Celebrating spiritual diversity in the village Women from various churches at a prayer session
Women from various churches at a prayer session

Women from various churches at a prayer session

Sekai Nzenza on Wednesday
SUNDAY afternoon in our village courtyard. We are celebrating the memory of my father’s life. Today is the church service. But yesterday, it was the nyota yaBaba, a traditional ceremony to drink to my father’s ancestor spirit.Close family members and relatives came. The crowd was small. Many people from around here did not come to the nyota ceremony because they do not believe in recognising ancestors by drinking beer and killing a beast to them. My cousin Laiza, a serious follower of an American-led Pentecostal church sent a text to say she would not be seen anyway near a nyota ceremony because that is honouring the dead who were sinners.

Piri got offended, but we said, aiwa, hazvina basa, it really does not matter. People are entitled to choose their own method of worshipping God. If they do not feel comfortable in honouring the dead and remembering them as ancestors, that is fine too. Spirituality presents us with a historical and current zone of confusion, ambiguity and contradictions.

Many people want to remember and respect the memory of the dead, but they do not like to link the dead to Mwari or God in any way, in case they find themselves guilty of worshiping God through ancestors.

So, where did these dead ancestors go? When we place flowers on their graves and make a short prayer, are we not speaking to the dead who might be happily sitting on the right hand of God or are, perhaps, still languishing in the never ending fire of hell, muGehena chaimo.

What exactly are we telling God? The whole world over, we see flowers on the graves of loved ones. We want to connect to our past, but we also fear connecting to the ancestors.

Back here in the village, we are in the dry season and this is the time for traditional ceremonies like kurova guva and bira. But there are few rituals left to honour our ancestors because these practices are being lost in favour of church ceremonies. Various religious movements have gatherings at chosen venues. Religious groups do not worship together, except at funerals. Even then, the dead person’s church will lead all the proceedings. Nyota yaBaba was done on Saturday.

My brother Sidney chose one of my mother’s steers and presented it to the elders. Babamunini Ruka spoke to the ancestors, telling them that today; we honour my father Mugomeri David’s name and drink to his thirst.

Mugomeri should accept this offer and remember to protect his people and speak to Mwari on our behalf. The elders clapped hands and women ululated. The beast was killed. Meat was cooked and some was roasted. Friends from Harare and other places arrived. We had mbira and dance. I believe my father’s spirit was happy. The following day we woke up early to prepare for the Sunday memorial celebration church service.

Piri put away all the remaining seven-day brew beer, cooler boxes full of bottled beer, wine, brandy and whisky. She carefully covered the alcohol with a big blanket and locked it in one room. Varoora cut the meat of the beast killed to honour my father’s memory and started cooking in two big three-legged pots. Strong men cooked big drums of sadza.

People came from all the churches in our area. There are many churches around here. Among them is the traditional Roman Catholic, Anglican, Methodist, Dutch or African Reformed Church.

These old denominations came here with the missionaries a long time ago. In those days, each denomination wanted to exercise influence by converting people and building schools. Before independence, the most dominant indigenous churches were led by Paul Mwazha whose Apostolic Faith followers include many of my mother’s relatives. But closer to our village, is the Bethesda Apostolic Church led by Archbishop Loveless Matarirano Manhango.

The men wear khaki shirts and pants while the women look very colourful in blue skirts, red blouses and white hats. They do not play drums in the Mwazha and Manhango churches. The singing in the Bethesda Manhango church reminds you of the African American congregation with their beautiful high pitched voices as they sing with much energy and clapping of hands. The manner of singing in a large group with one lead voice is powerful and moving.

More recently, we have new religious movements including Holy Church led by my cousin Peter, son of the late Bishop Muroyi, Tapambwa Church, Church ya Antony, Vabati vaJehova, Nguo Tsvuku and many others.

“Let us see if these people who do not want to pay homage to the dead ancestors will eat the meat that they know very well was slaughtered to honour the spirit of our ancestor,” said Piri laughing. Reuben said she should not speak so loudly, in case some people will refuse to eat the meat.

But our neighbour Jemba said, “Ah, munotamba imi. Munhu aona nyama oti, ah, handidi, yakateurirwa kuvadzimu? Nhema. Vanodya vozokumbira ruregerero. (You are joking. When a person sees meat, he will not care that the beast was killed to honour the spirit of an ancestor. They will eat and then ask for forgiveness later)”.

At 10am last Sunday, there were more than 300 people in our village courtyard. People arrived in twos, threes and in groups. Some of them were dressed in their church uniforms and others wore their best Sunday dress and men wore suits and ties. By midday, Reuben said there were more than 500 people, without counting children.

The African Zionist Church came with their West African type drum. The men wore red and white cloaks while the women wore wide pleated blue and white skirts. We were already in the middle of another song when the Anglicans arrived singing and playing their drum.

Since my father was an Anglican, the Anglicans felt that this was their function and they should take the lead. But my brother Sidney said the Catholics had to take the lead because he was an old Kutama Catholic Boys College boy and a staunch Catholic. This church service was going to start with a Catholic song and a drum. But that is not what happened. Without being invited to play, the African Zionist Mbungo church vigorously beat their two-sided drum, supported by our drum Zino Irema. The two drums quickly drowned the soft Catholic song. Dancing and singing started immediately.

The Master of Ceremonies was my nephew Marshal, the one who got married to a girl from Honde at Highfield Anglican Church last December. Wearing a colourful African print to match his wife Mai Rufaro’s dress and wrapper, Marshall addressed the huge crowd, telling them the programme. He said each denomination from all nine present was to be given five minutes each to preach.

As each preacher stood up, people from all churches danced and sang. Men, women, children sang with much joy singing the same song, dancing to three different drums. The main preaching was done by my cousin Sekuru Taurai. The man is an orator with the most incredible memory. He can recite many verses without looking at the Bible. During the service, Reuben quietly nudged me and said Sekuru Taurai was possibly misquoting verses because a man cannot preach for half an hour and quote more than 10 verses without reading the Bible. Reuben then pulled out his iPhone and waited for Sekuru Taurai to quote a verse.

Within a few minutes, Sekuru said, “Hosea 4 verse 6 inoti vanhu vangu vaparara nendava yekushaya ruzivo . . .” Reuben´s internet Bible gateway quoted the same verse: “My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge: because thou hast rejected knowledge, I will also reject thee, that thou shalt be no priest to me: seeing thou hast forgotten the law of thy God, I will also forget thy children.”

“The man is a genius,” Reuben said. “He quotes this in Shona and every word he says is true and full of wisdom.” Varoora listened to the church verses and the preaching from kumabhodho, where they were cooking huge quantities of meat, vegetables and sadza.

After the service, people stood in line holding a plate each to receive sadza, two pieces of meat, plenty of tomato gravy and vegetables. There was a choice of Mazoe cordial drink or the non-alcoholic mahewu.

People patiently stood in the heat, waiting to be served. There was enough food for everyone. When they were full, some started making their way home but the drinkers stayed behind, hoping to finish the remaining seven day brew from yesterday. At my father’s memorial celebration last Sunday, the people from diverse churches came. They prayed together. We should come to God in the manner that we choose. We worship the same God, the same Mwari.

Dr Sekai Nzenza is a writer and cultural critic.

You Might Also Like

Comments

Take our Survey

We value your opinion! Take a moment to complete our survey