IAlex T. Magaisa
There are many good men and women I grew up with in the village. Mdhara Chimowa (Elder Chimowa) is one of them. He is a decent family man. He works hard, very hard – a genuine soul who, in the true tradition of village life, will go out of his way to support and promote his fellow man, whatever his personal situation..
Mdhara Chimowa is also an easy-going man. Whenever I visit the village, he is one of the people I look for to exchange greetings, for updates on life in the village, usually over a drink. We sit around a fire, the men enjoying their drink and on such occasions, Mdhara Chimowa will be in his element, telling stories of the village in his own inimitable fashion.
Like all men and women in the village, their livelihood depends on the land and hard work. Equipment in the village remains basic, but they make the best out of it. Sometimes the earth yields something of value, but oft-times, it’s tired, dry and uncharitable. The yields are low and families have to supplement. I remember that when I was growing up Mdhara Chimowa’swife – probably the most industrious woman I have k own – would come and do shifts in my mother’s field. My mother was a teacher – part the middle class of the rural communities, and Mai Masimba would come and do some shift work in her groundnut field for a small fee – sometimes cash, other times Mai Masimba would prefer payment in salt, sugar, soap, cooking oil and similar basic necessities.
Sometimes Mdhara Cimowa and Mai Masimaba would venture into brick-moulding. It is not a job for the weak and faint-hearted. Those who know the science involved in the trade of brick-moulding using basic equipment (kukanya zvidhinha/ukutshaya izitina) must have a good appreciation of kind of muscle that it demands. If you spend two hours lifting weights at the gym or running around on those machines, multiply that a million times and add a scorching sun into the mix. In the village they say when you cook a meal for people moulding bricks, then it has to be a heavy dish. It’s saps the last ounce of energy out of a man.
I always admired Mdhara Chimowa and Mai Masimba for their work ethic, but also for their good-spiritedness. Mai Masimba was a good friend to my mother, who could rely upon her. Later, when I came to England, and sent something to mother, she would say, Mai Masimba was here, things are difficult in the village and I would say, please give her something from what I have sent.
But they are only a typical example of many men and women like them across Zimbabwe, and perhaps across the African continent – hard workers who do their best in very limited and limiting circumstances. Mdhara Chimowa and Mai Masimba did all they could to send their children to school – to drink from the calabash of knowledge and responsibility as Ngugi wa Thing’o put it in that beautiful book, The River Between. They worked hard to give their children what deprived circumstances had deprived them in their youth.
But apart from their daily endeavours, they are also active members of the community. Mdhara Chimowa has been in the village all his life. He is part of the fabric of the community. He is always there, ready to give a hand; always present to do his bit for the community. He is the man you can count on for all occasions in the village. If he is around, Mdhara Chimowa will be there. He is the character who arrives at the funeral and gets on with the hard chores without complaining – digging the grave, fetching firewood, ensuring mourners are well fed. He knows every corner of the village. He is also quite a charismatic and endearing character, it’s hard for anyone to dislike Mdhara Chimowa. He’s a witty character who has contributed immensely to the vocabulary of our village. Oft-times, when my friends and I talk we find ourselves Chimowa-isms quotes and anecdotes received from the wisdom of Mdhara Chimowa. He is a good man.
And so, the story of Mdhara Chimowa in early 2009 really broke my heart. It was a simple story involving a fifty-dollar bill, which was a very recent, and therefore unfamiliar, arrival in the villages at the time. It was told to me by my mother and I decided to share the plight of an immensely good man.
Mdhara Chimowa’s mother, who is in the autumn of her life, sold one of her goat a few weeks ago because she wanted to travel. She has always had goats. It is her wealth, nurtured and grown over many years. Mdhara Chimowa also wanted to travel, with his wife. They wanted to visit their daughter who had recently married. But there was no cash so she sold one of her goats. It fetched $50. But sincethey were traveling to different destinations, the fifty dollar bill had to be spilt and they had to find some change.
So Mdhara Chimowa went to the nearest township, about two miles away from the village, kwaMunyoro. The newly surfaced road had brought more activity to the township. It had taken nearly 30 years for the tarmac to reach paMunyoro – a thirty mile trip from Wedza business centre. Tara yakaunza business (the tarred road has brought some business to the otherwise sleepy township), villagers were saying.
Mdhara Chimowa hoped one of the shopkeepers would have some change. But none of the shops dotted along the road at the township had change for fifty dollars. It was big money in that part of the world. It was a novelty and some had never seen a fifty dollar bill. Its arrival caused a scene as people crowded around Mdhara Chimowa to take a look at the big money. But Mdhara Chimowa was stuck. He had to find the change if the trips planned for the following day were to materialise.
