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“ THESE days, what makes news is violence, tragedy, angry emotions and maybe some African tribesmen jumping up and down with axes threatening to kill each other,” said my cousin Reuben, the one who is visiting from Australia. He said this when we were back in the village last Saturday morning. As usual, Reuben carried his iPad and iPhone in his small back pack. Every day, he populated his Facebook page with photographs from the village, like he was some foreign reporter. He had pictures of people dancing, people engaged in political campaigns, people in church, people singing, eating, laughing, shouting and people just going about their lives as they always do. No violence.

The three of us, Reuben, Piri and I were walking to the monthly Simukai project development meeting at the flat rocks, kuziware. Reuben kept on wondering why the village was so peaceful, as if he expected something to happen. In a jocular manner, Piri said people do not fight around here because the fear of ngozi was still strong.

Back in the days when we were growing up in this village, we feared ngozi, the spirit of a dead person who was murdered, or who died after being wronged by someone or who was neglected by a spouse. That ngozi spirit came back in its own time to cause sudden death, lightning strikes, illnesses, madness or even infertility. My grandmother Mbuya VaMandirowesa used to caution the family against bad behaviour or any form of violence that would result in ngozi. She said if any one of the uncles or nephews murdered someone then a whole herd of cattle and a virgin would be send to the victim’s family as compensation. We grew up with the knowledge that violence was wrong. Not only that, violence was against all the principles of good behaviour and humanness, hunhu or ubuntu.

At the development meeting, Reuben moved a short distance away to take good pictures and film the meeting proceedings. We all sat together on the flat rocks, paziware. There were more than two hundred of us, mostly women. It was still a little cold. As the sun rose higher over the Mbire Mountains, its hazy rays clouding the valley, we gradually took off our jerseys and cardigans. You could hear the birds singing and even interrupting the development speeches.

From this high point of the flat granite rocks, you get a very good view of the Save River valley. Looking south east you see the deep blue rolling hills in the distance stretching all the way to the diamond fields of Marange. Some people say this looks very much like the Rift Valley in East Africa. Except there is not much wild game left, just crocodiles, hippos and fish in the river. Along the river beds, they also say there are masses of gold buried in the sand, blocking the river flow. I sat there; half listening and thinking of all the gold and minerals hidden in the rivers and mountains and in forgotten ancient German mined shafts. Ah, this land called Zimbabwe, despite what it has been through or what they say about it, is a beautiful country. Yakakomborerwa pasi nekudenga.

Sabhuku, our village head, began the development meeting with a prayer. Then we all sang a song. Although we come from various denominations, when it comes to these meetings, we sing the same songs. Sabhuku is an old Anglican with a goatee beard. He wore khaki pants, a matching shirt under an old brown jacket and sandals made from old car tires, manyatera. Sabhuku spoke about good development and how we should all continue to put our heads together peacefully and promote the health of our community because this is what our ancestors expected us to do.

After all the agenda items relating to the school repair, water committee, red spider eating the tomatoes, need for a health centre and the problems with lazy youth smoking home grown mbanje had been discussed, Sabhuku stood up to give concluding remarks. Although this was not a meeting about politics, Sabhuku reminded us that Wednesday, July 31, was Election Day right across Zimbabwe. We all knew that.

With a very high pitched voice, like he was preaching in the Anglican Church, Sabhuku launched into a strong attack against violence. He said violence was not acceptable in this community or in any other community because that was not hunhu, the Shona ethics guiding good behaviour.
“During the liberation war, we saw a lot of violence. It was the war. We do not want that to happen again. We are people, we must behave like people. Ngatiite sevanhu vane hunhu.”

He went on to tell us to go and vote peacefully. The people agreed and clapped hands to him saying, we do not want ngozi in our villages. “To harm, maim or kill someone is not hunhu. Hatidaro.” Sabhuku said. When we shouted in agreement with him, Sabhuku became more animated. He took off his heavy brown jacket, adjusted his Sabhuku badge and said he did not want murderers in his community.

“If you kill someone, where do you get the cows to pay the victim’s family? And these days, where do you get the virgin to pay for compensation?” Everyone laughed and someone from among the men shouted that village virgins had become rare species.

Amidst the laughter, Mai Jekiseni, the secretary of Simukai development project, raised up her hand, asking for permission to speak. Tall, very dark with an ageless beautiful smooth face and renowned for her outspokenness, Mai Jekiseni said, “Pamusoroi vana Baba nana Mai. Excuse me ladies and gentlemen. I stand here in front of you to tell you what most of you already know. The use of girl children to pay for crimes committed by the fathers as compensation to appease the ngozi spirit is now illegal. You will be arrested if you give away your child like that.” She sat down.

