Makoni was my teenage heartthrob

Every man must have one. Most men have at least one- a teenage heart-throbe. There is a girl you really loved. She was the embodiment of serene Nubian beauty. She had a full body, pure white teeth and a smile to go with it. No matter how hard you tried to ensnare her, she had no time or concern for your attentions. That girl was your teenage image of the mother of your children.

If yours lived in your neighbourhood, endless trips past their house were the norm. If you went to the same school and were in the same class, you may have done many home works for her, tried to teach her Shakespeare or even the matrices, hoping than your brain would ensnare the beauty. All efforts would come to nought. If you went to the same church and were Catholic, your petitions in Mass included her. If she was in the choir, her mellifulous voice was all you heard endlessly.

But like all teenage heart-throbes, we waited, they did not care a hoot about us. We were heart broken. Years later, they seem to appear from nowhere having traversed the world. They now look dilapidated, like the forlon grave of a harlot. Unkempt, uncared for and somewhat victims of beauty's own inflation. More quantity yet less in value.

I will not mention the three kids with different totems.

Forgive the reference to prostitution. When I am 84, I do not want to spend my birthday telling school children about prostitution. What happened to 84 year olds forgetting when they were born?

In the mid 1980s, possibly in 1986, I was the lead altar boy at the funeral of one of Zimbabwe's greatest Shona poets, J.C. Kumbirai. He was buried at Driefontein Mission in Mvuma. I recall that one literary luminary, possibly T.K. Tsodzo of the Pafunge fame. (someone must a make a movie of this book!), read what was said to be his last poem written in long hand. It must have been about the sun.

Before that day, I suspected that the only poem by the same poet I had read was one that encouraged us to go to school as the new economy did not have cattle. I may be wrong, but like a preacher I will not let facts stand in the way of a good sermon. I resolved that I would put some effort into finding the works of this men showered the greatest eulogies by each speaker at the funeral.

When I first read a collection of Shona poems entitled Mabumira eNhetembo, a found a good collection of his works included. One poem that took my heart was the one called, “Ndingati Uri Munhu Mwanangu”. I

n later life, I stumbled upon a poem by Rudyard Kipling called “If”. I was struck by the similarity between the two poems and I hastily concluded that Mr Kipling had plagiarised from my hero. A bit of biographical research revealed that Mr Kipling had died in 1910, unlike my hero who died in 1986. They are actually separated by a Hailey's comet which appeared in the years of their deaths. It only appears once in 76 years!



Rudyard Kipling says in the last stanza of his poem:

“If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!”
Students of history and poetry will tell you, that these two great poets separated in death by the Hailey's comet, wrote about the same country that is Zimbabwe. Kipling's poem was about Dr Leander Starr Jameson and his ill-fated 500-men raid of the Transvaal of 1895. The raid precipitated the Anglo-Boer War from 1899 to 1902. Some quiet diplomacy from Salisbury, I guess!
JC Kumbirai was giving the unfailing lesson that each parent must give their child.
When Jameson left to make the disastrous raid, he crossed paths with a telegraph sent to him by Cecil John Rhodes from the Cape. The telegraph simply stated,
“Read Luke 14 verse 31”. He might as well have recommended the entire chapter.
Jameson never did. For those without Bibles this relates to Jesus's teaching about the cost of being a disciple. The verse says:
“Or suppose a king is about to go to war against another king. Will he not first sit down and consider whether he is able with ten thousand men to oppose the one coming against him with twenty thousand?”
My own heart-throbe married a rich polygamist who as expected, pre-deceased her. Simba Makoni was my heart-throbe. I tried to woo him but he would not have my attentions. He now turns up with excess baggage like Ibbo Mandaza and Major Mbudzi. My heart has moved on.
I accept in my heart that Simba Makoni maybe the best President Zimbabwe will never have. In the same way Jairos Jiri is the best Minister of Social Welfare we never had. In the same way that Amai Rwizi (Susan Chenjerai of the Mukadota Family show) is the best First Lady and Mother of the Nation we will never have. Imagine Mai Rwizi saying, “vanhu vangu”!
In J.C. Kumbirai's poem, he states in the last stanza;

“ Handi nyore kutsika mumvura ukasanyorova,
Kana kupinda muno utsi ukasakachidzwa.
Handi nyore kuzembera unye hukasambokuvava,
Kana kutsika chiva chigorega kukuruma.
Ukazvigona ndingati uri munhu mwanangu.”

When I am 84, I will sit by the fire and read poems to schoolchildren. And JC Kumbirai will be top of the list. At that age prostitution is not a recommended topic.