The selected poems of Memory Chirere (*with some translations)

 

The selected Memory Chirere poems

Selected from Bhuku Risina Basa Nokuti Rakanyorwa Masikati

published 2014 by Bhabhu Books, Harare.

 

 

Mashoko ekutanga

Sei mumabhuku ose andinoverenga

Musinawo zita rangu?

Kuti pakashayawo akatondera zita rangu?

Ndokushayawo akagona kuperetera zita rangu?

Kuti pane asingazive nyaya yangu?

Ndinofanira kunyora ndega zita rangu,

Ndichisima miti

Ndichitsikisa mabhuku

Ndichizvara vana!

Kurinyora parisingaore, zita rangu.

 Introduction

Why is my name not found

in any of the books that I read?

So nobody recalls my name?

Nobody could spell my name?

So, nobody knows my story?

I must carve out my name

onto every new plant 

in every new books

and on the body of every new baby.

Printing my name where it cannot be erased.

(*Translated by the author)

 

Bembera

Pamakambondishandisa

ndakati kudii?

Zvandave kuzvishandira

moti kudii?

Moti hero rombe

riri kuita zvinhu zvaro?

Declaration

During my toil as your servant

did I ever complain?

Now that I am free

what will you say?

Are you going to say: there goes the fool

now doing his own thing?

(*Translated by the author)

 

 

 

 

Pikicha

Mune iyi, ndainge ndichangozvarwa

ndakaradzikwa mubhasikiti zvaJesu chaizvo.

Ivo vachitoitawo saJosefa naMaria!

 

Mune iyi, takasimudza mawoko tagohwesa bhora.

Tarisa kushama kwatakaita kunge zvigatawa!

 

Mune iyo, mukuru wechikoro ari kunyemwerera achindikorokotedza.

Ndainge ndawana mubairo weChirungu chandaisataura kumba.

 

Mune iyi, ndainge ndakakugukuchira tiri mupaki, Sekai.

Ndaisaziva kuti rudo rwemukadzi rwunonaka nekuvava zvese.

 

Pane iri pakavha yebhuku rangu rekutanga,

ndainge ndakatarisa mberi ndichifunga kuti ndini Soyinka.

Ndaisaziva kuti bhuku haripere kunyorwa.

 

Mune iyi ndakatarisa mwana wangu wekutanga

ndichitya kuti achararama here.

Asi nhasi ave kukwira ega bhazi achienda mativi mana.

 

Mune iyo, vana vandaiticha vakasimudza maoko

asi nhasi vazhinji vavo vave kutonga nyika.

Ndinovaverenga mupepa ndoseka zvangu.

 

Mune iyi, ndakasunga tayi

ndiri pedyo chaizvo negurukota rehurumende.

Vari kumusha vanoti ndinodya namambo.

 

Apa, ndiri parufu rwaFarai

ndakakotamisa hope yangu pabhokisi rake

ndichiti, “Famba zvakanaka Fatso, ndichatevera.”

 

Mune yanhasi, ndiri pamunda wangu.

Ndini here uyu akapfeka kabudura kemurimi

achiteerera zvake kukura kwechibage?

 

Vasikana ava handichaziva mazita avo.

Asi uyu mutsvuku ndakamushaira mukana tiri pachikoro.

Kwaari ikoko Mwari ngaandichengetere.

 

Mune iyo iri pamusoro pesofa, mai mwana

tiri pamuchato wedu tichitsvodana tatumwa namufundisi.

Uchazvigona here izvi pazere vanhu?

Picture

In this one, I had just been born

laid out in a basket like Christ himself

as my parents pose as Joseph and Mary!

 

In this one,

we are raising our hands after scoring a goal.

Look at us chanting like scavenger birds!

 

In that one, the school Head is congratulating me with a smile

I had come first in the English

that I never spoke at home.

 

In this one,

I am fully hugging you in the park, Sekai.

Wish I had  I known a woman’s love is bitter- sweet!

 

In the picture at the back of my first book,

I was looking ahead thinking I was Soyinka himself.

I hadnt known that one cannot really write a book conclusively.

 

In this one I am looking at my first born

wondering if she would make it.

But now she boards buses to go all over on her own. 

 

In that one, my pupils are raising their hands to me

But today many of them are our national leaders.

I read about them in the media and laugh out loud.

 

In this one, I am putting on my tie,

Sitting close to a cabinet minister

Back in the village they will think I am part of the inner circle.

 

Here, I am at Farai’s funeral,

Sadly casting my eyes onto his coffin

whispering, “Go well, Farai. will join you soon.”

 

In today’s picture I am at my farm.

Is this really me in a farmer’s shorts

listening to the silent growth of corn?

 

I don’t recall the names of these young school beauties.

I had no opportunity to propose love to the light complexioned one.

Wherever she is, may God keep her safe for me.

 

In that one above the sofa, dear wife

we are at our wedding,  kissing at the instigation of the pastor 

Can we afford to do this again  in public?

 

Shamwari yaSarudzai

Shamwari yako inondinyara, Saru.

Kana ndikamutarisa anoringa pasi

asi ndikaringa divi anobva anditarisa.

Shamwari yako inoshereketa, Saru.

Patinomhoresana anoramba akandibata ruoko

ndonzwa kupiswa nemagetsi ake akawanda.

Shamwari yako ine shungu, Saru.

Patinombundikirana anozvambarara pachipfuva changu

ndonzwa kuremerwa nemusoro wake.

Shamwari yako inoona, Saru.

Kana ndikapfeka zvakanaka anokutangira kuzviona.

Kana ndikadikitira anokasika kubudisa hengechepfu.

Shamwari yako inonzwa, Saru.

Ndikataura zvinofadza anobva aseka kudarika iwe

achibuda tumisodzi tuchena tunenge mvura.

Shamwari yako haina guhwa, Saru.

Kana ndichitaura newe anoringa divi

achimirira kuti tipedzerane pachedu.

Shamwari yako inoyemura, Saru.

Kana mandioneka modigaira moenda

ndikangocheuka ndinoona achicheukawo.

Shamwari yako inondivhiringidza, Saru.

Anondivinga kuhope achiti tiende kwatete vake

asi iwe hausati wandiendesa kana kumukoma wako.

Shamwari yako inokasika, Saru.

Ndakasangana naye aine mukoma wake mukuru

vakanyemwerera vachinditi, “Kaziwai, babamunini!”

Ndakatarisa pasi ndokunyarara zvangu

nokuti unondinzwisa tsitsi kwazvo, Saru.

Sarudzai’s friend

Your friend is very shy, Saru.

When I look into her eyes,

she looks down.

When I look aside

she starts to look at me.

You friend is mischievous, Saru.

When we shake hands

she holds onto me for far too long

and I burn in her highly powered voltage.

Your friend is keen on me, Saru.

When we hug

her head collapses in my arms

and I struggle with her mighty weight.

Your friend is very observant, Saru.

When I dress well

her compliments come  earlier than yours.

Whenever I sweat

she quickly offers me her handkerchief.

Your friend has a rich sense of humour, Saru.

When I crack a joke

she laughs louder than you

shedding tears as clear as water.

Your friend is not keen on eavesdropping, Saru.

When I whisper to you

she keeps her distance

allowing us to resolve our disputes.

Your friend appreciates me dearly, Saru.

As you hurry away after our goodbyes

I turn around

and catch her turning around too.

Your friend mesmerizes me, Saru.

She appears in my dreams

asking to introduce me to her aunt.

Yet you still haven’t introduced me even to your sister.

Your friend is quick and decisive, Saru.

I bumped into her and her elder sister

And the elderly lady smiled 

and said to me, “Hello, brother in law!”

I looked down, perplexed

because I have great pity for you, Saru.

 

 

 

 

Nyika yedu

Tinoda nyika ino neupfumi hwayo hwose.

Kuti tiidye zvishoma nezvishoma pauzima.

Tichiseva muto wayo nemusuva wesadza.

Tichinyenyeredza pane nyama nedomasi.

Kuti tizozvinhonga pakupedzisira kwemutambo.

