Hunhu, the delinquent youths from our village The ethos of hunhu has been deeply entrenched in our culture since time immemorial
The ethos of hunhu has  been deeply entrenched in our culture since time immemorial

The ethos of hunhu has been deeply entrenched in our culture since time immemorial

Sekai Nzenza On Wednesday
The two brothers accused of stealing our garden fence arrived at the village court carrying axes. That is not done. You do not bring a threatening weapon at a public place where you stand as the accused for doing what is not proper in this village. But these boys did not seem to care. They said they were on their way to cut poles for their new garden when summoned to appear at Sabhuku’s village court.

An old fence from my father’s old garden had disappeared. Jemba swore that the two brothers were the thieves. He had seen them with various cuts on their bodies during Mbuya va Joe’s funeral the previous week. How else could such nasty scratches occur on the youthful bodies of these boys, Pedzisai and Tapera?

The garden fence was put up by my father sometime in the early 1970s. It was the first barbed wire in the village. I know that fence well because I have a scar near my nose caused by the barbed wire fence on the day it was installed. I ran straight into it because I was not used to being fenced in. I recall Mbuya VaMandirowesa ordering my father to remove the fence because it was dangerous to children and to village drunks who might end up being caught in the barbed wire. My father said the days of cutting down trees for fencing gardens were coming to an end because trees were fast disappearing. My father’s statement was not far from the truth.

Years later, about 20 of us from around the villages gathered for the hearing regarding the loss of more than 100 meters of fence that had been stolen from our garden. Among the elders was the kraal head, Sabhuku Matarutse, my uncle Babamunini Ruka, nephew Saizi, the former city thief and several men and women from around our village area.

The young men accused of stealing the fence did not seem to be bothered at all. Pedzisai, the older one, wore old homemade tyre sandals, torn khaki trousers, a brown T-shirt with holes at the back and a blue waist court. He sat on a rock smoking tobacco. His brother Tapera wore a dirty grey tracksuit with a blue singlet. He was bare foot. His hair was twisted into short dreadlocks. He chewed the bark of a Mupfuti tree and kept on spitting carelessly onto the dusty ground.

The stolen fence was old. Although a new one had been added outside of the old one, this was no reason for anyone to steal the fence without offering to buy it. Our new fence was shiny and no cow or hyena could go past this fence. Goats were not deterred by it though; they dug under in order to graze inside the fence.

Pedzisai and Tapera were born here. These were the sons of Silas and Ruth. I recall seeing them at the age of two and four respectively, during my visit from the Diaspora. They were adorable children. About 20 years ago, Silas died and few months later, Ruth also died. They may have died from HIV and Aids, because at that time many people around here fell ill and died. Unlike these days when people can survive on treatment, there was no medication for HIV and AIDS.

After the death of their parents, Pedzisai was taken by Silas’s sister who is married to a man from Bocha. Tapera was taken by another sister who lives in Mhondoro. There was always someone to look after an orphan. The elders around here will tell us that there is no need for an orphanage when a child has relatives.

People in this village did not see Pedzisai or Pedzi and Tapera for the past twenty years. They remembered them as beautiful smiling children. Naturally, the boys have changed. Gone are the beautiful endearing smiles. They have grown up to be what some people might call delinquent unruly and disrespectful youths.

Pedzi was the first to come back here. For a few months he lived with his Maiguru, the widow of Silas’s older brother. She had a couple of grand children to care for. She welcomed 24-year-old Pedzi, saying Silas and Ruth would be happy to see that their son was back home among his people.

But it was not long before Maiguru said, no, Pedzi, you are not good company around the house. You are not my husband that I should cook and wash your clothes all the time without you ever saying thank you. Pedzi did not help much in the fields either. He would rise after sunrise, something which is not done around here during the rainy season. He lazily walked to the fields, joined the others at weeding for a while. Around lunch time, he threw his hoe in the fields and disappeared to drink and smoke at the local shops. He came back to Maiguru’s house drunk, demanding food and wanting to play the drum. Maiguru asked him to leave. Pedzi rebuilt his parents’ hut. He thatched it and put some cow dung on the floor since his did not have money to buy cement. He walked around the villages saying he did not need anyone to survive. As long his parents’ fields were there, he would survive. One time I heard him going past our homestead, singing an old song not meant for the ears of children, zvainyadzisira.

Earlier this year, Tapera arrived back in the village and moved in with Pedzi. People said the boys had behaved very badly in the homes of their guardian aunts. As a result, the aunts said, imi makura, dzokerai kumusha kwa baba venyu. Boys, you are grown up men now. Its time you return to your father’s village.

Pedzi and Tapera started building a garden down by the spring well. This was not their traditional land, but nobody could stop them. Then our fence disappeared. Jemba was convinced it was our fence. My brother Sidney reported the matter to Sabhuku, the village herd. The two boys were summoned to attend the court.

At the hearing, Saizi ordered the boys to hand over the axes to him because such weapons were not allowed at Sabhuku’s court. The boys were afraid of Saizi. They handed over the axes without argument. Then the court procedures started. The boys shouted loudly and denied ever stealing the fence. They spoke in such an arrogant and abusive manner to the elders, especially the Sabhuku, who is really their uncle.

“These young men do not understand the meaning of family relationships,” said their Maiguru, shaking her head. Sabhuku called them nhunzvatunzva and svuuramuroomo, meaning they were really bad young men. He said they reminded him of Panichi, the once upon a time village delinquent who gave everyone a headache when we were growing up in this village.

Back in those days, Panichi was the svuuramuromo. When we were herding cattle, Panichi disappeared and milked other people’s cows. He filled his calabash and hid it in the bush until it was time to go home. Hunters using traps to catch rabbits blamed Panichi for stealing their wild game.

Quite often Panichi used the village spring well as his toilet and contaminated it. The village women called each other to empty all the water and waited for clean water to come through. Complaints made about Panichi’s behaviour to his parents did not help. Panichi’s parents blamed bad spirits for Panichi’s lack of hunhu. They said their son lacked the spirit of humanness in him no matter how much they tried to discipline him.

Panichi is a decent married man now. We have not forgotten what he used to do when we were young. But we never remind him about it because we accept that some adults learn about hunhu or humanness, later in life.

The elders used to tell us that a good person is a munhu. This meant that munhu was a human being with certain behaviours and ethics that made him a good person. The ethos of hunhu has been deeply entrenched in our culture since time immemorial. A good person carried the qualities of goodness, compassion, respect, honesty and the dignity. He or she was therefore munhu ane hunhu. Without hunhu, you are not a person. Hausi munhu. Christianity came with the Gospel of morality and salvation from sin when we were already vanhu vane hunhu. We still are.

Pedzi and Tapera spoke abusive words in front of the elders. They said nobody in the village could tell them what to do. We all tried to reason with them. After a good three hours, Sabhuku said he could not handle these svuuramuroomo who had no respect for the values and ethics governing our village.

“Vakomana ava, havasi vanhu. Havana hunhu,” he said, meaning the boys lacked hunhu. The court agreed that the matter should be referred to the police, since village rules of hunhu, could no longer control the behaviour of delinquent youths.

  • 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