Isdore Guvamombe Reflections
Back in the village, in the land of milk, honey and dust or Guruve two-and-a half decades are equivalent to a century, especially if you use your fingers to count the moons that have risen and set, the sun, the stars and every silhouette horizon you have come across. Well, this villager, the son of a peasant, last week went to a reunion of old students of Nenguwo Mission, that oasis of knowledge, affectionately known by its legion of former students as Waddilove Institute.

Don’t ask how this villager, left cattle-herding in Guruve for education at Waddilove. It is a narrative for another day. In fact, this villager only did Advanced Level at Waddilove.

I tell you what this villager saw was amazing so much that even the village elders, the ageless autochthons of wisdom and knowledge, would have turned green with a combination of envy, awe and disbelief. After two-and-half decades, we met, yonder in Glen Norah at JT Nightclub, a very befitting venue for former students, sealed off the marauding ghetto eyes, all for our safety and exclusivity. One-by-one, former students trickled in in various shapes and style, until it was full house.

Each one of us was a ghostly figure of his past posture as a student. Spike hair has now turned into white cotton tuft, youthful faces into wrinkled stone-hard faces, puberty chins into wire-brush beard and spindly match-stick legs into bloated and muscular poles, supporting huge bodies.

The ladies came, in colourful plumage, their former thin bodies now transformed into huge onion-shaped figures, their hairstyles sometimes wild, sometimes Eurocentric and at times African. It was a rare spectacle. A few others maintained their pencil-slim bodies.

This villager sat there, on a high chair, watching perfect theatrics in a reality show, linking the old school faces to the new mature faces. The foundation on the ladies faces, the make-up that hid a scullery of pimples and scars, the hair styles that hid the cotton tuft hair and all, answered the call of music, old music, generational music, rhythmic aura.

Then the music- twing-twang of the guitars, the shifting tapestry vocals and percussion, called some of them on stage, backed by one or two sips of the wise waters. It rekindled school days. The Saturday entertainment at Waddilove, underpinned by the ephemeral Dark Corner, the ceremonial spot of student courtship.

Of course, that Dark Corner, yes that Dark Corner, was a quiet place and has remained quiet and mum until today. The Dark Corner has a big calm and composed memory, it is witnessed many fake courtships, many real ones that blossomed into marriages and others that just were one night stints. But it remains mum. Silent, unperturbed, cool as a cucumber. The Dark Corner! Back to the reunion, this villager was amazed by the level of love and respect. The level of happiness. The reunion momentarily brought gross happiness. It was all smiles. Dancing, imbibing, gyrating, eating and of course, discourse.

Those who did not come, have no one but themselves to blame. The full import of it is that we were able in our broad totality to identify which fields and which influential positions we occupy and that was a starting point for future synergies.

It brought unity of purpose, respect for each other and, intimately and ultimately, frank discourse on who can help with what. Respect, in particular, is sacrosanct!

Reunions by their nature are not about past dates or places to settle old scores. Of course in the discourse one could pick who belonged to which political ideology and who has not changed since school days. The stupid among us will always remain with us into old age until the Maker calls them to Heaven or Hell or simply to that anthill in the village. The good and thinking ones will always remain with us too.

A school by its nature brings together the good, the sheepish, the silly and stupid ones together, for, they all need education. A reunion therefore becomes a reincarnation of school days, same people but at a different age. Same people but grey haired all over.

Same people but more mature.

It is fact not fiction that every school is like a jungle, all animals are found.

There is the rhino, forever charging at others, albeit their being innocent. There is the elephant forever the big brothers and disrespectful of others. There is the lion, the super predator, looking for a kill everyday. Then there is the frog, ugly even under cosmetics and forever jumping from one place to the other, but gaining nothing.

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