Tinoda nyika ino neupfumi hwayo hwose.

Kuti tiicheke hafu toisa mukabati.

Todya hafu yacho izvozvi nhasi uno.

Imwe hafu toti ndeyemangwana.

Hafu yanhasi toizora bhata zvese nedovi nejamhu.

Tozomira zvedu pavhuranda tichiidya.

Tichionekwa nevana vepaseri kuti tiri kudya.

Tinoda nyika ino neupfumi hwayo hwose.

Kuti tigoimenya tega seranjisi.

Tichikachidzwa neutsi hwayo tichikosora.

Tichibudisa tumisodzi tunokonzerwa nekunakirwa.

Tozoibvanzura tichiisa mukanwa ichingotapira.

Muto uchiyerera uchidzika nemagokora edu.

Tozounanzva futi muto iwoyo nerurimi rwunogwagwadza.

Tinoda nyika ino nerunako rwayo rwose.

Kuti tigoona zuva rayo richibuda muchikomo.

Tichiritya utsvuku hwaro hunoshamisa pamangwanani.

Tichiudzana zvedu nhasi kuchapisa mwachewe.

Tigoona mwedzi uchigara pamusoro pezviruvi zvemba.

Uchiita sekamwana kagere mudumbu maamai vako.

Tinoda nyika ino zvinototirwadza chaizvo.

Kunyanya kana zviye tiri kure-kure nayo.

Tinotorota tiri mumunda wechibage chakasvibirira

Tichitsvaga pane magaka, ipwa  nemabvembe.

Tichizotyora chibage chinyoro tichiimba

Tichinochibika mumabhodho anopfungarara pamoto.

Hwema hweZhizha huchikwidza nemaraini.

Tinoitondera nemisodzi chaiyo nyika ino.

Nokuti yakatida tisati tatomboziva kuti tisu vanaani.

Tikaidawo tisati taziva kuti chinonzi rudo chii.

Yakatipa mazita anosekwa kwese kwatinoenda.

Vana Lovemore, Rosewita, Doesmatter naEvernice.

Hatiseke nokuti tinoziva zvaanoreva mukusareva kwawo.

Takatozoita zvokuchata nayo nyika ino muhana dzedu.

Saka painominyuka tinofashaidza mvura pamoto.

Kwave kuitova zvinyoronyoro nejira mumvura inopfumbuka.

Painoyuwirawo nesu tinonzwa hana kusimuka dzichibvondoka.

Tinoinzwisisa nemutsa nyika ino.

Painodikitira tinoipukuta nehengechepfu chena inenge gore.

Painochema semhuru tinonzwa mukaka kusisa mumazamhu edu.

Nyika ino ticharamba tichifa isu kuti iyo irarame zvayo.

Tichasiya tanyora mazita edu pamapazi ayo.

Tichishandisa mapanga, matemo, mbezo, reza namapadza.

Kuti vanopfuura nepano taenda vagoziva kuti tainge tiri panowo.

Naivowo vafambe zvinyoronyoro vasiye nyika ino chiri chidadiso.

 

 

 

Mukuru wekuchechi kwedu

Mukuru wekuchechi kwedu

ave kuita sewachi zvino

zvokuti achafira mumaoko evanhu.

 

Mukuru wekuchechi kwedu

anenge nguva yechando

paanoenda tichachema nemufaro

 

Mukuru wekuchechi kwedu

Anenge zimukuyu repanzira

nyora zita rako pariri ufambe, uyende.

 

Mukuru wekuchechi kwedu

anenge kapoto kasina ridhi

Kanokwata kusvikira kapwa

 

Mukuru wekuchechi kwedu

anenge kakova kasina bhiriji

Unotoyambuka kaserera.

 

Mukuru wekuchechi kwedu

anenge doro repataundishipi

Munotobvunzana, “Nhasi rakadii?” musati matenga.

 

Mukuru wekuchechi kwedu

anenge redhiyo ine bhatiri idzva

Munotokotsira achingorira.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Aka katetembo hakana basa nokuti kakanyorwa masikati:

Kakova kanonzi rudo rwangu

Kanobva pano kusvika pandinozofa apo-o!

This mischievous little piece is from my daydreams

The love I have for you is a little river

that flows from here till my death over there.

 

 

 

 

 

Kana uchifudza

Kana uchifudza mombe;

unoramba zvaunoziva

ugobvuma zvausingazive

ugoziva wega zvaunoziva.

 

Kana uchifudza mbudzi;

unotadza kuziva kuti

uchiri kuenda here kana kudzoka,

Wotanga zvino kumhanyira kwauri kubva!

 

Kana uchifudza hwai;

unotadza kuziva kuti ndiriinhi zviya,

pawakamboona zvauri kuona.

 

Kana uchifudza vanhu;

uri kutsvaga chiri kukutsvagawo

Kana wasvika pachanga chiri,

Icho chinenge chave pawambenge uri!

 

 

 

 

Rudo

Rudo rwandisina kukupa:

kashiri kanodya masefa kachicheuka.

Rudo rwandisina kukupa:

ibenzi riri kumhanyira kwariri kubva

saka harisvike zvachose iwe!

Rudo rwandisina kukupa:

rwunombogwamba mandiri semafuta

rwuchizopepuka chete kana ndakuona

rwosimudza musoro senyoka yaona gonzo.

Ndinobva ndarwupuruzira iwe-e-e-e

kuti rwurare zvarwo sekatsi yakaguta

nokuti kana rwaona iwe rwunogwagwadza

rwozvongonyoka senyoka mumunda uchangorimwa.

A, ndiri kudzidzira kudzikama pandinokuona

nokuti rudo rwandisina kukupa:

imhodzi isina kuwira pavhu kwaro kuti imere.

Rudo rwandisina kuzokupa:

unorwuonawo here mumeso edu kana tasangana?

Kana kuti unongoti:

“Zvatakapotsa hanga, todya zvedu makunguwo.”

 

 

 

 

 

Pamuviri paShamiso

Zvinonzi Shamiso ane pamuviri pangu

nokuti tinonzwikwa tichiseka zvedu tose

kuchipisa, kuchitonhora kana kuchivhuvhuta

zvokuti vanhu vanosiya poto dzichitsva pamoto

kana kusiya nhau dzichiverengwa pawairesi

kana kusiya pombi dzichirasa zvadzo mvura

vachingotarisa ini naShami tichiseka zvedu.

Zvanzi tinoonekwa tiri tose kwose-kwose zvako

paMugovera, paChishanu, paChitatu kana paChina

vanhu vachitondera vachirasika zvakarewo

kuti kave kechingani vachiona ini naShamiso

kuye-keye-e zuva riye-riye-e nepaye-paye-e!

Saka zvinonzi pamuviri paShami pacho ndepangu chete

nokuti Shamiso kana aneni zviya anoshamisa

zvokuti haaite kunge kune imwe nguva nenzvimbo

iri nani muupenyu hwose hwatinoziva kunze kwepandiri.

Kwanzi kana aneni anoseka chikwe-e chaicho chamunoziva

iyo mitezo yake yakaita rurasademo chairwo

kunge pasi pano pasina minzwa, mafeso kana chaguduma.

Zvinonzi kana aneni, Shami anoita seane hama yake chaiyo

asi vozoona kuti hama nehama chaidzo-idzo dzatinoziva

hadzingakwizane mapendekete dzichiswera dzose saizvozvi!

Zvinonzi ndepangu chete pamuviri paShami, hakuna mumwe

nokuti handivhundutswe nenzeve dzake dzave kunjenjemera

kana kusvipa-svipa kwaave kungoita nekusarudza twokudya.

Zvinonzi ini pano husiku chaihwo hwezhizha nokuti

handione kuti dumbu raShami riri kungokura zuva nezuva.

Vanotaura vanoti pamuviri paShamiso ndepangu

nokuti murume nemukadzi havagone kungoshamwaridzana

zvikaperera chete muhurukuro nekuseka nekunzwanana.

Zvanzi chiripo chete chandinoda kubva kunaShamiso

chandinowana nyore-nyore nokuti dzangu dzakatenderera

zvakare dzaShamiwo dzinenge zinyekenyeke sedzangu.

