Some 40 years before this year . . .
THE sun is so shrewd and innately stubborn that between dawn and dusk of each day, history is written. On April 17, 1980, the sun burnt, as if protesting the dark past, burning like a furnace about to give birth to a stainless Zimbabwe — strong, reinforced and unbreakable!
By the end of the day, the sunset was excessively marked by a silhouette horizon. Cattle herders tethered goats to pegs with sisal riggings and confined the cattle to pens. Soon the goats and cattle started chewing the cud, resigning to their routine.
Fleetingly, the village was alive with youngsters playing in the dusk, their sturdy legs caked with a mixture of cow dung, mud and dust. They were indeed bidding farewell to the day and unbeknown to them, bidding farewell to an era.
The night suddenly went silent. Only the screeching crickets, the distant hoot of the owl and the howling of the jackal, punctured holes into the silence.
The night was in late pregnancy, morphing into labour. Only elders sat around a bonfire, drinking and discussing and monitoring the imminent birth of a new country. And as the tradition, it was taboo to discuss matters of grave importance on dry throats. They drank beer moderately from calabashes, leaving room for tomorrow’s job. Suddenly, the village went to sleep. At dawn, tree branches sang in harmony with the easterly winds and the cocks squawked, announcing the new day and indeed a new country, Zimbabwe. Zimbabwe!
And, the day was April 18, 1980. In the morning, slithers of startling clouds wafted — again and again — their silver hue transforming light as it filtered through a silver-lined film. Then the cloud cover disappeared emotionally and artistically allowing the sun to kiss the earth with eternal love.
Zimbabweans gathered greeting each other effusively, cheering and enjoying the dawn of a new era. Even known hypochondriacs, came on spindly legs and in push carts. Multitudes poured out in drives and droves, barefoot, in wheelchairs and all sorts. Even the blind came and so did women with children strapped on their backs.
Nationwide there was song, dance and feasting. Cattle, goats, sheep, pigs, chicken and little everything else was slaughtered. Drums of food boiled on huge bonfires, whose tongues of flames licked the exterior metal with a passion and painful love.
Zimbabweans danced and raised the dust. Their bodies needed to shake off the dark memories of Rhodesia. They sweated it out through bump-jive, kongonya and chinyamusasura dances, among others. Thomas “Mukanya” Mapfumo and Oliver Mtukudzi belted out music on radio sets. Mukanya was later in the day to perform alongside Bob Marley live at Rufaro Stadium. There was deft footwork, body shaking and waist-wriggling.
When night fell it was as if that was dawn. No one went home. The dancing and feasting continued. In the aftermath of the celebrations, the grounds had nothing but dead grass, dust and gnawed bones, empty and half-empty bottles and revellers could be seen snoring in various corners and postures. Some members overcome by drink and fatigue, sprawled in various corners, for in Rhodesia all they had enjoyed was forced labour, dehumanising treatment and suffering.
Now, 40 years after independence, Zimbabweans in their broad totality should pour out of their shells and celebrate our nationhood, more so, after scoring so many successes and failures too.
Admittedly, 4o years is no short time. Many things happened in our country. At times we agreed and indeed disagreed in some times. Such is life. Things cannot be rosy every day. There are indeed, ups and downs.
We have come a long way and many things have emerged along the way. Many friends failed to make it into Zimbabwe from Rhodesia. They died during the war. They perished at the jaws of the war. Some were buried in shallow graves, some were never buried and became food for wildlife, others were reburied after independence.
This must give us a sense of responsibility, a sense of belonging and indeed a sense of obligation to contribute to the growth of the country. We must bear in mind that there were others, probably more committed to the cause of this country to the extent that they paid the ultimate price — death.
Between independence and today there were many elections held, there were the Matabeleland and Midlands disturbances, there was land reform, the Congo war, the Renamo war, the sanctions, the birth of many opposition political parties, etc. These things at times united us, at times divided us; but the most important thing is that we are Zimbabweans. We remain Zimbabweans.
Our politics as a nation must speak to our independence. Our politics must speak to the aspirations and ambitions of the gallant daughters and sons as we carry the stick before passing it on to another generation.
As they lie dead, wherever they are, we must always remember that they also wanted to live in independent Zimbabwe. They did not want to live under sanctions. They wanted the land. They wanted education. They wanted a better life, outside the interference of other countries. As they lie, wherever, they are, they are judging us, we believe in life after death. They are judging us for all we are doing.
In that vein, the 4oth independence celebrations must speak to the gains and how we must continue fighting to liberate our country. Liberation is a process in the jungle of international politics, but we must not get tired. A good Zimbabwe is supreme to our ambitions. We have only one country and sanctions are not good for us.
Long live Zimbabwe. Long live the villagers. Long live our independence and long live everyone!