seen these loving people come all the way from the rural areas and make the journey at least once a month. I am talking from what I saw when my grandmother got ill.The close relatives in the city vicinity did not even phone to ask and talking of visiting is a wild dream.These city folks only got to know of the place where grandmother lived when she had been promoted to glory. TWhat is painful is that gogo would visit her sick relatives far and wide. I helped in taking care of gogo and would give her evening medication. When she breathed her last I was with her in her bedroom and did not even realise that she had gone. I had been talking to her, she had a small gasp and put her head on the side on her pillow. I So peaceful it was that I am not even afraid today that she breathed her last in my presence. Is that the way people go, so peacefully?Dad arrived from town and phoned the funeral parlour and some relatives. The sahwira mukuru team arrived with an ambulance and I thought they had made a mistake. I now know that they do not want to make the whole loss so shattering, gogo was picked up by a big white ambulance. The duo asked if we wanted to say a prayer before they collected gogo. I did, we had prayed for her to get well but then I prayed that she ‘travelled’ well. Rest in peace I said to my beloved grandmother.

Then the circus began. Suddenly our home had no parking space. Relatives came driving top of the range cars. I never knew that gogo had so many relatives. Some wailed and threw themselves on the floor. Some of them even put up for the night by the fire and some lay on the floors in all the rooms. They sang and spoke of how good gogo was. Why, why I ask do we put so much value n death than we do in life? If only a tenth of these people had visited gogo that would have made sense.A full 65-seater bus from sahwira mukuru made way to gogo’s final resting place in Zvimba.Suddenly gogo had become very important that people left everything to come and pay their last respects.What I saw was that the bus driver and the hearse lady showed more bereavement attitude than most of the sudden appearing relatives.In Zvimba the village folks showed real bereavement. They sang all night and played the drum. Gogo loved to dance and this was befitting.Gogo was laid to rest next to sekuru the next day and a day later was time to distribute her belongings. I got a plate which to me is of sentimental value. It is more important than a whole 52-piece dinner set.Mum declined and asked the aunt to make the announcement to the gathering which had previously thanked her for being gogo’s child.Speaker after speaker had thanked her for the role of care giving through gogo’s time of need. Now a greedy person saw the chance to feast on goat meat from her pot. Never allow greedy people to satisfy their whims all in the name of culture. May we as Zimbabweans, reform and start to honour the living than the dead.

Visit your sick relative when they need you rather than fill a tank with fuel and drive miles and miles to bury them. They never get to know that you finally came.

Students, YOU CAN SEND YOUR ARTICLES THROUGH E-MAIL, FACEBOOK, WHATSAPP or TEXT Just app Charles Mushinga on 0772936678 or send your articles, pictures, poetry, art . . . to Charles Mushinga at [email protected] or [email protected] or follow Charles Mushinga on Facebook or @charlesmushinga on Twitter. You can also post articles to The Sunday Mail Bridge, PO Box 396, Harare or call 0772936678.

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