Zvanzi vane nharo ngavamirire chete pachapona Shami

vagoona kuti ini naShami hataingoita zvekuseka chete.

Asika; ini naShamiso tinozviziva zvose izvozvo

ndosaka tichigaroseka zvedu sekunge kusina denga nepasi

tichitofara zvedu sekusina mangwana kana gore rinouya.

 

 

 

 

Chipikiri

Chipikiri chinorohwa nesando

musoro wega-wega uyu.

Chichidzika chichipinda  chichibaya.

Chichirohwa musoro wese uyu.

Chichiimba  chichihuta  chichichema.

Chichidzama  chichitenderera  chichidzika.

Chichirohwa nesando musoro wese iwoyo.

Chichipfidza  chichikumbira ruregerero.

Asi wesando anongoda musoro iwoyo.

Musoro-musoro musoro-musoro chete.

Achiunanga achiurova achiukoma.

Achiimbirira achitukirira achinyetera

Chipikiri chichienda chichidzama.

Chichinoita basa revamwe zvavo.

Chichisiya ngoma inonaka ichingorira

chichiasiya mabhebhi, maruva nemakeke…

 

 

 

 

Shoko Rekupedzisira

Mazwi evana vari kutamba panze apo

ndiro simba redu rasara:

         dai kukaramba kuine zuva

        dai kukaramba kuine mvura

        dai kukaramba kuine mhepo

        dai kukaramba kuine ivhu nembeu

Ndavanzwa ndikati:

        Dai waro kwaramba kuine vana.

 

 

Mazwi emupepeti (Editor’s note)

Kupihwa kwandakaitwa nhetembo dzino naMemory Chirere kuti ndiverenge, rakave rombo rakanaka. Paakazodzoka zvakare kwandiri achiti ndipepete pamwe chete nekuzodziburitsa sebhuku saizvozvi, kwakave kukudzwa kukuru.

Chirere haachisiri chikomana chiya chandakanga ndichidzidzira kunyora nhetembo pamwe nacho tiri vana vechikoro kuUniversity of Zimbabwe kutanga kwema 1990. Iko zvino chitarisai muone! Atotumbuka muchekechera. Kunyora kwake kwave nemuchochororo nezvimbi. Kwave kunyora kwakatsiga kunge mabwe akagarana aunogona kufunga kuti achakuwira, asi iwe usingazive kuti kana naChaminuka akaawana akadaro, akangoasiya akadaro.

 

Mazuva andakashamwaridzana naChirere pamakore edu kuUniversity of Zimbabwe, takanga tichinyora nhetembo nehama dzinenge Chiedza Musengezi naNhamo Mhiripiri, naRuzvidzo Mupfudza, naZvisinei Sandi, naEmmanuel Sigauke, naThabisani Ndlovu, naJoyce Mutiti, naEresina Hwede nevamwe. Aive mazuva ekunakirwa nemukaka wenhetembo, kufanana nemhuru inoyamwa. Takanga tine pfungwa dzizere ngano, netsumo, nemadimikira, nezvirahwe pamwe chete nemabhuku evanyori vakuru vataida zvikuru. Takanga tisati taziva kuti nesuwo rimwe zuva tichazoitawo mabhuku edu asina basa kudai.

 

Kunyora kunobva kure. Tine mazuva atainyora nekuti takanga tichinyenga vasikana vachitiramba. Shungu. Tine mazuva atakanga tichinyora nekuti takanga tichisuwa hupenyu hwatakanga takura tiri mahuri kuDande uko kwatinobva, kune makomo eMavhuradonha. Ndiwo mazuva ataiona kuti nenhetembo dzedu dzakafanana nevasikana vacho vatainyenga. Kune nhetembo dzaitiramba, dzimwe dzichititiza. Kune nhetembo dzatairota nedzimwe dzaitishaisa hope. Asi nekufamba kwenguva, pane nhetembo dzatakazoroora, dzikabvuma kuita vana nesu. Saka nhetembo dziri mubhuku rino, hupenyu hwaChirere, imhuri yaChirere, rwendo rwake! Wanaiwo pamunokwana.

 

Pane kuruka tyava, nekuridza tyava zvekuti tsuro, shiri zvese nevanhu zvinovhunduka kuti pane charira kunge pfuti, asi chisiri pfuti zvacho. Pane kurova netyava, kunobvarura ganda, kuchitungidza moto wemarwadzo mukati menyama musingagone kukwenyeka. Ndizvo zvakaita manyorero aChirere izvozvo. Kuita Memory Chirere kunge mango mbishi yekuti ukadya inokukora igokudzidzisa kuti uiremekedze.

 

Pane kunyora kune maonero anodarika kuona kwemaziso. Kunyora kunoita kuti iwe muverengi unzwe ruzha rwekudonha kweumhutu chaiko. Ndiko kunyora kwaChirere mubhuku rino. Kunyora kunouya nemazwi akasiyana-siyana uye asingajairike. Kunyora kunoroya! Kunyora kunokutema nyora paganda ukazivikanwa nevanhu vese kuti wabva kun’anga. Chirere haasi ega! Handizive kuti vangani mukati make. Chirere mutinhimira.

 

Ndinofunga kuti; Zimbabwe haichawana mumwe nyanduri wechiShona anonyora saChirere. Kunyora kunenge kudada, kunenge kutsvinya, kunenge kutamba asi kwausingakoshiwe! Chirere ane chipo chekupaza, kupfudzunura, kutsokodzera nekupisa hunhu hwechinhu chamagara muchiti ndicho nhetembo. Nhetembo dzake dzinofamba nemakumbo dzichibva pamakadzirongedza, dzichienda kunogara pamaifunga kuti hapagarwe kana kusvikwa nenhetembo.

Mubhuku rino hamuna nhetembo dzandingati idzi ndidzo dzinotapira kudarika dzimwe. Nhetembo imwe neimwe mubhuku rino ine masimukiro ayo, nemagariro ayo akasiyana nedzimwe. Bhuku iri rinenge muti wakarembera nemichero yakaibva zvekuti unoshaya kuti ndotangira papi uye kana watanga kudya, unenge usisade kurega kudya. Handikwanise kuti ndisarudze nhetembo imwe chete kuti ndigoti iyi ndiyo yakabata bhuku. Uyewo, handina kuda kuti tiise nhetembo idzi muzvikamu – kwete! Takangoita zarura dzibayane, nekuda kwekuti zvekuronga nhetembo zvinonetsa kana uchishanda nenhetembo dzeshasha dzechimbo dzinenge Chirere.

 

Iwe unogona kufunga kuti nhetembo yake iri kutaura nezverudo, asi ukaramba uchiipindura mupfungwa dzako, ndipo pauchazoona kuti kwete – inogona kunge iri kutotaura nezverufu kana nezvematongerwo emusha! Zvakarewo, handibvume kuti kana nyanduri achikupai nhapitapi yemuchero wenhetembo, akumenyerei, obva akutsengerai, imi mozongomedza chete. Kwete. Zvibayei mega mungazoti mupepeti akaipa.

 

Kubudikidza nebhuku rino, Chirere avhura chitsauko chitsva pamanyorerwo nemashandisirwo enhetembo muZimbabwe. Pano pari kushandiswa mazwi mashomashoma akatetepa ayo aunogaroshandisawo iwe zvako mazuva ose. Bhuku Risina Basa Mazwi ari pano akashandiswa zvisina mutsimba zvekuti unogona kufunga kuti kunyora detembo kwakareruka sekunhonga mari munzira. Madetembo mapfupi aya akanyorerwa kuti akubatsire kuzvibvunza kuti: ndini ani, ndiri kuenda nekubva kupi, ndinodei panyika uye zvandinoita zviye ndinozviitirei? Pfungwa huru yebhuku iri ndeyekuti; funga, funga, funga! Funga usingamhanye, usingavhunduke. Kanawo izvi zvirizvo zvakasanganikwa nemumwe mundangariro nemuhupenyu, iwe sanganawo nazvo asi muri mubhuku! Ndinovimba kuti vana vedu muZimbabwe, kubva pafomu yechitatu zvichikwira, vachadzidza nekutapirirwa nemudyandakasungwa uyu. Bhuku ndiro risina basa, asi nhetembo dzirimo dzine basa! Dzakanyorwa masikati asi verengai zvenyu chero nguva.

