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so’.” Preparations for the wedding began immediately. After marriage, they lived happily ever after.”
My niece Chiwoniso said, “Thank you tete that was a very nice story.” Chiwoniso is eight and her brother Tapfuma is 10. They were staying with me over the weekend because their mother, a cross border trader, had gone to order some more goods to sell at the flea market. This time she had gone all the way to China.

“Now tell us the story in Shona so Tete Piri can also understand,” said Tapfuma.
So I sat down again and began the full story in translation from English to Shona. Towards the end, I said, “Muchato wakarongwa. Vakarorana, vakagara hupenyu hwerufaro kusvikira narini.” Chiwoniso put her head on the side and said, “That would be me, the princess.” Tapfuma said he would like to be the prince living in another kingdom where the princess was definitely better looking than Chiwoniso.  Piri was lying back on the whole sofa meant for three people, covering herself with her wraparound cloth, her slippers on the floor. Squinting her eyes and picking her teeth with a toothpick, she yawned and said “Musanyebere vana. Ndiyani akaroorwa akafara hupenyu hwake hwese? Who ever got married and was happy all the time? Do not lie to the children. Hanzi, he looked into her blue eyes and kissed her. What blue eyes? Ikitsi here?” The children laughed.

I explained that the stories were fairy tales for enjoyment. Piri said what was wrong with the baboon and rabbit stories that we used to have back in the village?

“They had real lessons of life than these fairy tales from faraway places full of snow.” She leaned back on the sofa and closed her eyes. We did not talk about love stories again until the following day when I was taking all three back home to their cottage in Braeside.

Piri has moved up the social ladder quite a bit in the last couple of months. She no longer works in the tuck shop in Mbare because the rains have made business impossible. She is temporarily house sitting for our niece, Edna, the mother to Chiwoniso and Tapfuma. Edna is hardly home. When her maid left without notice, she called Piri to come over and care for her two children in Braeside.

Initially, Piri was meant to be there for a week. But Piri proved to be a better carer and housekeeper than all the maids Edna hired before. Piri even goes to school and demands more homework for the children to keep them away from watching television cartoons after school.  We stopped at the Braeside supermarket to buy bread and milk. Piri stayed in the car. The children fought and argued in the back seat about a missing toy. When I came back, Piri had her eyes half closed, with that bored Sunday afternoon look. As I put the groceries in the boot of the car, I noticed several guys moving around with red balloons written “I love you.” A tall man in a white shirt, with a shaved head and a beard carried several balloons and red teddy bears tied in a string, hanging around his front and back. One red teddy bear had a little pocket attached to it. The tall man walked around, shouting, “Valentine’s Day! Valentine’s Day! Nguva iya yerudo yasvika. That time of love is here.

Do not be left behind. There is no reason why you should not have love. God created us all to have love. This is what Prophet Jeremiah says.”

Piri suddenly opened her eyes wide and saw the man. She called him over and he came running. He smiled, showing a beautiful set of white teeth. “Ah, sister, magaya rudo ka? You have thought of love? I am here to help you enhance your love life. My name is Jeremiah mupositori. I sell love. Which balloons, which teddy bear do you want to give to the lucky gentleman?” Piri quickly got out of the car. I think she wanted Jeremiah mupositori to look at her outfit. She wore her favourite tight jean skirt, yellow high heeled shoes and a yellow T-shirt. Her hair was neatly plaited in corn rows. These days the brown wig was getting a break because of the rain. Wigs and rain do not like each other.

With one hand resting on her waist, her shoulder leaning against my car, she looked directly into the man’s eyes and said, “Who is this man called Valentine who bothers us year after year?” Jeremiah said, “Ah, sister, Valentine is Valentine. He is the man who reminds us about love. Manjeso akatofa. He is dead now but he loved women. So to remember his love for women, they chose a day to celebrate love. You know, zuva rerudo sister.” Jeremiah gave the balloons to Piri to hold and feel them.

“And who chose that day?” Piri asked. Jeremiah laughed and replied, “Who chose it? Varunguka. The white man. After Valentine there is Mother’s Day, then there is Father’s Day and I think there is Grandmothers’ day sometime towards October or November, before Christmas.”
“Saka, if your man or husband does not love you, is he going to love you on Valentine’s Day?” Piri asked. Jeremiah rested all his balloons on the boot of the car and explained that the expression of love at Valentine’s Day comes from both men and women. It was not just men who were expected to buy flowers, chocolates and teddy bears and other nice things. The relationship of love was mutual.
“Ah, imi, what do you know about love?” asked Piri smiling at him with a new warmth. The children in the back seat giggled.

