CHAPTER 1
Meeting Fidelia and theEarly Years (1985-1991)
The great drought of 1966 almost wiped out all my father's wealth.It was a tragedy of major proportions for him. All over the little farmcattle and sheep fell never to get up again. Weakened from thirst andstarvation, they eventually died of lack of food and water. The raindid not come. Great clouds would build and swirl over the mountainrange to the east of the farm. It would drizzle, the light drops blowingaway in the air. All around the little farm animals were still hangingin there, clinging to dear life and yet unable to pick themselves up andgo. Opening the mouths of some of the most beloved cows for them toget some water from the little rain was childhood folly that my brotherand I engaged in. The leaves from chopped branches off trees that wefed them with yielded no relief for the weakened cattle. It was too latefor most of them. There was a lot of death in the farm, very painful tothe young heart and spirit of a cattle herder. It hurt a lot. Every youngcattle herder knows that some animals are special. They seem to knowthe vulnerabilities of a young boy and take it upon themselves to leadthe herd. At an early age, cows are simply the biggest thing around fora herd boy and the loss of each is felt by the whole family.
Out of a herd of perhaps one hundred, only seven cattle remainedat the end of the drought. The family relocated from the farm to thecommunity lands. The land was poor and despite a lot of hard work theharvest was always meager. The younger children never experiencedthe times of plenty once experienced by older siblings. Those were thedays when the family was one of the wealthiest in the region. To makematters worse, our father died within three years and our oldest brotherinherited all that was left of his wealth.
A Courageous Woman
I always looked forward to go to church with my mother onSundays. If she was well, she never missed a day at church. The walk tothe church was six miles each way. It took some time and effort, mostsignificantly in the heat of the early summer before the rains came.The path to the church cut through some dense vegetation, along thehighest mountain in the district, across two rivers with dry sand only,eventually past the red soils near the local clinic, and then to the church.During the midday the African sun scorched the red soils. Walking onfoot on the heated soils was most uncomfortable and sometimes resultedin blistered feet. Once in a while you could hear the barking of a baboonand wondered if there was a leopard near-by.
It was during the church services that my mother would really letout her emotions. She sobbed a lot, may be for the children that she hadbeen left to struggle with, but maybe for her husband. When we wentto church she usually spoke about her hope that one of the childrenwould follow in our father's footsteps and be a staunch member of theMethodist church. Our father was a lay preacher. He had built several ofthe Methodist schools in the area. So many times at church and duringevening prayers at home our mother led the hymn that cried out, "Maythere be a follower to the leader on the path he has set". She probablymeant it for all of us, I felt that she really meant it for me.
Leaving Zimbabwe-Rhodesia for America
The early years were years of war in Rhodesia. During the last yearof pre-university education, all the male students received "call-up"papers. The Zimbabwe-Rhodesian Government wanted everyone tosign forms consenting to join its army once we were done with ourexaminations at the end of the year. Enrollment at the University ofZimbabwe-Rhodesia had to wait. The country had changed its namefrom Rhodesia when the minority white government had given "some"political power to the internally--based black political parties. Thewar, executed by the externally based political parties had continuednonetheless. For some of us nothing really had changed and there wasa lot of sympathy for our brothers and sisters who were still out therefighting. A few of us therefore refused to sign the call-up forms.
The last months of the school-year arrived. The principal(headmaster) called us to his office and told us that we would not beable to sit for our examinations if we did not sign the forms. A decisionhad to be made. My thinking was:
I cannot join the Zimbabwe-Rhodesia army, ever. This is a governmentthat despises my people for no other reason than the colour of theirskin. Having some black faces for window dressing does not changeanything. My own immediate older brother is out there fighting againstthe Rhodesian soldiers and mercenaries. On the other hand it doesnot make sense to abandon two years' hard work that I have put in inpreparation to take the exams.
I spoke about my predicament to friends and family and made upmy mind to sign the forms and leave the country after writing theexaminations. With the assistance of my brother Herbert, who wasthen studying in the United Kingdom, I left the country to join him.After weeks of frustration I got my visa in London and travelled toCalifornia where I studied for the next six years. I was nineteen whenI left the country.
Return to Zimbabwe and Meeting Fidelia
I first met Fidelia after my return from study in the United States ofAmerica. I had just returned from school and some of the happiest yearsof my life in Santa Cruz, California. Those had been carefree days. Theundergraduate days were filled with work in and out of school. It washard to feel a part of the University. The two years of graduate schoolin Santa Cruz were breath-taking. We had an apartment by the beach,I had a fellowship that provided sufficient resources to live comfortablyand more, and had many, many friends.