Someone suggested he should ask the commuter omnibus operators who were now regularly plying the route. The newly surfaced road had attracted many of them for business. So Mdhara Chimowa approached one driver and asked for change. The driver was generous enough to help and Mdhara Chimowa left a happy man after the transaction was completed. The driver did not spend a second longer afterwards and he drove off at high speed on his way to Harare.
But Mdhara Chimowa’s joy was to be a temporary and short-lived one. He proudly announced to his colleagues that he had found change from the generous young driver. He showed them the change. At that point, an eagle-eyed colleague who climed better financial literacy in the community noticed that something was not quite right.
Mdhara Chimowa had been given four separate notes – three that he thought were 10 dollar bills and one that he had taken as a 20 dollar note. The eagle-eyed fellow pointed out to Mdhara Chimowa that he had in fact been given just $5 worth of notes! (three $1 bills and one $2 note).
The young driver had advised Mdhara Chimowa that this was the change he was looking for and trusting the goodness of mankind, Mdhara Chimowa had happily accepted and walked away a happy man. Mdhara Chimowa is a good man and has many qualities to his name, but financial literacy is not one of them. Worse, because the US dollars were a new phenomenon in that part of the world in those early days, he had accepted, in good faith, what he had been given by the “generous” young driver. How was he to know any better?
I cannot even try to put in words what must have gone through Mdhara Chimowa’s head as he contemplated what had just happened! He had brought $50, looking for change, and now he was holding 4 notes, worth just $5! He’s a proud man, but tears streamed down his cheeks. Mdhara Chimowa cried. Here was a man brought up to believe that men do not cry. But his heart bled and he could not hold back the tears. His elderly mother and wife, Mai Masimba, were waiting at home for him to return with the change, and now here he was with $5 worth of his mother’s goat. The young driver had since left and he was probably laughing and boasting that he had duped an old man. .
He wandered aimlessly as he contemplated what to report home. How would he explain it to his elderly mother? What would he say to Mai Masimba? Would they believe his story? He tried to borrow, so that at least he could go home with something for the journeys the next day. But no one had any money. It wasn’t easy to get the US dollar in those parts. His colleagues consoled him but of what help were a few words of consolation? It was a painful experience for Mdhara Chimowa.
When the story was told to me, I became emotional. I like Mdhara Chimowa a lot. He’s a good man. He is a strong man who works hard for his keep and to imagine him in a helpless state was painful to bear. I had spoken to him on the hone a few weeks before, when he was attending a ceremony at the village. He was happy and jovial as always, asking if I could send a few pennies for beer. We had our usual banter and laughed. He said he had heard that I do a bit of writing and wondered why I had never written about him too in the newspaper. I laughed and said I would write about him one day. Little did we know then, that I would soon be writing about his predicament.
At the time I wrote:
I do not know if the driver of the omnibus will read this story. Perhaps, he will. I do not know if his friends will read this. Perhaps they will. And if they do, perhaps they will tell him of the pain that he caused Mdhara Chimowa. I do not know if he will care at all; indeed, if his conscience will say anything to him. But if he does, I hope the next time he passes through Munyoro Township, he will look for Mdhara Chimowa and do the right thing. It will not happen of course, but this is me being naive, again trusting in the goodness of humankind when I ought to know better.
I do not know if Zimbabwe’s political leaders will read this. Perhaps, they will. I hope they spare a thought for Mdhara Chimowa and those of his ilk whose dignity has been undermined due to the bizarre and tragic politics in Zimbabwe; politics that they can, if they are willing and capable, get right. I hope the next time they find themselves close to “the people” they talk of so often; I hope they will look at them and do the right thing. But as Chimbetu said in one of his songs, vanokanganwa ava (they forget, too easily)
I wrote Mdhara Chimowa’s sad story in 2009. One might think that 6 years later, the story has changed. It hasn’t. It has only got worse. The drought has ravaged the countryside. Things are dire. Cows are fetching less than $50 each. Mdhara Chimowa is still there in the village. These days when we meet, he has found a way to laugh about his experience. He is still the same old Mdhara Chimowa – with his one-liners and endearing sense of humour. I say to him, I wrote your story, muzukuru, and he says, next time tell them to do kanzatu kanzatu (whip-round) and I might be a rich man! Then he laughs a big laugh as he takes another swig of his alcoholic beverage.
He’s a good man, Mdhara Chimowa, but his tears for fifty dollars remain a poignant symbol of the confusion and greed of those early days of the US dollar in the villages.
waMagaisa
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