+Ignatius T. Mabasa, Harare, 2014

Here is a link to a review of Bhuku Risina Basa: Diary of a 45 Year Old Poet - Zimbo Jam

A link to a second book review: Interfacing with Memory Chirere in verse – NewsDay Zimbabwe

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MISQUOTED, a memoir by Desmond Kumbuka

 

 

Title: ‘Misquoted’: a Personal Experience in Journalism

Author: Desmond Kumbuka

Published by Passpoint Publishers Private Limited, Harare, 2020

Isbn:0 36000291452,210 pages.

 Book Review by Memory Chirere

Desmond Kumbuka indicates on the blurb that his book is “not journalism text book and does not pretend to be one.” I agree with him entirely.  I however think that this memoir becomes many other things, becoming even more useful than the ordinary journalism text book. This is a story about what journalism has taught one man. It is a story about the good and bad goings on in the back stage of journalism.

 

For those into Media in Zimbabwe studies and the connoisseurs of journalism in Zimbabwe, Kumbuka’s book offers what I could call an intelligent peek into the  who is who of key media personalities in Zambia and Zimbabwe, in the past forty years. The rich thread takes you from the mournful doe eyed Emmanuel Nyirenda, the irascible Vincent Mijoni, Adam Hamiwe, Giles Kuimba, Eric Richmond, Keith Simpson, Bill Saidi, Tonic Sakaike, Gilbert Mawarire, Stephen Mpofu, Davison Maruziva, Bester Kanyama, Douglas Takundwa, Chen Chimutengwende, Willie Dzawanda Musarurwa, Bornwell Chakaodza to Geofrey Nyarota and many others. It is more of an evaluation sheet through which you see the rise and fall of an array of characters and organisations in the local media.    

 

I could not put this book down from the moment I first held it. Sometimes I took a break just in order to laugh or to shake my head in disbelief. Here is a book that reads like The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. A book with the capacity to arm many young journalists with the do’s and don’ts of journalism, albeit in very subtle ways.  In this story, the hero (Kumbuka) seems to be always falling into one misfortune after another, just like Pimbirimano from the Shona folk lore, but always getting out of trouble through his own resourcefulness, only to fall into a much bigger misfortune – on and on, without the possibility of a happily ever after.

 

Look at this: sometime in 1976, young reporter Desmond Kumbuka, who is coming from a nasty pub fight, walks home with a very ugly black eye. He is asked by his editor to attend a press conference at President Kenneth Kaunda’s State House. To hide this embarrassing injury, Kumbuka hurriedly acquires a pair of dark glasses on the streets of Lusaka. But President Kaunda singles out the suspicious young man with ill fitting dark goggles in the crowd and loudly offers to help him acquire appropriate spectacles. The President genuinely thinks that the young journalist has a real eye problem. Later, Kumbuka writes a letter thanking Kaunda for his kindness for he went to see the offered eye specialist. But Kaunda is not done. He writes back to poor Kumbuka, saying the young man’s letter was sincere and that “I (Kaunda) value your letter so much that I am asking you to sign it for you forgot to do that. I would wish to have it back for my personal file.” Journalists rarely receive such attention from heads of state.

 

It is while at the Zambia Daily Mail that Kumbuka is accused of actually misquoting a whole Police Commissioner of Zambia, one Fabiano Chela. Kumbuka story had made it on the front page of the daily, claiming that the Commissioner had actually said that the Zambian police force was full of criminals! The tragic headline read: “CRIMINALS RECRUITED IN THE POLICE FORCE - CHELA.”

 

Kumbuka is dragged before the feared police commissioner, regardless of the fact that the commissioner himself had told Kumbuka that “it is very possible (that criminals could be recruited into the Zambian police). We are not God. So how would we know whether one has criminal tendencies unless they have a criminal record on our data-base? It is possible to recruit criminals as police officers…”

 

Desmond Kumbuka is instantly dismissed from the Zambia Daily Mail. And the lesson learnt? “In the complex game of politics and corporate gamesmanship, it is not uncommon for a supposedly responsible national leader… to vigorously, and usually with a straight face, disown reports of actions or words attributed to them in the media, if such reports or actions expose them…

 

Kumbuka also admits somewhere in this book that reads like a thriller that; as a young journalist, he had the rather romantic notion that you find in most young journalists that a good reporter is that brusque, rough living, hard drinking and roguish character who causes the authorities headaches with probing and incisive questioning and articles that leave government officials with the proverbial egg on their faces.

 

He admits too to having a long affair with crime literature, through reading the likes of Spaghetti thrillers, James Hardley Chase, Mickey Spillane, Oliver Strange, Wilbur Smith, Mario Puzo and others, leading Kumbuka to enjoy crime reporting. At some point Kumbuka would actually join the police during their patrols so that he is acquainted with the crimes and the criminals he so much liked to write about. Clearly, this means a reporter ought to have an inherent interest in an area of his chosen specialization.

 

But discipline was not one of the strong points of young Kumbuka. In his next post at the Mining Mirror, a newspaper based in Mufulira, a small mining town bordering the then Zaire and Zambia, Kumbuka joins colleagues to drink regularly across the border in Mokambo. They have a nice time with buxom Congolese women “with their ample bosoms and rather accommodating proclivities.” It turns out that the guys are spending the proceeds from the sales of the paper, with the hope of repaying the money on the Monday, which was a pay day. On a Saturday, way before pay day, the Editor in Chief in distant Ndola, instructs them to bring the money to Ndola “right now!” Kumbuka and his colleagues get fired for it. He is back on the streets and the misery of a man in a foreign country is evident.

 

But Kumbuka’s life has not only known the down turns, which include sleeping in the open and in noisy 24 hour bars due to lack of accommodation. Life has taken Kumbuka to many very respectable stages. It is a life well lived. After Zimbabwe’s independence, Kumbuka finds himself at the eminent Sunday Mail in Harare, where he quickly establishes himself as a reporter and columnist, later taking over from Henry Maarsdop, a prolific columnist who penned a popular Sunday column called ‘Henry Maarsdop on Sunday.’ Kumbuka’s own column became known as ‘Muongorori’s View’ and it ran side by side with the one by Maarsdop.

 

For several years, Kumbuka branched off into public relations. At the inception of the Associated Newspapers of Zimbabwe (ANZ), Kumbuka founded The Express Newspaper in Chitungwiza along with several other weeklies. He also found himself at what became the Daily News and Daily News on Sunday. Prior to his stint with ANZ, Kumbuka was also involved in the establishment of another newspaper, the Daily Gazette for which he was Deputy Editor.

 

It is very interesting that although Geofrey Nyarota ably edited this book alongside Ruby Magosvongwe of the University of Zimbabwe, Nyarota himself is not spared in this book. He is given his due; praised here and blasted, whenever Kumbuka thinks it is necessary. That Nyarota has allowed this to stand as it is, is a plus for Nyarota! ‘Misquoted’ is the most informative book that I read in 2020. 

  

 

 

 

 

 

something coming soon-.

memory chirere. picture
by shasha chirere

Call for Book Chapters on Musaemura Zimunya

Call for Book Chapters on Musaemura Zimunya

Proposed Title: Reading Musaemura Zimunya: Critical Reflections

Editors: Tanaka Chidora and Sheunesu Mandizvidza (Department of English, University of Zimbabwe)

Prospective Publisher: TBA

Musaemura Bonus Zimunya is regarded as one of the leading modern Zimbabwean poets writing in both English and Shona. He is usually read in universities alongside the likes of Okigbo, Okara and Mapanje who are also regarded as pioneers in the development of modern African poetry. He broke into print gradually in the early 1970s in periodicals like Two-Tone and Chirimo. Later, he appeared more emphatically in group anthologies like Kizito Muchemwa’s Zimbabwean Poetry in English (1978) and Gwenyambira (1979). Afterwards, the floodgates opened in such a record-breaking way for Zimunya. He published the following books of poetry: And Now The Poets Speak (1981) which he edited with Mudereri Kadhani, Thought Tracks (1982), Kingfisher, Jikinya and other poems (1982), Country Dawns and City Lights (1985), Samora! (co-authored in 1987), Chakarira Chindunduma (co-authored and edited it 1985), Birthright (1989), The fate of Vultures (1989), Selected Poems of Zimunya (published in a Serbian language and in English in 1995), and Perfect Poise (1993).