I was now twenty-four years old. Now that the educational goalshad been attained, it was time to head back home and see my motherand siblings. During the six years in the United States I had not beenable to visit home even once. I used to rely on letters only.
On returning after all these years of college away from home, itwas not easy to reconnect with friends. Zimbabwe-Rhodesia was nowZimbabwe after independence. The war was over. A new country wasstriding to its future with pride and confidence after fifteen years of awar for independence. People I knew had moved on.
When I left Zimbabwe-Rhodesia, I had tried to maintainrelationships. Over the years the relationships died a slow painless death.On coming back, it made sense to attempt to locate my former friends.I managed to track down one of them and telephoned him. We agreedthat he would come and visit with us at my brother Clifford's house.As good as his word, on a weekend day, he arrived in the warm, anddry August afternoon. We were very pleased to see each other. Afterthe formalities and looking at each other up and down to see how wehad changed physically we sat down. The conversation was strained asthough we were strangers trying to get to know each other for the firsttime. It was not working. We spent some two hours or so together.When we parted ways, we both promised to see each other again. Deepdown, I knew that there was no purpose to it. Apparently the feelingwas mutual. None of us attempted to call the other again.
When I left Zimbabwe-Rhodesia, I had a very close girl-friend.You could say we were dating although that concept did not really existin our time in the African culture. I looked her up too. I just neededa friend, someone to talk to. She had had a child and really did notwant to see me. This was a barren and lonely period in terms of humanrelationships. I knew from my previous experience that the UnitedStates friends would go their ways and the letters that I got once in awhile would dry up. My heart yearned for a return to the United States."Did I make a mistake in coming back?" I contemplated going back beforeit was too late. The letters to friends in the United States took about tendays to arrive in Zimbabwe those days. There was nothing that couldbe done quickly through mail then.
It was during this time of loneliness and longing for the returnto college years that I met Fidelia. I was working for a private sectorcompany with many, many divisions in the city of Bulawayo, thesecond largest city in Zimbabwe. As a management trainee, I spent afew months in each of the divisions learning the tricks of the trade andmapping out their administration systems. I had seen her in the staff busa few times before but never really paid attention. On this particularevening I sat in the staff bus all alone close to the front. I was considered"senior" as a management trainee which is why nobody cared to joinme, perhaps. The bus stopped and another group of employees jumpedaboard. She seemed a bit uncertain if she should sit next to me. " Do sitdown, if you may," I said. I do not remember that we talked a lot at all.We reached our destination in the city. The bus stopped, we steppedout of the staff bus and found ourselves walking together.
"I am on my way to see my mother at the hospital," I told her.
"Why is she in hospital?" she asked.
"She had a stroke," I answered.
"How old is she?" she enquired further.
"Sixty-one," I responded.
"O, so young too? O, I am really sorry to hear that, I hope she getsbetter, be safe on your way to the hospital," she concluded with a smileand a frown of concern on her face.
She was so kind. Her concern came out as very genuine. Fidelia wason high heels and stood at least two inches taller than me as we talked.I watched as she walked away and chuckled. She seemed a bit unsteadyon the high heels. She kind of walked and rocked along.
A few weeks later and my work-training programme took me to herdepartment. Our offices were next to each other. We started to hangout and have lunch together. It never crossed my mind that we could beanything but friends. There were no issues of inappropriateness because itwas a simple friendly relationship. It seemed that we were fond of each otherand nothing more. She had this completely unrestrained smile wheneverwe met. She also seemed to hold herself with so much composure anddignity. That made it easier for me to be her friend because if she weredifferent, tongues would have been waging about the management traineeand the secretary. I looked forward to see those big bright eyes each day.
We talked a lot about my mother's illness, which usually topped ourconversations. Things continued this way until my mother's conditionworsened. She was dismissed from the hospital because they could nolonger do anything for her. Now every evening and weekend I wouldvisit my brother Clifford's place to spend time with her. My motherpassed away on a windy September afternoon. I remember that inthe morning my nephew and I had decided to walk the five or six-kilometresfrom my home to my brother's place. It had seemed to be anunusual morning, trees swaying as if to wave us on. We ran the wholeway and did not break a sweat. In the afternoon everyone had gone outexcept my sister, and I. We were relieving my brother and sister in-lawfrom care-duty. Our mother quietly passed away while we watched atelevision programme in the next room.
