Mrs Bernadett Mutyambizi[nee Mugoboza]; the woman I lost on Sunday 05 June 2011 was not only my mother but the very beacon of my life. Our family was not a matriarch, far from that, like every other family of my generation my father still had the last word. But my father and my mother loved each other, there was mutual respect between them. For 46years they were married and never broke up, something that I personally have continued to try and do but which try as I may I must agree I am failing.
My mother had nothing but support for my father and I can say this was so mutual. When my mum gave birth to my three sisters before me tongues started wagging, there is this talk that always came at that time that a son should have been born to the family instead. But my father stuck with the one and only woman that he has ever loved and of course the fourth born was a boy, me. But my humble mum married into the "wrong" family, "wrong" because my paternal family has been part of the Zimbabwean political story since the emergence of its direct ancestor, Changamire Dombo to the political scene in Southern Africa. It was inescapable that my father became a central member of ZAPU and with it ZHANDA and later on made a complete about turn and became a member of ZANU. His mother was part of the Chirumhanzu Chieftaincy and the late Leopold Takawira was therefore an uncle of my father's, and he found himself following his uncle. Needless to say my mother was part of the story and as early as i became knowledgeable, the youth I remember is listening to Voice of Zimbabwe in the 1970s, and songs such as "Huya uwone zvaita mwana" whenever a massacre was unleashed or a leader of the struggle was assassinated. My recollection of that period is also of the injured ZANLA cadres, kept away from the surveillance of the RF and my family putting themselves in the line of fire.
My mum was patient, yet could rise to the occassion if anyone dared her for too long a trait most say I possess and which those close to my family always say is inherited from my mum. She trained as a Montessori Teacher and worked in that capacity for some time in the early 1980s [should be 1980-1981]. During that time ZANU PF offered her a job in the newly created Zimbabwe National Army and my father was also offered a job in the Central Intelligence Organisation. They both refused because there really was no money in government at the time and even the excitement of working for one's own independent government did not really persuade many people then. It was at this time that we relocated to Gokwe, a place my father says his own dad had always said he wished one if not all his sons to live in. My father tells me that his father said to him "One of you should go and live in our ancestral homeland in Matabeleland". Although we did not relocate to Matebeleland South, Gokwe is closer to my grandfather's dream. Again my mother decided to accept what my father was saying and she would go and live the country life. Although she was a skilful knit-artist she quickly developed a new knack; cotton growing. There she and my late sister Barbra were the real masters, she could wake us up at 0200am to work the fields and obvious we did not really enjoy it.
Every year she remembered to buy us Christmas presents, clothes and she had an equally generous sister my aunt Cathrine who could do something that I have failed to understand to this day, buy every person in her family a present and ship it from Germany where she was working as a doctor. My mum had a big heart, our house in Gokwe is close to the main road and whenever a bus or lorry broke down stranded people would come to our house to eat and sleep. Even people in the neighbourhood used to live off my family and that was really the doing of my mum. I remember even when we relocated to the UK, she was paying fees and literally feeding and clothing a family in the neighbourhood in Gokwe whose father and mother had made a reputation of stealing from her. She lived in the same household as my paternal grandmother for more than 27years to the extent that when my grandmum died many people in Gokwe wanted to bury her in my father's absence because they wrongly thought she was my mother's mum not my father's.
When I started working in the early 1990s I would make sure that each month I went to see my mum with groceries and some money. Whatever it was that I brought her she would make sure that she took some of it to people she thought were in need. At that time she was employed as a nursery-in-charge at a local nursery in NeMangwe, in Gokwe under an EU Project. My mother was a devoted member of the Johane Masowe weChishanu Faith and was given the holy ordainment in 1994 at Nyatsime, something she would cherish to her death. Yet she too was a woman of conviction and one thing I could not convince her to leave was ZANU PF. Yet when I became a member of ZUM and later DP in 1990 and 1991, with all other family members completely disappointed with me because they all loved it in ZANU including my father, it was my mother who encouraged me to support the party of my choice.
When MDC was formed and when I was being arrested she never cried for me a single day. Instead she always told me that what I was going through was normal as she would tell me: "Remember even we had to endure the same during the liberation struggle and especially your father". That would remind me of two other incidents; the day I came home crying when I was 4 and had been beaten by older boys. She beat me and told me to go and fight back. From that day onwards I would not be bullied again regardless of age. The other incident was when she was pregnant with my brother Tendai, I was 3 and I asked her for money, she gave me half cent thinking that I wouldn't do anything but I was too clever and I walked all the way to Tangawabayiwa which was about a mile from where our Chitungwiza house was. And that time she cried thinking I would get lost and be sacrificed in the ritual killings as was the norm then. Surprisingly I managed to buy myself sweeties and traced all the way back home.