But that is just one side of Zimunya. He is also a pioneer in the history of literary criticism in Zimbabwe with his ground-breaking Those Years of Drought and Hunger (1982) setting the stage for a rich tradition of literary criticism in Zimbabwe, and becoming seminal in the understanding of Zimbabwean literature, especially those texts written during ‘those years of drought and hunger’ of the colonial period.

He has also written short stories and has been anthologised in various collections including his own, Nightshift (1993).

In the literature sector of Zimbabwe, Musaemura Zimunya has played an instrumental role, administratively speaking, with Zimbabwe International Book Fair (ZIBF), Zimbabwe Writers Union (ZIWU) and Zimbabwe Writers Association (ZIWA). Thus, what we are looking at here is a literary career that spans decades.

Such a career means that Zimunya’s creative, critical and administrative intervention in Zimbabwean literature cannot go unnoticed. Although Musaemura Zimunya has been featured in many critical works like Veit-Wild’s Patterns of Poetry (1988) and Teachers, Preachers and Non-believers (1992) and many journal articles, there is an absence of a full-volume critical work dedicated to Musaemura Zimunya like what we have in Charles Mungoshi: A Critical Reader (edited by Memory Chirere and Maurice Vambe, 2006)) and Sign and Taboo (a critical volume on Yvone Vera edited by Robert Muponde and Mandi Taruvinga, 1992). This calls for such a gap to be filled, which is where this call for book chapters comes in.

What we are inviting here are abstracts for critical writings on Zimunya’s creative works, meta-critical writings on his critical approaches to Zimbabwean Literature and critical reflections. This means the project is an attempt to have a cross-cutting approach to Zimunya which involves scholarly writings from academics who have interacted with Zimunya’s work (both creative and critical) and reflective pieces and testimonies from those who have interacted with Zimunya himself as fellow artists and readers. Such reflective pieces can include interviews and essays. Because the approach is cross-cutting, we have decided to have a laissez-faire approach to themes. The idea is that good abstracts that capture the essence of ‘Reading Musaemura Zimunya’ in any form, including a collection of his photographs that capture his art and his life, will be published! The photographs will be published in a separate section of this book and should be history making photographs. We happen to know that besides being a poet, he is a guitarist, farmer, fisherman and an avid follower of Zimbabwe’s Dynamos Football Club and England’s Arsenal!) Our aim is to give readers, students and teachers of Zimunya’s writings the world over a comprehensive critical and reflective volume that captures the diversity of approaches to Zimunya’s own life, history, poetry, short stories and critical works.

A 250-word abstract/proposal and a brief biographical note are to be sent to Tanaka Chidora (tchidora@arts.uz.ac.zw; chidoratanaka@gmail.com) by the 30th of August 2019. The deadline for submission of the article, of about 6 000 - 8000 words, is 28 February 2020

Stanley Mushava: Writing is a state of unrest...

Below, Phillip Chidavaenzi (PC) interviews award-winning author and journalist Stanley Mushava (SM) about Mushava’s creative methods and about his forthcoming poetry collection called Rhyme and Resistance. His first poetry collection, Survivors Café won The Outstanding Fiction NAMA award in 2018.

PC: How does you creative process work?

SM: I start with a feeling. Let's say love, sadness or settling scores with the system. Once I am aware of the feeling I want in ink, I become restless until it's captured. I am picturing Genesis 1:2. All the elements are in place but out of alignment and the Spirit of God is sweeping over the chaos, gathering beauty and order out the mess. That chaos, that's the cultural energy spread across my head which I must channel into a creation.

PC: So, this pushes you into a creative mode?

SM: Writing becomes a state of unrest until I have brought out this allusion, that double entendre, this rhyme, that metaphor to capture the feeling. Only then can my mind enter its Sabbath. These days, I take a meditative walk. By the time I sit down, I am no longer writing but just typing the poem or essay.

PC: You blend music and literature a lot. Where is the connection?

SM: Literature is state of mind; music is soundtrack of life. When I was in university, this brother at the house where I was renting would take a speaker with him into the garden and blast away as he worked all day in the sun. I wanted to know why he was such a loud neighbour and he answered that music was his way of taking his mind off unfulfilled dreams.

PC: You were tempted to try that out?

SM: Well, I had mine all figured out and I would be happy to be left out of his theory. Till I had to rummage through Gramma Records and YouTube for jit and sungura to help me cope with underemployment and alienation three years later.

PC: So that's how music ended up a part of your literary staple?

SM: My attachment to music could be habit-forming already, though I am still a good neighbour. When you look at my poetry, alienation is a sprawling theme and music is a sort of anti-depressant and also the underdog's reply to the system's post-truth stories.

PC: One also sees this thread in your latest publication...

SM: My new book, Rhyme and Resistance, is densely allusive to Zimbabwean music, Tembo, Mapfumo, Lannas, Skuza, Majaivana, Zakaria, Chimbetu, Zhakata, basically most genres from 1970s Chimurenga to 2019 Zimdancehall. That's because they are dope and I am celebrating them but this right here is a pun. The great Zimbabwean songwriters have much to say that connects with the alienated millennial condition. We need the music so that we don't feel the weight of the stones on our backs. More importantly, we need the music as we roll back the stones to the slavemasters.

PC: How do the two art forms relate in your works?

SM: I am into concept poems that I solidify by soaking up all the cultural materials available to me. When I wrote 'Oliver Mtukudzi', for example, I was waiting for my cousin in a beer garden, and the bartender was playing classic after classic by the legend as he had just died. So the scene spreads out in my head. Tuku isn't born yet. He is in Havilah, a heavenly city of the unborn, waiting to choose a country to get born in, and Masuku, Mapfumo, Madzikatire, Chimombe and Tembo are weaving in and out of the story as he decides. In a moment, I have typed out the story on my phone but it's actually nothing new. It's my pastiche of Tuku music, Mr. Nobody, the fantasy movie, Zimbabwean history and the Bible.

PC: Interesting...

SM: Zimbabwean music is important to my literature because I am looking for something I got that the rest of the world doesn't. Something to flaunt as my unique cultural ID. The Bible, critical theory, the English language, the Olympian Twelve, the Romantics, the internet, global entertainment, that's priceless and you can put a finger on my poem and trace samples back to all that...

PC: And you believe that gives you a unique cutting edge?

SM: Well, that wouldn't make my work different from say a post-modernist, Marxist or Christian writing in Europe or America. I have to foreground my own heritage which is why Sungura and Chimurenga are in your face when I am in my element. Also the reason why I have started reading African, but mostly Zimbabwean, histories, romances and oratures lately. With sungura, it's really effortless. I hardly got any memories outside sungura, from infancy to young love and broke days.

PC: From what you are saying, one can rightly say music has played an essential role in your development as a writer?

SM: I owe much of my development as a writer to music – my idea of when a line sounds just right, breaking down sizeable ideas into pop consumables, speaking to the powerful on behalf of the poor. All that my literature represents today.

PC: In your latest, 87-page collection of 37 poems, Rhyme and Resistance, you have several pieces that speak to Zimbabwe’s so-called “new dispensation”. Can the artist be politically neutral?

