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Dr Sekai Nzenza
When we were growing up in the village, we hardly saw a married couple walking, laughing, working or even eating together. My grandmother, Mbuya VaMandirowesa, said it was not natural for a married couple to spend too much time together during the day. Marriage did not mean that a husband and wife spend time together all the time. No. They met at bed time for quality time together. Such productive time produced children. If no children came out of those long periods then the elders stepped in to inquire who was at fault.

Love existed but there was no time to enjoy being in love because there was work to be done in the fields and also around the house.
Hunting, ploughing, cutting firewood, thatching and all other big jobs requiring much strength was done by men. Women gave birth, breastfed babies, pounded, made peanut butter, fetched water, looked for firewood, washed, ironed, cooked sadza and did all the jobs expected of women.

When Mbuya spotted any one of my uncles sitting down with his wife or walking around as a loving couple, she took them aside and said, “Are you white people that you should spend that much time together?” Mbuya talked about the unnatural romantic ways of Europeans yet the only white people she had seen from a distance were the missionaries at Kwenda and Waddilove Methodist missions. As a young girl she had been to the mission to pray because her older sister VaJatisai had married Tutani, a South African evangelist and translator for the missionaries. Mbuya used to say that she saw, with her own eyes, white couples who did everything together and were inseparable like doves. But such a life of romance was for the Europeans only, not for young African couples.

However, in old age, Mbuya said it was acceptable for old people to be together because their work had already been done. Sekuru Dickson, my grandfather, had five wives. But he preferred to spend the day with Mbuya because she was VaHosi, the first wife.

Mbuya and Sekuru Dickson always went to the beer parties, to the communal field work, kunhimbe and even to the river to bath together. At night, Sekuru spent the night with any one of the younger wives because they were still fat and warm to be with, whereas Mbuya was tall, old and skinny.

And Mbuya said she did not care much about the nights away from Sekuru either.
In life, everything had its time.

But, among all the married couples in the villages around us, there was a salt seller called Mukono and his wife Chimunyu. These two were an exception to the rule of village love and companionship. Chimunyu, meaning a lump of salt, was not her real name but a nickname given to her because she helped her husband to sell salt.

Day after day they walked past our village selling salt for a few coins or exchanging it for grain or anything of value. Mukono was this giant of a man with legs like two tree trunks and an unusual straight nose. Chimunyu was of average height, dark in complexion and she hardly smiled. Her face was all scarred from a fire accident that had happened when she was a young girl living on Surrey Hills farm near Marondera. On that farm there were migrant workers from Malawi, Mozambique and Zambia.

Some of my uncles who went to work on the farms as casual tobacco pickers met women like Chimunyu whose parents had come from Malawi or Mozambique. They said these women were experts with mupfuhwira, or love portions that forced a man to fall hopelessly and helplessly in love with a woman for the rest of his life.

Day after day, Mukono carried the bag of salt while his wife Chimunyu carried an empty sack. Later on towards sunset, we saw them coming back, Mukono now carrying a bag of grain, zviyo or mhunga that he had exchanged for salt. Chimunyu followed behind, with the empty sack that was carrying salt before. They talked or murmured to each other as they walked. Sometimes, you saw them stop in the middle the road, share a little argument or a little laughter, and then they resumed their journey. As children, we ran away when we saw them coming because Chimunyu’s unfortunate scarred face was scary to look at.

People called Mukono and Chimunyu names for being so in love and inseparable. They said the two were like ishwa, the delicious termite with white wings. Termites come out of the anthill as sunset soon as the rainy season starts. They fly everywhere, especially where there is light. We used to put a dish of water next to a paraffin lamb and wait for ishwa to come to the light. We caught them and roasted them.

They were delicious to eat. But the termites lucky enough to escape our appetite, ended up in pairs, totally connected to each other in a love bond.

They moved around until they lost their wings and became naked. Then we saw them burrowing into the ground together until they disappeared or died. Mukono and Chimunyu were like a pair of ishwa.

Mbuya VaMandirowesa said the love between Mukono and Chimunyu was not natural. Whenever we saw Mukono and Chimunyu go past, Mbuya shook her head and said she felt so sorry for Mukono because he had been bewitched by the love potion or mupfuhwira by Chimunyu. She even suspected that Chimunyu’s Malawian parents had secretly fed Mukono the tail of a lizard. Lizards love to hang around the walls of thatched huts all day and all night. When a man is fed lizard tail soup, he will behave like a lizard and stay around the village hut next to his wife all day and become a chipotanemadziro, the one who hangs around walls.

But not everyone agreed with Mbuya’s love portion stories about Mukono and his wife Chimunyu. My mother said Mukono had not been bewitched at all. He was just a man in love. Whenever my mother saw Mukono and Chimunyu, she asked them to stop by our homestead and they exchanged salt with a clay pot since my mother was the best pottery maker around. I recall seeing Mukono and Chimunyu sitting on a log next to our hut. Chimunyu’s face was not so scary when you saw her up close. One side of her face had been badly scarred from the fire, forcing one of her eyes to be half closed permanently. Her right cheek was all pink, because the entire black skin layer was gone. Part of her shoulder was also burnt. It must have been a horrific fire in that farm compound. Stealing nervous looks at Chimunyu, we drank tea with sweet potatoes with her and Mukono. Then the two of them continued on their daily business with Mukono in front and Chimunyu following behind. My mother admired them and said they were indeed, like the hangaiwa, those beautiful birds that always fly in pairs.

But times have changed since my grandmother’s days. We have since moved to the city and married in church, promising to love and to behold till death do us part. In marriage, we desperately want to be inseparable, because that is what we expect marriage to be like.

Recently, I saw a video by the singer called Lady B in Chitungwiza. In the video, you see one woman crying because her husband comes home so late. She complains that day after day, she cooks for him and waits. But he does not turn up until well after midnight when she is already in bed. Then he does not even touch the food she has cooked. All he does is jump into bed without explaining where he was, who he was with or what he was doing. In the video, the woman says she no longer wants to be married to such a man. “Handichada, handichada, zvemurume handichada.”

Our grandparents and parents hardly ever divorced unless the woman committed adultery, was a witch or there were no children from the marriage. Although couples did not spend a lot of time together, marriage was for life. Our village neighbours, Mukono and Chimunyu got something right. They loved each other in their own way. Today, some of us could do with whatever medicine these two used to keep each other company all the time. Love portions or mupfuhwira, anyone?

Dr Sekai Nzenza is the Chief Executive Officer of RioZim Foundation.