In 2005 during the elections I called home and my mum was in a celebratory mood: "We are winning and this is very clean. The good thing is that even the President has said there should be no violence" and again "We" referred to ZANU PF. And even when I protested to her that her party was not the party of my choice all she could say was that "Your party is full of amateurs Moyo so you cannever beat an experienced political establishment". Yet when was provoked by one of her nieces and that niece said of me: "That's why your son Julius ran away from Zimbabwe, he has a murder case waiting for him in the courts" My mother told her: "No, my son is not a murderer. He is a politician and will one day be the President of Zimbabwe". My mum was polite but stubborn. Like me her respect was on condition; she respected those who were prepared to respect her in return. In 2007 we lost my first son Taboka, and she came to the UK to console us during that time. When she saw me talking on TV she was really thrilled, just as she was thrilled seeing my first book. In 1998 I recorded my first [and only musical album] one of the songs was Bherita. My mother put 50% of the lyrics there. My friend Last Chiyangwa sometimes plays that song in his gigs. When I sneaked into Zimbabwe in 2009, Memory was pregnant and my mum said "So what will be the name of your child if she is a girl" I said Sithembile [my sister's name] and she protested: "So you guys its me you don't want to name your children after]. I complied and we named my daughter Bernadett after my mother. Little did I know she was on her way and had I not done so, I would have been able to do so ever because Johane Masowe doctrine does not allow naming children after their dead relatives.
On Friday 3 June 2011, I spoke to my mother. She warned me never to depart from my faith and asked me to tell all the family members to do the same. I just didn't know those were her last words. On Sunday 5 June 2011, at 1100hrs, in the presence of Bernadett Junior and her mother, my father and my sister-in-law Madzimai Bernadett, passed away. Although she had not been sick for a long time she fulfilled another Johane Masowe weChishanu doctrine that those who live in Christ should not struggle to die, if they become so sick their sickness should be cured. My mother's death which was not after a long struggle and in which she managed to reinforce the faith on us was a holy death in accordance to our common faith. I am in no doubt that if we remain in the same path we will one day meet. I have been singing ever since: "KANA NDAENDA VAPOSITORI SARAYI MURUMBIDZE MBIRI YABABA: WHEN I AM GONE YOU MUST CONTINUE PRAISING GOD!"
REST IN PEACE MADZIMAI BERNADETT, A MOTHER AND GRANDMOTHER WHO WILL ALWAYS BE MISSED! SHE WAS BOTH MY OWN HERO AND A LIBERATION HERO.
BE JUDGE!
JULIUS SAI MUTYAMBIZI-DEWA
My mother had nothing but support for my father and I can say this was so mutual. When my mum gave birth to my three sisters before me tongues started wagging, there is this talk that always came at that time that a son should have been born to the family instead. But my father stuck with the one and only woman that he has ever loved and of course the fourth born was a boy, me. But my humble mum married into the "wrong" family, "wrong" because my paternal family has been part of the Zimbabwean political story since the emergence of its direct ancestor, Changamire Dombo to the political scene in Southern Africa. It was inescapable that my father became a central member of ZAPU and with it ZHANDA and later on made a complete about turn and became a member of ZANU. His mother was part of the Chirumhanzu Chieftaincy and the late Leopold Takawira was therefore an uncle of my father's, and he found himself following his uncle. Needless to say my mother was part of the story and as early as i became knowledgeable, the youth I remember is listening to Voice of Zimbabwe in the 1970s, and songs such as "Huya uwone zvaita mwana" whenever a massacre was unleashed or a leader of the struggle was assassinated. My recollection of that period is also of the injured ZANLA cadres, kept away from the surveillance of the RF and my family putting themselves in the line of fire.
My mum was patient, yet could rise to the occassion if anyone dared her for too long a trait most say I possess and which those close to my family always say is inherited from my mum. She trained as a Montessori Teacher and worked in that capacity for some time in the early 1980s [should be 1980-1981]. During that time ZANU PF offered her a job in the newly created Zimbabwe National Army and my father was also offered a job in the Central Intelligence Organisation. They both refused because there really was no money in government at the time and even the excitement of working for one's own independent government did not really persuade many people then. It was at this time that we relocated to Gokwe, a place my father says his own dad had always said he wished one if not all his sons to live in. My father tells me that his father said to him "One of you should go and live in our ancestral homeland in Matabeleland". Although we did not relocate to Matebeleland South, Gokwe is closer to my grandfather's dream. Again my mother decided to accept what my father was saying and she would go and live the country life. Although she was a skilful knit-artist she quickly developed a new knack; cotton growing. There she and my late sister Barbra were the real masters, she could wake us up at 0200am to work the fields and obvious we did not really enjoy it.