SM: That's the format I put out to protest State brutality during the events of January. I have since expanded and newly released the book. I am a devotee of politics but not of politicians. I can't see why an artist has to be politically neutral. I am biased towards the poor against the rich, towards the weak against the strong, towards the outnumbered against the privileged. In a world where the institutions that are supposed to be neutral are bloated with the excesses of power, I can't afford the luxury of being neutral, especially since I am poor myself. If I make heaven, though, this will be a different interview. I am sure there will be no Uncle Sam, New Dispensation, Silicon Valley, employers, puppetmasters, eunuchs, automatons, snitches, devil-kissers and uniformed murderers in heaven. So there will be no one to be biased against.

PC: You trace your passion for creative writing to primary school. What were your beginnings like? What and who were the influences?

SM: In primary school, I am the mission-bred introvert who would rather watch TV, make cuttings from the sports pages, read a novel or hire a movie than go out to play. I am terrible at chikweshe so I am mostly indoors. I like to micromanage content, buy notebooks with money for sweets and try books that I am not supposed to read yet. So I start soaking up culture, getting 'secondary' spellings right and thinking in English much earlier than my peers. In the house, there is a sizeable collection of novels and plays.

PC: What and who were the influences?

SM: I read Jekanyika, Sungai Mbabvu and Nhetembo in Grade 2 and never stop from there. Chine Manenji Hachifambisi, Kuridza Ngoma neDemo, Pfumoreropa, Rovambira, Tambaoga, Rurimi Inyoka, Ndinofa Ndaedza, the plays of Willie Chigidi and my uncle Janfeck Chekure's Rudo NdiMashingise are some of my earliest exposures so you can say I get my orientation mostly from crime fiction and old-world novels. And then the children's books, the folktales, the music, the Holy Childhood books from the Catholic Church, the crazy appetite for sports pages, the recitation of Ignatius Mabasa on closing day, the reverence for Renias Mashiri as I am starting to get serious with poetry. Whenever my father gets to drink a little, he likes to tell melancholic stories about how he overcame impossible poverty to become the first teacher in the family, how he got fined by the headman for flashing him with the village's first zinc roof. My mother is the neighbouring headman's daughter who got to witness stonings of puruvheyas during Second Chimurenga pungwes hosted by my grandfather and the persecution of her parents by Rhodesian soldiers.

PC: I can see the creative leanings began so early...

SM: Yes, and then it's still a thing for the sisters on the nurse-aide block to exchange Pacesetters and Shona novels and most get passed down to me. So I grow up overwhelmed by stories. From there my sister starts brings her Shona and Literature in English setbooks to holidays. In Grade 7 I start writing uncommissioned compositions, one rearranged off her copies of I Will Marry When I Want and Waiting for the Rain, one off Alexander Kanengoni's short story, 'The Loneliness of the No. 11 Player', and Zimbabwean refixes of newly imperial Nollywood. My composition book is taken to high school so that I am always meeting someone in disbelief of my age. From 2003 to date, I am always in anthology mode.

PC: Some readers feel sometimes your writing is not so easy to penetrate. Are you a "Marecheraen", so to speak?

SM: You know I could also write an essay called 'Me and Dambudzo', no homo. That's a defining influence on my work and, as with a number of fellow writers, I guess, my high school nickname. In 2004, my first year in high school, I am restless till I get my hands on a magazine I haven't read so that my father is always finding his things upside down. My biggest find is a prose poem extracted from The Black Insider by Moto, and the 'Dambudzo Marechera Was Bad' and 'Dambudzo Marechera Was Mad' columns by Chigango Musandireve (David Mungoshi) and Leonard Murwisi (I hope I remember the name right). That extract is photographically framed in my head and, along with Ikem's prose poem in Anthills of the Savannah, forms my bible of esoteric writing. It doesn't help that I soon meet more Marechera, Hove, Joyce, Eliot, poetry-writing Soyinka and other writers who tend to leave the reader out of their calculations at the Dewure High library. I love the cultural and philosophical intelligence in Marechera's work. He is the first writer from whom I branch out to other writers. In that regard, you could say I am 'Marecheran.'

PC: I love the way you use rhyme in your poetry, and still put across your theme strongly. Does this happen automatically or it’s something you have trained yourself to do?

SM: I started using rhyme in Form 3 as I was reading the Romantic and the Metaphysical poets. I was hearing that it's an English form that African writers had outgrown but all I cared for was the beauty and cadence it gave my poetry. My earliest surviving poems are Christian poems from A Level where I was, I think, comfortably using different rhyme schemes. I only resumed using rhyme in 2017 when I stumbled into the DAMN. album and became a rap initiate. I have tried originally patterning my own rhyme schemes, though I can't be too sure it's not something out there already.

PC: You have a publication titled Survivors Café? Why that title? What was the inspiration?

SM: My response to that keeps changing so I am probably not sure. It could be that I was surviving hard times when I wrote the book or maybe that just sounded nice to me. My most recent claim was that Survivors Café is a ghetto public sphere, which gels well with the Chitungwiza poems in the book and the vision behind my Underclass Books and Films label. Whichever way, I feel there is still something to retrieve from the title. Readers will probably do a better job.

PC: Is there a chance that we will see a novel from you, beyond the poetry and other short pieces?

SM: I try to write every now and then. Chapter 1 becomes a prose poem; Chapter 2 comes out weaker; Chapter 3 never happens. Since 2016, though, I have been sitting on a story outline that I hope to turn into a novel this year.

PC: You had a project planned with the comeback kid of local music, Michael Lannas. What became of it?

SM: We are working on something.

PC: Do you suppose projects of such kind, where writers and musicians come together to produce something, are feasible?

SM: Certainly. Some of the world's most influential literature is performance in transcript. Homer, Shakespeare, Tagore, Dylan... A case has been made about Illmatic and good kid m.A.A.d city being great American novels. When I listen to Lannas, Leonard Zhakata or Biggie Tembo, those are great Zimbabwean poets who happen to sing. There could just as easily write poems; and poets could just as easily write songs.

PC: Which artistes or writers have inspired you the most, and in what ways?

SM: That would be mostly writers and musicians. I can easily think of Alain Mabanckou for the sardonic tone in my political poems, Guy Debord for disaffection with the unreality of modern life, Leonard Zhakata for sustained opposition to the control system, Tocky Vibes as an example of hard work and original artistic vision, Bertolt Brecht for trenchant critiques of power that come across deceptively mythic. I can't forget my spiritual father, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, how he navigates conviction in a sea of complicated information. I guess it's the same reason why I got to be a K Dot stan.

PC: You describe your journalism as cultural. What does that mean?

SM: I decode culture and the transactions of power within it. My latest NewsDay piece, for example, marshals Marxism to analyse Zimbabwean love songs.

PC: What’s your take on the future of writing in Zimbabwe?

SM: The future is dope. Younger writers are naturally coming from a wider cultural base and have a lot to say about our condition. It's a pity our stagnant book industry and unrewarding economy suffocate new talent but we are pressing on. It's game on in the survivors café.

PC: Thank you, Stan. This has really been wonderful! All the best in your future artistic endeavours.

SM: Blessings.

© Phillip Chidavaenzi (2019)

ZIBF INDABA 2019 CALL FOR ABSTRACTS

ZIBF INDABA 2019  CALL FOR ABSTRACTS

The dates for the Zimbabwe International Book Fair have been set for 29 July - 2 August 2019. The Indaba Conference will therefore take place on 29 and 30 July 2019.  The theme of the 2019 Indaba Conference is “Footprints of the Book: Milestones & Opportunities”.   The many previous themes of the Indaba looked at the character and the future of the book in its various forms and looked too at important issues that affect the writing, publishing and sale of books like piracy, reading culture, pricing and the digital character of the book of today, etc. These, however, tended largely to bemoan the goings on in the book sector in Zimbabwe and Africa since 1980. We tended to be gloomy. It is the Association’s submission that a theme such as Footprints of the Book: Milestones and Opportunities, would give ZIBF an opportunity to look back and identify what stakeholders think are the milestones achieved so far, celebrate them as well as point out clearly how and where each milestone was achieved and what opportunities are should be exploited to bring back the renaissance. A case in point is to go back and see what caused the boom of the 1980’s (which saw the rise of Dambudzo Marechera, Charles and David Mungoshi, Barbara Nkala, Tsitsi Dangarembga, Yvonne Vera, Virginia Phiri, Chenjerai Hove, Musaemura Zimunya, Shimmer Chinodya etc) and find what facilitated it and how it could be triggered again.