“Love, my sister, is friendship and respect. Love is the ability to sing poetic lyrics to your loved one. Why do you think all these married people do not like each other anymore? It’s because they no longer appreciate each other in language and praise poetry. This business of love the Western way, pachirungu, is for varungu, not for us. We should learn to love the way our ancestors did. Respect and appreciation of one another is missing and that is why a lot of married people will tell you that we are still together because of the children. Kugarira vana.”

Piri looked at him, up and down. Frowning, she said, “So why are you selling balloons and teddy bears if praise poetry is the only way to express love?” Jeremiah mupostori laughed.

“This is a job, sister, just a job. Real love is not expressed through things like balloons. Balloons pop and die in no time. Let me tell you, love is about friendship, communication, generosity of time and mutual respect. Isn’t that so, sister?” Mupositori said, looking at me for an answer. I nodded as if I knew it all. What would I know? Love and relationships is complex.

At that point Jeremiah saw a man in a huge Mercedes Benz pull up next to us. Jeremiah moved a bit to give the man room to park.

“Imiwe, I am at work. Let me hunt for money, vana sisi, ndiri pabasa.” In no time at all Jeremiah was encouraging the man to beat the rush and show his love to his small house or big house with flowers and balloons, chocolates and flowers. The man gently shook his head and walked away.

Jeremiah came back to continue the conversation. He spoke of the times his uncle, sekuru vake, taught him how to speak in detembo, poetic language to women back in the village, kwaChivi. Jeremiah mupositori said he belonged to the shumba totem and when called upon to speak of love, he had no other language of love other than what his uncle told him.

“I always address my wife by totem when thanking her. As it happens, she is also from the VaHera clan just like you two,” Jeremiah said, winking at Piri. Piri said she did not believe him at all. Jeremiah mupositori then surprised us.  Jeremiah made this gratitude recitation of the VaHera clan:
Maita Shava,
Mhofu yomukono, Ziwewera
Vakatekedzana paJanga
Vakapiwa vakadzi munyika yavaNjanja
Hekani Mutekedza, vari uHera Mukonde
Zvaitwa Mhukahuru, vemiswe inochenga miviri
Ziendanetyaka, mutunhu une mago
Chidavarume, vanovhimwa navanonyanga
Vasakamonera vakadzi dzenhema
Vanomonera vakadzi dzamangondi
(Thank you Shava
The Great Eland bull who ran away
Those who fought each other at Janga
Those who were given wives among the Njanja people. Thank you my Mutekedza, those in uHera Mukonde
It has been done Great Beast,
You with the tail so intimate with the body
You with sounding feet, one who carries the wasp comb
You who likes men, you of whom hunters exercise caution
Those who do not lie to women.
Those who embrace and bend women.)

Piri and I clapped and laughed so loud. People turned to look at us.
“Sisi, listen to this man. Forget Valentine balloons and all that love talk. This is the first time I heard a man sing our totem like this in Harare. People have forgotten to recite praise poetry. If only men could go back and thank their wives using detembo, real love will come back for sure.”

Jeremiah had taken us back to the village, when men spoke about love from a language they knew. Sometimes, I think some of us who spent the best part of our teenage years in the village were not prepared well for the Western romantic style of courtship and marriage. We knew nothing about Valentine’s Day, kisses, flowers, champagne, strawberries and nice lingerie to enhance everything to do with love and romance.

Mbuya VaMandirowesa and our aunts, vana tete, taught us about puberty, courtship, romance and love making. I hesitate to say love making, because this sounds very English and is also very Western. There seems to be no other nice way to mention this without sounding rude and totally improper. Maybe kuenda pabonde or kusangana. This is why we find it so easy to speak of love in English because there is no shame in it, hazvinyadzise.

When we moved to the city, we went around Harare, Bulawayo and everywhere as far as the Diaspora looking for urban men with after shave and nice smelling arm pits. They were there. But they could not recite the praise poetry of our ancestors, nor did we expect them to. We wanted a love that was civilised and in tune with Western traditions. And yet we cannot fully express our emotions in English.

Our emotions are still rooted back in the village experiences. How then do we speak deeply of love to one another when we do not have the language for it? We came to the city, leaving the sleeping mat back there in the village. In town, we wanted the king size bed with all kinds of Egyptian white sheets and several pillows and cushions, teddy bears, candles and all. Like Valentine celebrations, we have red teddy bears and heart shaped balloons in the bedroom. If only these colourful things could help make love, kubatsirawo bonde racho zvega. In those days, praise poetry, detembo, was an expression of love and affection. It came from acts of giving and heartfelt concerns for one another’s feelings.

This was at the very core of our Shona way of living, hunhu hwedu. Is it possible for us to invoke those songs of love or courtship encapsulated in the praise poetry of our past, madetembedzo nendyaringo dzokupfimbana? Detembo, praise poetry, was an expression of real love and respect, the way it used to be. Will it ever come back?

Dr Sekai Nzenza is a writer and cultural critic. She holds a PhD in International Relations and works as a development consultant.