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Dr Sekai Nzenza on Wednesday

“Dudu muduri!”

“Katye!”

“Chipo muduri”

“Katye!”

“Moses muduri!”

“Katye!”

A girl of about 10 years stood in the middle of a circle surrounded by several children. She was barefoot and wearing an old blue school uniform with a few patches at the back and the front.

She was shouting names of relatives who belonged to one family. After calling out more than 20 names, she paused, breathless.

She whispered to herself, counting her fingers and thinking. Then she looked at everyone and said she could not remember any more names.

A tall boy in the group said, “Ah, you forgot Maidei. She is the last born of our aunt!” Then all the children laughed saying if you forget one name, you are out of the game.

The tall boy then stood in the middle and began to sing “dudu muduri” and the children clapped saying ‘katye’ as the boy recited all the names of children belonging to another uncle and aunt.

This song by the children in Betera, way past Buhera going south of Zimbabwe, brought back memories of the childhood games we played to help us remember our relatives.

My cousin Piri and I had gone to Betera to visit our aunt, Tete Verina, cousin to my father.

Tete is well over 80 years old now. She had sent a message to say her days were numbered. She wanted us, her nieces, meaning my cousin Piri and three others, to visit Betera and enjoy a big feast with her.

My cousin Reuben, the one who came back from the Diaspora asked to join us for the trip to visit Tete Verina although he was not invited because he is a nephew. Nephews do not inherit the wealth of their aunts. But Reuben begged to come along.

We allowed him to come, as long as he could help me with the driving. We also knew that Reuben wanted to fulfil this obsession with taking pictures and filming everything that he feels is fast disappearing due to our modern way of life.

So here we were in Betera, in a place some people say it’s the back of beyond. When we were growing up in the village, my grandmother Mbuya VaMandirowesa would often scold us saying, “Maziromo anenge avaVerina!” meaning, and your lips are as big as your Tete Verina’s. This was not meant to be a compliment.

Tete Verina was known for speaking her mind and there was often a conflict between her and Mbuya VaMandirowesa. I cannot recall what the fights were about. But I vaguely remember that the fight was something to do with power because you could often hear Mbuya saying Tete Verina thought she wore the trousers around the village.

Many years later, most of the elders are gone, except Tete Verina. She is no longer as outspoken as she used to be. Her village compound is surrounded by many families with children. Everyone here is related to Tete Verina. Because the school is very far, most of the children here do not go past Grade five. Besides, some of the children belong to the Johane Marange Apostolic Church and they marry very young.

There were at least 15 children in Tete Verina’s village courtyard, playing dudu muduri.

The children’s ages ranged from five to perhaps 12 or more. Reuben held his video camera and filmed the kids playing, talking, laughing and singing. Despite the drought in this part of the country, the children looked healthy.

“Just looking at these kids, I can see how much of our indigenous knowledge is being lost by television, computers and the use of social media,” said Reuben, as he grabbed a stool to position himself well for the filming. “Do you remember these games as a kid?”

I recalled the old days when we used to sit around the fire and Mbuya VaMandirowesa told us stories.

Each story had a lesson, a meaning and knowledge about life. We often used metaphors, proverbs, tsumo nezvirahwe, to entertain and teach.

Such knowledge did not come from a book.

By the time we went to school, we had already gained a lot of knowledge from the village environment and mostly from Mbuya VaMandirowesa. Mbuya never read a book. She never wrote anything. And yet, she could recite from memory praise poetry of the Eland, Elephant, Shumba, Buffalo and other totems when thanking someone. Like most old people around the village, she gave wisdom and knowledge through metaphors, proverbs, riddles, songs and stories. Speaking to my grandfather and all the other elders, they often held a whole conversation in metaphors or madimikira and you would only understand a little of what they said.

Madimikira was a way of speaking based in the past experiences and memories of the people. Such knowledge was passed on from generation to generation. If any of my uncles kept on doing something bad, Mbuya had a certain way of looking at him and then say, “Iwe, ndambakuudzwa akaonekwa nembonje pahuma”, meaning the person who refused advise or caution ended up with a big wound on his head one day.

There were many sayings with warnings like that, some spoken in jest during play.

At times the elders sat there by the big rondavel in the middle of the compound, their pot of beer in the middle, snuff passing hands, drinking, talking and laughing. We listened and learnt something about the meaning of life and hunhu, respect to others.

Mbuya VaMandirowesa did not pay any attention at all to what we were learning at school.

“We did not go to crèche, but we learnt so much from the village games,” I told Reuben. “And yet, urban people laugh at some who never saw the door to a crèche school,” Piri said, joining us. This conversation of never having been to crèche was a sore point for Piri.

At one time, three years ago, Piri had an argument with a lady who used to share a stall with her at the flea market in Harare. The lady said, “Handidi kupedzerwa nguva nevanhu vasina kuenda ku crèche!” meaning, I will not have my time wasted by people who never went to crèche or to preschool. The people around laughed and jeered at Piri, which was not very kind.

Piri tried to say that she was just as smart and educated as those who grew up in the city and went to crèche.

“Let us not talk about knowledge gained from the crèche,” I said, sensing that Piri was about to repeat her unpleasant experience at the market.

Reuben positioned his video again and asked the children to count in Shona. A boy of five stepped forward and counted up to 10, shouting:

1. Motsiro

2. Dendere

3. Wagara

4. Mashangwe

5. Mbirimbizha

6. Pamuromo

7. Pegange

8. Gangiridza

9. Marindohwe

10. Gumi rawa!

When he got to 10, we all clapped our hands together and shouted ‘gumi rawa!’

Down in remote areas, the children without television or computers still learn through games. Looking back to my past, I can see that the poems and games we played as children were not just children’s play; but a silent and powerful vehicle to transmit values and attitudes which have remained with us throughout adulthood. The wisdom embedded in the African indigenous knowledge systems acquired in childhood games is a heritage which continues to sustain us today, even though; we missed the door to the crèche or kindergarten school.

Dr Sekai Nzenza is a writer and cultural critic.