Every year she remembered to buy us Christmas presents, clothes and she had an equally generous sister my aunt Cathrine who could do something that I have failed to understand to this day, buy every person in her family a present and ship it from Germany where she was working as a doctor. My mum had a big heart, our house in Gokwe is close to the main road and whenever a bus or lorry broke down stranded people would come to our house to eat and sleep. Even people in the neighbourhood used to live off my family and that was really the doing of my mum. I remember even when we relocated to the UK, she was paying fees and literally feeding and clothing a family in the neighbourhood in Gokwe whose father and mother had made a reputation of stealing from her. She lived in the same household as my paternal grandmother for more than 27years to the extent that when my grandmum died many people in Gokwe wanted to bury her in my father's absence because they wrongly thought she was my mother's mum not my father's.
When I started working in the early 1990s I would make sure that each month I went to see my mum with groceries and some money. Whatever it was that I brought her she would make sure that she took some of it to people she thought were in need. At that time she was employed as a nursery-in-charge at a local nursery in NeMangwe, in Gokwe under an EU Project. My mother was a devoted member of the Johane Masowe weChishanu Faith and was given the holy ordainment in 1994 at Nyatsime, something she would cherish to her death. Yet she too was a woman of conviction and one thing I could not convince her to leave was ZANU PF. Yet when I became a member of ZUM and later DP in 1990 and 1991, with all other family members completely disappointed with me because they all loved it in ZANU including my father, it was my mother who encouraged me to support the party of my choice.
When MDC was formed and when I was being arrested she never cried for me a single day. Instead she always told me that what I was going through was normal as she would tell me: "Remember even we had to endure the same during the liberation struggle and especially your father". That would remind me of two other incidents; the day I came home crying when I was 4 and had been beaten by older boys. She beat me and told me to go and fight back. From that day onwards I would not be bullied again regardless of age. The other incident was when she was pregnant with my brother Tendai, I was 3 and I asked her for money, she gave me half cent thinking that I wouldn't do anything but I was too clever and I walked all the way to Tangawabayiwa which was about a mile from where our Chitungwiza house was. And that time she cried thinking I would get lost and be sacrificed in the ritual killings as was the norm then. Surprisingly I managed to buy myself sweeties and traced all the way back home.
In 2005 during the elections I called home and my mum was in a celebratory mood: "We are winning and this is very clean. The good thing is that even the President has said there should be no violence" and again "We" referred to ZANU PF. And even when I protested to her that her party was not the party of my choice all she could say was that "Your party is full of amateurs Moyo so you cannever beat an experienced political establishment". Yet when was provoked by one of her nieces and that niece said of me: "That's why your son Julius ran away from Zimbabwe, he has a murder case waiting for him in the courts" My mother told her: "No, my son is not a murderer. He is a politician and will one day be the President of Zimbabwe". My mum was polite but stubborn. Like me her respect was on condition; she respected those who were prepared to respect her in return. In 2007 we lost my first son Taboka, and she came to the UK to console us during that time. When she saw me talking on TV she was really thrilled, just as she was thrilled seeing my first book. In 1998 I recorded my first [and only musical album] one of the songs was Bherita. My mother put 50% of the lyrics there. My friend Last Chiyangwa sometimes plays that song in his gigs. When I sneaked into Zimbabwe in 2009, Memory was pregnant and my mum said "So what will be the name of your child if she is a girl" I said Sithembile [my sister's name] and she protested: "So you guys its me you don't want to name your children after]. I complied and we named my daughter Bernadett after my mother. Little did I know she was on her way and had I not done so, I would have been able to do so ever because Johane Masowe doctrine does not allow naming children after their dead relatives.
On Friday 3 June 2011, I spoke to my mother. She warned me never to depart from my faith and asked me to tell all the family members to do the same. I just didn't know those were her last words. On Sunday 5 June 2011, at 1100hrs, in the presence of Bernadett Junior and her mother, my father and my sister-in-law Madzimai Bernadett, passed away. Although she had not been sick for a long time she fulfilled another Johane Masowe weChishanu doctrine that those who live in Christ should not struggle to die, if they become so sick their sickness should be cured. My mother's death which was not after a long struggle and in which she managed to reinforce the faith on us was a holy death in accordance to our common faith. I am in no doubt that if we remain in the same path we will one day meet. I have been singing ever since: "KANA NDAENDA VAPOSITORI SARAYI MURUMBIDZE MBIRI YABABA: WHEN I AM GONE YOU MUST CONTINUE PRAISING GOD!"
REST IN PEACE MADZIMAI BERNADETT, A MOTHER AND GRANDMOTHER WHO WILL ALWAYS BE MISSED! SHE WAS BOTH MY OWN HERO AND A LIBERATION HERO.
BE JUDGE!
JULIUS SAI MUTYAMBIZI-DEWA