Sub-Themes:

Presenters are encouraged to submit their own innovative topics and abstracts that speak to the theme, “Footprints of the Book: Milestones & Opportunities”. The following sub-themes are meant to guide possible research areas although they may be used as research topics:

1)      Mutation and the Evolution of the Book

Ø  ICT and the Virtual Library – Moving into the Future

Ø  From Print to e-Books

2)      Forwards and Backwards: Reminiscing the Book

Ø  Indigenous Knowledge and Innovation – The Future of Africa

Ø  Triggering the  Renaissance of the writing and publishing of books in Zimbabwe, the Region and in Africa

Ø  Evaluating the economic contributions and impact of the bookselling sector

3)      Motivating Content Generation in the Digital Age

Ø  Pros and cons of e-publishing

Ø  Social media and e-publishing

4)      Creating Synergies in the Book Industry

Ø  The Nexus Between Books and People

Ø  Evaluating the Book Industry’s focus on Climate , Science, Medicine, Environment etc

5)      The Political Economy of the Book in Africa

Ø  Role of Libraries in the Transformation of African Societies

Ø  The Role of the Book in Achieving the SDGs, Women and Children’s issues

Ø  Intellectual Property, Copyright and Piracy Issues

We therefore urge and encourage contributors to the 2019 Indaba to come up with ideas that will benefit all participants in the book value chain.  

SUBMISSION OF ABSTRACTS

Abstracts of not more than 500 words and word-processed in Times New Roman script with 1.15 line spacing should be submitted by 15 April 2019 by email to events@zibfa.org.zw with a copy to zibfa@yahoo.com. The abstracts will be reviewed by experts and authors of selected abstracts will be notified by 30 April 2019.  Presenters should submit the full papers and PowerPoint presentations of the full paper by 31 May 2019. Power-point presentations ARE REQUIRED and MUST summarise the full paper in bullet form and SHOULD ENABLE presenters to speak to the paper within the allotted time.  However, those that MUST READ the paper SHOULD summarise it and present within the allotted time.

Thank you

Mr Jasper Maenzanise

Interim Chair, Executive Board, Zimbabwe International Book Fair Association

 

Charles through the eyes of David Mungoshi

When I accepted the invitation to stand in for Charles Mungoshi, it was with the confidence of knowing that he would be glad to know that I had done so, but understandably, and in accordance with social etiquette, I shall, of course, have to report back to him what I have done in his absence and on his behalf. That is the only way to avoid an elder brother’s wrath! Fortunately, there is no real trepidation associated with this obligation. We have always got along just fine.

I am told that when I was a tiny little baby on my mother’s lap, Charles, then known as Lovemore, and a perspicacious little brat of some two years of age or so, insisted, for some strange reason, that I was a chicken that he could play with. It did not matter that I had no feathers on me! It seems to me now, with hindsight, that even in those tender formative years, Charles, or shall I say Lovemore, was already exhibiting signs of being a lateral thinker, seeing things somewhat differently from others. Charles, according to my mother, stubbornly refused to shift form his contention that ‘Dovoot’ (David) was a baby chicken. No effort to convince him otherwise made the slightest impression on him. Nascent creativity?

After attending lower primary school at All Saints Wrenningham in what was then known as the Tribal Trust Lands (TTL) of Manyene, somewhere on the outskirts of the ‘Republic of Enkeldoorn’ [present day Chivhu], Charles did his upper primary school at Daramombe Mission where he remained for the next three years. Daramombe stands in the brooding shadow of the mystic Daramombe Mountain, a place where people had to be on their best behaviour or risk punishment from the spirits of the land. Such punishment could take the form of confused wandering on the slopes of the mountain, for days on end. The mountain also served a utilitarian purpose in that herdsmen could stand on its summit and scour the surrounding countryside for lost cattle. In later years when I became a student teacher at the College of Christ the King, Daramombe, I could not help but wonder about the import of what to me sounded like the gruff and somewhat apocalyptic but evocative bark of the great baboon that ruled the troops on the timeless Daramombe Mountain. Later, the renowned enthnomuscilogist Dumi Maraire was to compose a choral eulogy with a lilting melody and epigrammatic lyrics that left vivid silhouettes of the russet and gold of early summer and the youthful freshness of village beauties etched enticingly upon one’s mind.

January 1963 saw Charles begin secondary school at St Augustine’s Mission in Penhalonga. St Augustine’s, popularly known as kwaTsambe or Santaga, was a prestigious Anglican Secodary School for African Children. To date, St Augustine’s has remained so highly revered as to be the motivation for a joke about how the people of Manicaland do not consider that someone has had a proper  education unless they have the good fortune to have been to St Augustine’s.

In 1964 when Charles was in Form 2 at St Augustine’s, I enrolled into Form 1 at what was then the only secondary school for black children in the city of Bulawayo, the Bulawayo African Secondary School (BASS). This school was known in township lingo as ‘eHigh School’. Predictably, those of us who had the good fortune to be ‘high-scholars’ could not help but walk around with a conscious little swagger. We probably had more than our fair share of attention. We were probably quite conspicuous in our blue ties and black blazers. The badge had the caption ‘vela mfundo,’ a Ndebele exhortation to aspire for a acquisition of knowledge and education.

At about this time, Charles and I began what was to become a veritable flow of correspondence between us, talking about everything and anything: music, girls, literature and, yes you guessed it, ‘writing.’

It was while at St Augustine’s that Charles discovered his creative urge and began to nurture the rich talent that we celebrate today. As far back as the Daramombe years, Charles had begun to furnish me with vivid descriptions of his schoolmates. I remember a boy with a unique and poetic name. At the time I was blissfully unaware of the semantic ambivalence of the boy’s name. The sexual connotations in the now late Zvokwidza Chirume’s name only occurred to me much later, after I had become a little more schooled in the ways of the world and its mosaic of discourse universes.    

In some of his letters, Charles described people like Mr. Darling, the science master, whom he appeared to be quite fond of and Father Pierce, his headmaster and teacher of English. Charles’s letters were packed with all sorts of ditties.

Often, when in Manyene during the school holidays, Charles narrated other anecdotes that made me wish I could join him at the illustrious St Augustine’s school. One such anecdote was about Mr. Darling, the science teacher, remarking enigmatically to some naughty boy, ‘Boy, if you wanna play the kid, I’m gonna play the goat,’ or words to that effect.

Borrowed pedantic phrases like ‘You are intoxicated by the exuberance of your verbosity’ became part of our verbal arsenal and our shared jokes. We were both enthralled by the sound of words and our letters to each other became more and more artistic and articulate as the days went by. Regrettably, none of these ‘masterpieces’ survived. I suppose we could not have known then that we might in future want to recall their content or that other people might wish to have access to them.

It was while still at St Augustine’s that Charles began to develop a liking for theatre. He was often to be seen participating in end-of–year school plays. Of note was his role as the rascally but immensely likable Mr. Toad of Toad Hall. Not surprisingly, as we now know, he was later to write plays and film scrips as well as take part in T. V dramas.

During most school holidays, Charles and I spent much of our time in Manyene, herding cattle, splashing about in the waters of the Suka River or fishing with primitive fishing lines and hooks bought at the nearby Chambara Township or some other such shop. Sometimes we just wandered around the wetlands picking and eating the fleshy and juicy hute, a wild fruit that came in all sizes, the biggest being about thumb-size. They also came in a variety of colours, from a light purplish colour to a sort of deep navy blue or black. If you squeezed or crushed the leaves of the mukute, they emitted a pleasant and rather exotic smell and if you chewed them, your breath would smell fresh. The hute juice left the tongue a little dyed and most children loved sticking out their tongues to show the colouring.

At times we indulged our fancies and went exploring the Manyene hills, where an old man accredited with rain-making powers lived. We were so attracted to these ancient hills that we never tired of going there. What with the mountain goats and the underground caves said to have been places of refuge for the locals whenever war broke out in the past. I must admit though that I personally never actually saw any mountain goats although sightings of their droppings often had us in a sort of frenzy, a frenzy based on the belief that we were getting warm so to speak.

