SOWE rekuDomboshava had been the pastor’s choice.
He had said that there was power in those mountains; power to unlock God’s favour.
His sermon on God’s favour had been inspiring.
He had said: “God’s favour will give you the job you don’t qualify to have. God’s favour will give you the spouse everyone thinks you don’t deserve. God’s favour will open doors for you. God’s favour will get you the visa to the UK and the US nyore nyore with no questions asked.”
When the detachment got to the top of the mountain, the moon was low on the western side, throwing the eastern side into pitch darkness punctured by the yellow glow of a camp fire. The sound of mbira was coming from there and it was an ancient piece called bangiza, a May-Day call signalled by people seeking communion with the departed.
Cde Sarudzai had never heard bangiza played so crisply … so crisply, each note could knock you down with ecstasy.
A singer’s effortless voice was painting a sound picture of beauty and glory on the crisp instrumental.
The effortlessness of the voice and impromptu poetry reminded her of her grandfather. He had been a good singer.
One of her own sons was a good singer too and she liked to believe that he had taken after him …a kind of genetic echo of that ancestral excellence. The small woman talked about the flock.
She said: “We found the spot the pastor had identified already occupied by the people varikuridza mbira avo. The MP called them demonic and someone in the crowd suggested an Elijah contest with the prophets of Baal. The suggestion rallied a few zealots among the flock and moves were made to force the demons off the mountain spot. The crew yemadzinza were surprised by the insolence and the quarrel was turning violent when I ran to fetch you.”
The muscular young man from Commando said: “Seems like the flock lost the contest since mbira ndidzo dzatiri kunzwa kwete ndimi nenziyo dzenyasha.”
The old guide suggested: “If we approach them with humility, they should be able to tell us zvaitika.”
The college girl said: “No need to coz ndisu anhu acho.”
And she burst out laughing. It was so completely out of the blue that everybody joined the laughter and it was more from the surprise than from the humour. It was more from the sudden realisation that the network was still there and getting stronger.
The college girl’s age mate said: “Vasara vakamuzvambaradza. Ungati comrade idhimoni? Munhu akakusunungura? Munhu akakufira?”
The comrade whose bone had been recovered added: “I hope the whole lot have learnt their lesson. They now know kuti madhimoni anorova. They now know kuti comrade haaitirwe dzungu.”
The network was getting stronger and stronger than ever before. More so as they advanced towards the beacon that was the campfire and the ancient instrument.
The muscular young man from Commando was intrigued by the application of the ICT lingua to these circumstances. It somehow sounded truer than the banter. But he was simultaneously assailed by the dismay that this was something you could only experience and not read. Something understandable only in situ. And even then…. His mind reached around but came off unhooked…But he would not give up. Something would not let him give up. Something already planted in him and now being watered by the experience.
Cde Sarudzai felt the same intrigue as well; but not in the same sense as the Commando felt. Her instruments of analysis were from the humanities. The Commando’s language was scientific. Transfigured from military signals experience, the Commando’s analogy of Cde Saru’s feelings would be that they were a cu
ltural frequency chipped into her blood and programmed to come alive to the sound yembira …. If he had a way of knowing the elderly woman’s feelings, he would be one to call the thing in the woman’s blood a homing device …
The Commando was assailed by another foreboding of dismay… a self-censoring warning that those without his current experience would dismiss his propositions as outlandish. He was assailed by the foreboding of dismay that what he now knew was an ultimate indigenous truth would be indigestible to those he knew needed such an understanding most because it affirmed them….An affirmation that would be indispensable to the realisation of spiritual freedom unfettered by alien definitions.
The detachment closed in on the fire.
A rugged bass punched crisp slow time notes into the graveyard hour.
An old woman’s voice talked rough and the joke drew laughter in the darkness. The detachment closing in on the fire laughed too.
A young man’s voice warned kuti if the rough woman kept on, there would be no more money for her and her crew.
The warning drew fire from several women’s voices.
The tempo of the mbira rose.
The thud of heavy boots sounded in time to the mbira beat.
The singer without effort raised a serenade of glory to war….
To be continued…