For one week people came to pay their respects. The funeral wasdelayed because messages had to get to various people in the rural areas,especially our mother's family. I went to my work-place to pick up somestuff and saw Fidelia. She asked me if she could come to the funeral. Iconcurred rather uneasily. May be I felt the relationship was growingand gaining ground too quickly. However, other people from workintended to visit too.
"It is okay, you can come, everyone comes in the eveningaround 6:00 PM," I told her.
"Okay then, I will see you tomorrow," she promised as I left work.
When she visited she was so dignified and I really thought mymother would have loved her if she had met her. I was so sad at the lossof my mother. It was less than a year since I had returned from college.I had had the hope that now that I was working, I would do absolutelyeverything for my mother. That opportunity was gone and would notcome back.
Marriage
Here was a woman (Fidelia) that almost seemed to have connectedwith my mother although she never exchanged a single word with her.Somewhere after my mother's funeral the relationship transformedpretty quickly. After four years of dating we decided to get married.However, before marrying there were some hurdles we had to clear,some formidable barriers in the context of our culture. Very early inour friendship Fidelia had told me, "I have my small boy at home." Sheshowed me the photos of a little boy who looked remarkably like her. Iasked what happened to the father. There had been family complicationsand it did not work out. I felt even drawn closer to her. She had lovedand it had not worked out through no-fault of her own. So had I. "If Ihad been a woman would I have been in a similar situation?" I reflected.
At the time I also liked to think of myself as an idealist and perhapsa rebel against norms. In African culture it is rare that a young womanwho has had a child marries a single young man. A single young man issupposed to marry "a pure flower". I was sure that it did not matter tome. I do not recall ever discussing it with anyone in my family. Nobodyraised it with me either.
Fidelia had not had an opportunity to attend University. After herhigh school she had gone to a secretarial college. Like many people ofour age, if you were an older sibling, responsibility to look after thewelfare of the younger siblings usually came knocking, early, urgentlyand insistently. "You already have a Master's degree, I do not have adegree," she reminded me. That did not seem to be a problem either.There would be many opportunities for Fidelia to study if she wantedto. Instead of holding back from a lifelong relationship with her onaccount of what had happened or not happened yet, I thought that Iwanted to be her friend and mentor for her to achieve what she aspiredto be. She was beautiful outside and inside, she simply filled a void inmy heart, and I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.
With the bridal price paid, we got married in a civil court in April1990. After the marriage, Fidelia relocated to Harare where I hadmoved three years back to take up another job. As is customary in ourculture, Lovejoy, Fidelia's son remained with her parents. AlthoughLovejoy did not come to stay with us in Harare he would visit andspend some time with us. In our earlier married life, I always tended tosay we had three children while Fidelia would correctly state that wehad four. This changed later on in our lives as I gradually got used tohaving Lovejoy around.
More than a year after the civil wedding, we returned to Bulawayofor a church wedding at the Methodist church in St. Patrick's Hall.During those days the mark of a good wedding was that it took placeat the Large City Hall. We had made bookings almost a year earlier atthe City Hall. However, we did not get it in the end. The lady whohad taken our names down had died and there was no record of ourbooking.
We scrambled and got the modest St Patrick's Hall. It was at thecentre of the old township, a different setting from the leafy park thatsurrounded the Large City Hall. We would miss the nice white walls ofthe Large City Hall but the red bricks of St Patrick's Hall would haveto do. It was not the wedding I had wanted to give her but then wecomforted ourselves that we were already married. We did not need aflashy wedding.
The marriage church service was presided over by one of the reallyold time Methodist church pastors. He had worked with my father andrelayed how they had worked so well together. "Is it possible that amongall these children, none will walk in the footsteps of his father? I donot think so! Let there be no dearth of followers from this family tothe work that your father did." The Reverend Musa also talked aboutmy mother and how she had worked hand in hand with my father. Themessage was clear, if I had to follow on the path of my father, I neededto have the partner to work with me. I think Fidelia understood thattoo because we talked about it later.
The wedding day was full of fun. There was traditional dancingfrom different parts of Zimbabwe. When all was done, the eldersdelivered speeches, each side of the family thanked the other. We wentback home to prepare to return to Harare. The honeymoon wouldindeed take place later. We wanted our daughter Sikhanyisiwe (Skha)to grow a bit older. When she was a few months older, Fidelia and Iwent to Mauritius where we had a really wonderful time. My brotherHerbert, who was in the tourism industry, arranged for us to be hostedby some of his friends. In between our stays at the modest hotels, wehad a few days in some of the grandest hotels on the west-coast of theIsland. It was wonderful, we were like real newly-weds. This remainsmy favourite time that I spent with Fidelia, all on our own.
