The Sunday News
“FUDUWEKI.” The word conjures up many ideas and thoughts regarding its origin, meaning and the language to which it belongs. Could it be some street lingo that carries some secret communication among secret society? You may be pardoned for thinking it might be Japanese. When new words enter the domain of a different language there is hardly a palaver or indaba where definitive positions are arrived at. Whoever heard or took part in the proceedings of a meeting where a mobile phone was named umakhalekhukhwini?
In each community there are innovative individuals who give themselves the responsibility of transforming, domesticating or indigenising foreign words into a form or morphology that is intelligible and in tandem with the community’s language dictates. What then follows is community-wide acceptance of panel beaten words which enter the vocabulary of the community’s language.
However, it is new artefacts, objects, programs, projects, ideas and concept that give rise to new words or names to reflect both endogenous and exogenous ideas and concepts. Language keeps track of changes being wrought on the various aspects of a community. Language is a community’s cutting edge — the one that is responsible for the shifting frontiers of knowledge and experience. Language not only creates new knowledge but simultaneously documents lived experiences.
Fuduweki! Fuduweki is a domesticated IsiNdebele word that I first heard spoken by my inventive father in the post-independence era. Apparently, it is derived from two English words, “food” and “work”. Father never went to school and his patriotic tongue by no means succumbed to the dictates of the Queen’s language. Rightly so, why would his mouth have been the executioner and cemetery for the IsiNdebele vowels (onkamisa), at the end of each word or name? I call it oral patriotism and loyalty.
Divizhini. My father, Menyezwa, was not alone in the business of language innovation. My other father, I had many fathers then, Qeda or uSekaSihle, referred to World Vision as “Divizhini.” Theirs was an enduring effort at domesticating foreign words to make them palatable to our obedient oral apparatus. In both instances, the enduring theme is one of food assistance.
Rains failed. Cattle succumbed to a severe drought. Without external assistance, the people would certainly have perished.
Fuduweki and Divizhini are buzz words that symbolise hope in a hopeless situation. They are words that slake people’s profoundly parched lips.
The southern part of Matobo District in Matabeleland South hardly receives meaningful rainfall. Rainfall is not only marginal but also unreliable. Drought is more consistent from year to year. In September 2016 I visited to my home district to assess the state of food shortages and the mitigating measures being put in place. The old, the sick and the young are the most vulnerable sections of the community under Headman Alfred Lemakatso Nyathi, in Ward 1 also known as the Silebuho Ward that borders with Botswana in the south.
Both government and Non Governmental Organisations (NGOs) have a presence within Babirwa or Sankonjana communities.
While for many years it was “Divizhini” which came to the community’s rescue this time it is Oxfam and Organisation of Rural Association for Progress (Orap). I was informed that Government is against free handouts. The community must do some work in exchange for food-hence father’s term, “fuduweki”. The community is organised into villages, each under the leadership of a village head (usobhuku).
The deteriorating road infrastructure is usually the target for the fuduweki programme. From Homestead through Tudi 1 and Tudi 2, the road is treacherous. The same situation prevails from Mhlonhlweni to Babirwa/Sankonjana. Villages take turns to work on the roads. In recent times vehicular traffic has improved. Not so long ago Zamazama, a lorry belonging to Headman Lemakatso and Pelandaba buses were the only forms of transport available. Fuduweki thus comes handy in improving the local road infrastructure.
The other buzz word in the field of food assistance that one comes across in “mushandira”. The word comes from ChiShona language. Apparently, it is the short version of mushandira pamwe, meaning collective work. The popularity of one programme over others depends on its bouquet of food items on offer, ranging from mealie-meal to beans and cooking oil.
Mushandira, I was informed, had become unpopular largely due to its limited offering.
Times are changing; so are people’s tastes. When we grew up at Babirwa/Sankonjana the only cooking oil we knew about was ulaza, milk fat, derived from cows’ curdling milk. Later we began to see the arrival of “dripping” and “Holsum” in the area.
Both had some semblance to ulaza. Now it is a whole mind boggling range of cooking oils ranging from Olivine to Roil and Zimgold, which in terms of colour share a lot in common with cows’ urine. Milk fat has been totally substituted by these commercial oils.
Interestingly, the days of ulaza were days of self-reliance despite the climate being unfriendly in terms of food production. In those days there were granaries and grain pits in cattle byres. Community members knew very well that they were on their own. They worked hard to fend for themselves and their children. There were no NGOs to fall back on. When crops failed there were alternatives that the resilient community members turned to. The colonial government came to their rescue in extreme situations such as in 1947 when maize grain was imported from Kenya. Those were the days of isikundamoyo, the yellow maize meal. Ulaza exited the cuisine theatre together with granaries and the spirit of self-reliance. Granaries gave way to plastic grain bags with food aid. The age of cooking oil and sugar beans — the full bouquet, marked the era of dependence.
Fuduweki! Divizhini! Mushandira, a few glistening beads of sweat to receive some handouts. The small grains, itsweta/itsheta, and the millets (pearl and finger), that we used to grow gave way to maize introduced by the Portuguese from South America. Independence opened the doors wide to dependence. After 14 days Oxfam and Orap provide a 50 kg bag of maize meal. Those entitled to receive the maize make bee lines to Kafusi, KoManuka, the ward centre, to receive their dues.
Equally, those working on roads as part of fuduweki receive 50 kg bags of maize meal.
The community is being encouraged to undertake community development projects. Infrastructural amenities such as schools and clinics are targeted for refurbishment and extension. The rural clinic at Sankonjana now embraces facilities for expectant mothers who must spend time at the clinic awaiting their time to deliver.
