The Sunday News
Tinomuda Chakanyuka
A NIPPY, overcast and windy Tuesday morning greeted us with the sad news of Dr Joshua Nkomo’s death. Admittedly, death was no longer a strange subject to us then but this one seemed to have some emotional contagiousness in it, it was certainly a lot more different from other deaths.
It was bigger. It was national and even transcended the country’s geographical boundaries. Born on 19 June 1917, in Semokwe Reserve, Matabeleland South, Dr Joshua Mqabuko Nyongolo Nkomo died on Tuesday 1 July, 1999.
I was doing my Form Two at Nkululeko High School, between Gweru and Kwekwe when the news of his death filtered through to us. Gloomy and ominous, the weather that day had hinted at the dark cloud of sadness that was about to descend over the country. But we were a little too naïve to nature’s way of delivering sad news.
My experience of Dr Nkomo’s death marked a Lazarus moment and my appreciation of the country’s liberation war and its heroes changed. Of course I had read about the liberation struggle, as an elementary History student, yet it had all appeared abstract and fairy-tale like.
Nineteen years after independence, it seemed hard to imagine that young men had left the comfort of their homes, braving the sort of cold that we struggled against on that day on our way to school, to confront the foot soldiers of an evil, remorseless and racist regime.
My young liberated imagination wasn’t fertile enough to conceptualise such struggle and such single minded determination. The only images of a war situation (and sacrifices that come with it) that my mind could conceive then came through the war films such as Tour of Duty, staring Sergeant Slaughter.
I, like many of my age mates, was complicit of a fatal error of equating our liberation war heroes to movie stars.
We had been fed off the poisoned trough of cultural imperialism. Resultantly, and tragically so, we put small screen heroes on an equal scale with the likes of Dr Nkomo. I was oblivious to the reality and extent of the sacrifices that heroes like Dr Nkomo had made so we could be born in a free Zimbabwe. I’m glad I woke up from such slumber. It was on that fateful Tuesday morning that my journey to Damascus began.
I encountered, face to face, the gravity of the loss the country had suffered following Dr Nkomo’s death.
The occasion of his death provoked a nationwide response. I too wasn’t to be left out. As the news of Dr Nkomo’s death filtered through, a somber atmosphere engulfed the entire school. A sense of shock, sadness and despair ripped the teaching staff at the school and contagiously spread to the youngest student.
The school head, one Mr Nyoni convened a special school assembly and classes were stopped. Visibly shattered and low spirited, Mr Nyoni melancholically broke the news to us, putting the entire school under a spell of deafening silence. Teachers, who obviously had a better appreciation of the profoundness of the situation than us, embodied dejection.
Seeing the school head, his deputy and teachers, some of whom were our personal heroes, shedding tears, I vicariously learnt of the meaning of Dr Nkomo’s death to the nation. I began to appreciate his unparalleled stature.
The learning programme for that day was suspended. Naturally such news would have tickled us as students, surprisingly it did not. Events of that day cultivated in me an interest in the life of Dr Nkomo. I began a journey to understand how he had become such a huge figure in the lives of my personal heroes that they shed tears in front of us at hearing news of his death.
I started reading any piece of literature on the late Vice-President that I could get my hands on. In my quest for understanding I stumbled upon one aspect about Nkomo which captured my interest. The various titles the man carried on his back. How could one man be endowed with so many names?
I quizzed myself as I continued the journey to get the answers on the man whose passing on became a subject of emotion that was contagious, almost solid.
Dr Nkomo was affectionately referred to as Father Zimbabwe, Umdala Wethu, Umafukufuku, Chibwechitedza among many other monikers. My reading taught me that the many names were in recognition of the various roles he played in making Zimbabwe what it is today.
Dr Nkomo played a crucial role during the formative stages of the country’s liberation struggle and had led a number of liberation movements, I read.
In 1957 Dr Nkomo was elected president of the African National Congress (ANC). The ANC was banned early in 1959 and Dr Nkomo went into exile to escape imprisonment.
On his return to the country he founded the National Democratic Party NDP in 1961 which was again banned by the repressive Rhodesian government.
Because of Dr Nkomo’s undying desire to liberate the country he went on and founded Zapu a couple of weeks after NDP was banned.
A glimpse into such a rich history birthed in me an understanding of why and how Dr Nkomo was called Father Zimbabwe. Umdala Wethu, loosely translated to mean our father, is yet another title bestowed on Dr Nkomo which exudes his undisputable father figure in the context of the country’s founding.
Most politicians of note that we revere today once worked under Dr Nkomo’s leadership. Some actually owe their political careers to the late VP.
President Robert Mugabe, a political luminary of note himself, served under Dr Nkomo in Zapu, Dr Nkomo fathered not only the country’s independence, but also nurtured many present day politicians.
The name Umafukufuku, could have been in reference to his big built, at least according to the penning I’ve read about the man. He had an imposing stature. However, the name may also allude, inadvertently, to the big heart Dr Nkomo was known to have. His big body carried within it a huge heart at whose center the nation Zimbabwe.
Dr Nkomo was a man of peace and his selflessness was greatly shown when he and President Mugabe signed the Unity Accord on 22 December 1987.
The Unity Accord marked a watershed in the country’s history and nipped in the bud a civil crisis that had the potential of threatening the young democracy that the country was.
It is on record that some Zapu senior officials had refused to entertain the idea of unity, but Dr Nkomo convinced them. At a time when he was leading the biggest opposition party through which the country had achieved independence, and would have been expected to have presidential ambitions, he swallowed his pride and signed a unity deal that would see him become subordinate to his former subordinate. Such humility remains inimitable.
Chibwechitedza, yet another of Dr Nkomo’s many names, means a slippery rock in English. Historians differ on how he got the name, with some positing that his antics during the war made it difficult for the enemy to capture him and earned him the moniker.
As a born-free who now appreciates the unparalleled role Dr Nkomo played in founding Zimbabwe, Dr Nkomo became, to me, the rock upon which our country was built. The late VP was befittingly laid to rest at the National Heroes Acre, together with other cadres of his calibre who gave their lives to the liberation of the country.
Dr Nkomo is arguably Zimbabwe’s most decorated national hero resting at the national shrine, a lot more others worked under him. His curriculum vitae, replete with unparalleled sacrifices, bear sufficient testimony. Yesterday Zimbabweans converged in spirit to celebrate Dr Nkomo’s life. As we look at life and reflect on his contribution to the founding of Zimbabwe, we should celebrate his life, one that was well lived and one that we shall forever remain indebted to.
@irielyan
