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Sekai Nzenza On Wednesday
“You should never employ your relative in any work,” declared my cousin Piri, talking to Reuben, the one who returned from Australia and has settled back here. We were back in the village to attend a funeral of one aunt who passed away last week. After the funeral, we all sat down in front of my mother’s hut for a drink. Reuben then started complaining that his new gardener named Kesipa was interfering with his private space.

Kesipa is using Reuben’s toilet, his bathroom, his kitchen and the television room.

Last week, Reuben came home to find Kesipa coming out of the main bedroom shower, holding a stone that Kesipa uses to scrub.

In his other hand he carried an empty oranges packet that he uses as a towel.

Instead of telling Kesipa to use his own shower, Reuben only asked if there was no water in the domestic quarters. Kesipa said the water was cold.

Three weeks ago, Reuben came to the village and announced that his massive house was almost complete and he badly wanted a gardener.

He then got the young 24-year-old Kesipa Zenda from Manhika or the lowlands along Save River near our village.

Kesipa came to Reuben highly recommended by our neighbour, Jemba.

Unlike his cousins and other colleagues, Kesipa does not smoke marijuana or drink heavy home brew, chandada, kachasu or chione day.

He has not made anyone pregnant as far as Jemba knows and no girl has eloped to his home seeking to be married.

Kesipa is a good fisherman and catches big cat fish with nets; he is also a hunter of rabbits.

Down along Save River, Kesipa grows tomatoes, kale, onions and cucumbers for sale at the shops.

Kesipa wanted a job, any job.

He had never been to Harare or to any other city in Zimbabwe. The job interview for a gardener took place when we were all sitting outside my mother’s hut and eating roast corn and boiled peanuts.

During the interview, Kesipa looked shy, tall and skinny, but strong.

He was wearing an old T-shirt, an oversize jacket, grey track pants and sandals made from old car tyres, his hair cut was neat, courtesy of Joel the barber at the shops.

“Aigona mwana uyu. Mari chete ndiyo yakaita dambudziko (This young man was bright. He did not go to school due to the problem of money),” said Jemba, going into the kitchen hut to light his newspaper rolled tobacco cigarette.

Since his totem was Soko, the Monkey, which was the same totem as Reuben’s mother, Jemba said Kesipa was Sekuru or uncle to Reuben.

We then referred to Kesipa as Sekuru, the way we would respect anyone from our maternal side.

Reuben was immediately impressed by Kesipa and said the good recommendations were such an added advantage.

We all said that, Hukama, or family relationship, were important.

It was best to hire a relative or someone who came from our area.

“If anything disappears from your house, you know Kesipa will not be the thief because he is family. Right!” Jemba said and we agreed.

Piri then went into the kitchen hut and brought cold sadza and warm goat stew for Kesipa.

He ate the big mountain of sadza in a very short time. Then he went back to Manhika to collect his clothes and a blanket. The following day, Kesipa came and we took him to Harare for work.

On the drive to Harare, we discovered that Kesipa did not have a birth certificate or an identity card.

He had stopped school mid-year in Grade Seven when his mother could not afford the bus fare to Hwedza, where he was meant to get a birth certificate as a pre-requisite to write the exam.

When they arrived at Reuben’s house, the gardener’s bedroom was not ready because there was a delay in connecting water and electricity.

Reuben said Sekuru Kesipa could stay the weekend in the spare room, next to where Mutsa, the young Mainini, sometimes stays when she is in town.

These days she is in Kwekwe, studying to rewrite her O-Level English and Mathematics.

She comes back to Reuben’s house regularly, although Reuben’s wife in Australia said she is not happy with these visits. We all agree that Mutsa is too pretty to stay in the same house with Reuben.

What if Reuben finds her very attractive and the Devil tells him to do otherwise? It was best for a man to avoid temptation because failing to do so can lead to tears. Mumwe anotozongochema chete.

“This business of calling Kesipa, Sekuru, is making him think he owns my house. He comes into my lounge and he watches my television. He opens my refrigerator and takes a drink, even my beer. I want him to be a gardener. Full stop! He can do his own cooking. But this guy does not seem to get it,” said Reuben, looking frustrated.

Piri laughed and said, “Ah, Mukoma Reuben, hamuone here kuti Kesipa haasi kuziva musiyano wemagariro ekumusha neeku Harare? Haasi kuona kuti imi muri murungu wake. Murungu nemubhoyi hazvidyidzane! (Can you not see that Kesipa is not able to tell that there is a difference in the way we live together in the village and the way we live together in the city? Kesipa cannot realise that you are now a European master and he is the African houseboy. The two do not eat together!)”

“Aika, Sisi, what is that supposed to mean? You sound so colonial,” said Reuben.

Piri kept on smiling. Then my brother Sidney stepped in and said, “The problem started with the poor orientation of Kesipa. Right from the moment he left the village, you should have told him that the relationship we have here in the village changes once we get into town.

“Here, you are his muzukuru or nephew and we treat each other with hunhu hwedu, sense of respect. There is no boss or servant. But once we get to an employment situation like yours, Kesipa becomes a houseboy who should stay in the boys’ kaya or the servants’ quarters.”

Reuben said he did not like the whole comparison and the reference to servant quarters. He said he was not a master or a boss; he was just an employer who expected his work done and his private space respected.

Kesipa should learn the boundaries and maintain them; otherwise, this situation was not going to work for both of them.

Piri said Sidney was right. The city does not recognise that there is no houseboy or maid in the village.

Such naming does not exist. Even words like mushandi, the worker, are not often used as they suggest a class difference and lack of traditional respect.

Each person is accorded dignity and respect that is deeply rooted in Shona culture. We are all related through the totem system. But the city takes away such levels of respect.

“Kesipa should be told his role as a domestic worker or houseboy. Finish. You keep your space and Master Reuben keeps his. End of story, Sis, what do you think?” Piri asked me.

I have struggled with this idea of separate spaces as well.

Back in the village, we are used to sit in the kitchen and watch food being cooked on the fireplace. We talk, laugh, roast anything around the fire and share a drink.

When the food is ready, sadza, meat and vegetables is dished out in individual plates and passed around.

In the old days, when my mother cooked for us, she divided us into twos or threes. My sisters Charity, Jessie and I used to share the same plates of sadza and vegetables or meat.

At that time, we always had a girl or woman helper or a herdsboy staying with us. They shared food with us and there was never a differentiation between us.

At bedtime, the boys slept together while the girls did the same. The kitchen hut was the central warm place for everyone and every night we gathered in there.

But the kitchen space stops to be a public area for all once we move to the city.

Maids eat in the kitchen, alone, while the rest of the family eat in the dining room or in front of the television.

In most houses, the maid goes back to her room once the work is finished for the evening. Meanwhile, the gardener cooks for himself in the servants’ quarters.

“Give your gardener proper orientation. But you must treat Kesipa with respect,” Piri said. “In the end, if you cannot cope with the change of relationships between the village and the city, then do your own garden.”

Dr Sekai Nzenza is a writer and cultural critic.