The ageless but paradoxically surrealistic ‘bushman’ paintings imbued us with a strange sense of timelessness. In the right season we ate the sweet but cloying wild fruit called tsvoritsvoto, a fruit that grows on a tree with shiny hairy dark green leaves and when ripe, the bright yellow of the tsvoritsvoto is easily visible from a distance. If you eat too much tsvoritsvoto, the inside of your mouth would feel strangely acidic and your teeth would be on edge. But that is part of the fun!

As you might very well imagine, we constantly entertained ourselves with stories, things we had seen, heard or read. You could say that we were real chatterboxes. We talked incessantly, but sometimes much of our talk amounted to no more than just sweet nothing. We were, so to speak, just another pair of country boys enjoying the heat of life. Sometimes we sat on some flat rock (ruware] to weave whips form the fibre of the munhondo tree. We used the whips to drive and control the cattle of just for the fun of cracking them. How Charles could crack that whip, make it sing, almost! You could hear its lyrical echo across the forest. But try as I did, I never could crack the whip quite the way that he did, much to my disappointment. Sometimes we strengthened the whips with the entwined fibre [mukosi] of the mutsamvi tree. The bit made of mutsamvi fibre, the mukosi, would be at the tail-end of the whip. Those were days of rural innocence and children confidences.

Sometime around 1965-6, I met a girl called Rindai. She was a beautiful girl with an unusual name particularly when the name is viewed in the context of what was prevalent at the time-a time when it was fashionable to have so-called Christian names, names which, invariably, tended to be European or Biblical. I suppose that Charles must have been as enamoured of the name as I was of the girl, because many years later, he used it in his popular Shona novel Ndiko Kupindana Kwamazuva which has since been translated into French directly from Shona by the French Linguist and writer, Mishel Lafon. Ndiko Kupindana Kwamazuva is the gender-sensitive, completely original and fictitious story of Rindai, a sensitive woman through whom Charles executes a kind of psychoanalysis of his characters. In comparing and contrasting Rindai and Magi, Rex Mbare observes:

Magi was reminiscent of a benefactor who floods you all at once with wonderful gifts. Your happiness is, not unexpectedly, quite profound yet so fleeting. By contrast, Rindai revealed the depths of her bounty in small but delectable doses, surprising you in stages until you begin to wonder whether you can survive the onslaught. The sweetness just seems to go on and on...

In the 1950s through to the later 1960s and about the early 1970s, PARADE Magazine housed in Salaisbury (Harare) at Inez Terrace, published original short stories from aspiring authors each month. In those days, PARADE was more or less at par with  South Africa’s DRUM Magazine in terms of content and patronage. Both magazines contributed immensely to the development of literature in the region. Later of course, Zimbabwean magazines like MAHOGANY and HORIZON, both now defunct and one or two others also played a significant role in the realm of creative writing. People like Leon Lambiris and Tinos Guvi, of PARADE, deserve a pat on the back for having encouraged and nurtured some of what in time became Zimbabwe’s foremost writers.

I first become aware of the magic and the power of good poetry through PARADE  when I read Tafirenyika Moyona’s poem A God’s Error whose diction and imagery were riveting, poignant and evocative. In the poem, Moyana decries the paradox of dark beauties with a surfeit of ravishing beauty juxtaposed with abject ignorance. Images evoked by the ‘thin wasp waist’ and ‘screaming wild chest,’ lingered on my mind for years.

Lest you start wondering where all this is leading, let me tell you that the first ever story that Charles had published was called ‘Cain’s Medal’ and was published by PARADE  sometime in 1966, perhaps earlier, while Charles was still at St Augustine’s. Cain’s Medal was a murder story, written in the fashion of thrillers. The biblical allusion created some mystery in the story, making the reader keen to find out its relevance. PARADE later published many other stories from Charles. In the PARADE stories he used the pen name ‘Carl Manhize’. My hope is that the PARADE stories can be published one day so that we can have a fuller view of Charles Mungoshi’s writing career.

PARADE also published my one short story, ‘But Not Very Complimentary,’ in 1967.  Never having been published before, I was very excited indeed. All my friends soon knew who ‘Sunny Mupozho’ was. My PARADE story was about petty crime and romance aboard an overnight train. In those days of thrill-seeking, we were trying to come up with exciting little anecdotes in the fashion of western thrillers.

But willy-nilly, our literary journeys had begun!

I wish to make the instructive observation that Charles is a voracious reader and has always been. He has probably read most classics and more besides. Thinking about Charles the avid reader makes me feel that any writer who does not read has no business writing. This is as true of him today as it was yesterday.

In the early days, he and I and many other boys of the time read a lot of literature cowboy stories, romances, detective stories as well as serious literature. It was also the fashion to follow the exploits of the rock stars of the day: Elvis Presley, Cliff Richard, Little Richard and others. Film too had its attractions. I remember Charles rhapsodizing about Tommy Steele’s The Duke Wore Jeans.

Our favourite detective story-writer at the time was Peter Cheyney. He created many colourful characters including Mr. Lemuel G.H. Caution, otherwise known as Lemmy Caurion, a tough, rough- and – tumble detective. We both found Cheney’s dark series comprising Dark Hero, Dark Interlude and Dark Bahamas, Dark Wanton and Dark Duet quite appealing. We read them again and again over the years.

In Dark Bahamas a black sailor on a fishing boat is always either whistling or singing a song whose naughty lyrics go:

Nut-brown baby

Yo got rovin’ eyes

Yo don’t day nuttin

Wi’ dem honey lips

But yo sure say plenty

When you swing dem hips

An’ I feed de knife in me breeches.

 

We still find much joy and camaraderie in these words!

However, and more importantly, I believe that it was in Peter Cheyney’s books that Charles and I first encountered the technique that Charles later perfected in Ndiko Kupindana Kwamazuva, a technique that made it possible for the reader to experience vicariously but vividly nevertheless, the intensity and immediacy of introspection in the lives of the characters.

Each chapter in Ndiko Kupindana Kwemazuva is named after a character. The story is then narrated form that character’s angle of vision. The final chapter ties up all the threads and makes the plot more artistically coherent and effective. Ndiko Kupindana Kwamazuva epitomizes the use of internal monologue, which Charles employs in a sort of running commentary comprised of the tension between reality and appearance. While the characters say one thing aloud, what they say silently is quite another! This technique reaches fruition in his enigmatically entitled novel, Kunyarara Hakusi Kutaura? (You also Speak When You Are Silent]. We see the likes of Chenjerai Hove in his own novel, Bones having recourse to this same technique.

So much has happened over the years that Charles may now only vaguely recall that his first attempt at writing a novel in Shona was when he wrote the manuscript entitled Handina Mwana Anozochema  (No Child to Tie Me Down) which never saw the light of day.

All his manuscripts in those days were written in long hand using the fountain pen, an all-time favourite of his. At the 2003 ZIBF Writers Workshop, Charles read an extract from a story written in ink using a fountain pen in long hand in an old coverless exercise book. If you want to put a smile on his face, give him a fountain pen and a bottle of ink on his next birthday, sometime in December.

Perhaps the greatness of Charles Mungoshi’s writing lies in its deceptive simplicity, its incisive vision and its witty dialogue. The maxim ‘to write is to read’ applies aptly to Charles. He is probably one of the best-read authors anywhere in the world. He reads, reads and reads. Then writes, writes and writes. In the course of all this, Charles has developed his innovatively distinctive style, a style that depicts the world in a  uniquely memorable way. My view is that his reading is at once his motivation and his tutor.

+Edited version of a speech delivered by David Mungoshi at ALLIANCE FRANCAISE at the launch of Michel Lafon’s French translation of Charles Mungoshi’s Ndiko Kupindana KwaMazuva, Harare, Friday, 17 September, 2003. The speech eventually got published in a book, Charles Mungoshi: A Critical Reader, pp273-78, 2006.