Shurugwi rolling fields, where many-a-virgin was lost

By Dumisani Kufaruwenga

This is the man’s birthplace, the place where the man’s umbilical cord is buried behind the door of Mbuya VaJeni’s hut.

The place where the man connects with his origins.

His roots.

Its a place in rural Shurugwi called Tongogara, unremarkable, but fixated and embroiled in constant emotional battles with the man who was born there, the man who grew up there, the man who grins with glee whenever he greets the ground of the land of the great hero Tongogara, the man who fought and died for a country called Zimbabwe, a country which still suffers today;

“Am l allowed to step
up to you, royal ground
of great ancestors, the
land of VaMasama the
great, the land of only
brave?”

And so the man drives up the village. He stops the car and chats with Simba the small boy who stammers, the small boy who suffers in order to express himself, the small boy to who its a great pain to communicate with fellow human beings, a normal task in the daily life of mere mortals.

Up then the man drives past Nzira’s homestead, Nzira the man who demolished giant anthills with shovel and pick. Nzira the man who dug out cow dung manure from cattle kraals and wheeled it in a wheelbarrow to form impressive mountainous heaps. For a fee.

Nzira the man who got drunk and fought with Sydney Tawanda the cripple, and fled for his life when the rock flung by Sydney Tawanda the cripple missed his head by a whisker.

Up still the man navigates Munyimani road and passes through the homestead of Chipoka, where once a boy who stole people’s cattle escaped from the police by shooting through the roof.

And the man stops at Uncle Whirisha’s homestead to seek advice on how to revive his brother’s home.

And from Sekuru Whirisha’s homestead, the man could see the rolling fields between Nyoka village and MaZioni village, where many-a-virginity was lost.

Slowly the man navigates the tiny bridge of Mutorahuku river towards the the big Muchakata tree where rain rituals were held, the same tree which was paradoxically struck by lightning..

Do ancestors work only on the basis of anger?

But the man drove and rose to the place called Tongogara and bought a beer and sat at a bar and wrote this piece, this piece writ large in order to highlight the link of a man and his place of birth, a link for only those endowed. https://masvingomirror.com

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