There were murmurs of disagreement from the men and also from the older women. So what does the law want us to do, they asked each other. Ngozi is ngozi, it must be repaid by fertility to keep the blood line going, they said. A rugged looking man, whom I immediately recognised as Muchineripi, a guy I went to primary school with, stood up and pointed at the women, accusing them of siding with a Western legal system, forgetting how the elders handled these matters.

“By killing someone, an individual breaks the lineage, the unity and strength of the clan. That can only be resolved with cows and a virgin,” he said. Muchineripi looked very angry. Then he took some time to remind us all about the story of Sachipiri and the murder of Zimunhu, a crime that had happened in the late 1940’s.

When we were growing up here, the story of Zimunhu’s murder by Sachipiri was common knowledge though only whispered in various kitchen huts for years. This story always brought shivers and tears to us when Mbuya, my mother and others talked about it around the fire in hushed tones.

They used the totems of Sachipiri and Zimunhu and not their real names when they spoke of the murder. They said, one day two of Sachipiri brothers got together and sought the advice of a n’anga or traditional healer on how to get rich.

He told them that to get rich, they had to kill someone and take some of his body parts and bury them at the place where they wanted to open a business. The Sachipiri brothers found their victim in a man from Dorowa who happened to have travelled to our side of the river visiting his aunt who was unwell. As he descended down towards the Save river, the brothers pounced and killed him. Vakamuponda.

It was believed that Zimunhu’s body parts somehow helped the older Sachipiri brother to become wealthy. He had cows, goats and sheep that filled the whole school ground. His grinding mill never rested until late at night. He always carried a bag of money around him. He had the biggest harvests.

All along, people did not stop whispering and telling their children that murder was bad. They said one day, Sachipiri was going to pay for his blood tainted wealth. But that would only happen when Zimunhu’s ngozi spirit was ready to seek compensation for his own death.

He was not going to disappear quietly. Then a series of misfortunes started to strike the Sachipiri family. First, Sachipiri’s ten-year old twin daughters were swept away in a flash flood in Chinyika River the very day the rains started in November. We used to herd cattle with them. Then they were gone. Zimunhu’s spirit was back with a vengeance. Sachipiri’s cattle started to disappear, being eaten by leopards and hyenas. Another time, a big flock of his goats broke into a storage room full of maize at St Columbus School. The door closed behind them but they kept on feasting on the maize. Their stomachs were bloated with maize and they could not get out. It was school holidays and nobody knew about the goats. All fifty of them died and people pointed to Zimhundu’s ngozi as the cause.

Then the liberation war came. One night Sachipiri disappeared and was never heard from again. Up to this day, nobody knows who killed him and buried him in a shallow grave, only to be discovered after the war. The misfortunes in Sachipiri’s family did not end. People said a crime did not disappear, mhosva hairovi. Zimhundu’s spirit wanted compensation.

After consulting a traditional healer for advice, the oldest of Sachipiri’s son and the elders then travelled across the Save river and met with Zimunhu’s clan. They confessed what they knew. The Zimunhu elders asked them why they had waited this long. “Did you think this crime would have disappeared, just like that? You took away our blood line, the seed that would have given birth to many children. But we thank you for coming, though you have come late.” They followed the procedure of retribution, forgiveness and reconciliation. A girl called Maggie, Sachipiri’s daughter, who was then 12 or 14 at the time, was given away as a wife to the Zimunhu family. She was accompanied by fifteen heard of cattle.

News came back to say that Maggie was placed in a big compound and treated just like one of the Zimunhu’s children. She went to school and people treated her with deep respect. They called her Maiguru, big mother, the way they would have referred to Zimunhu’s wife if he had lived and married. When she finished Form Four, the elders chose a son from within the family who had just finished his course as an electrician. He agreed to take Maggie as his wife. A cow was given to Maggie’s mother, mombe ye humai, as bride price appreciation for giving birth to Maggie. According to Piri, Maggie is still there. She is a mother of seven and she has a good life with her husband. Agere zvakanaka.

Apart from the Sachipiri crime, our peaceful village equilibrium was only interrupted badly during the liberation war when we saw a lot of violence. Since then, this village and other villages beyond have not seen any major violence, serious assault or murder. Hunhu, the good behaviour deeply rooted in the world of our ancestors and connected to God, Mwari Musikavanhu, still rules this place. Christianity came when hunhu was already here. Because Christianity was not bringing anything totally new or alien to our belief system, we received it. It served to compliment hunhu.

But, times have changed. These days, our people commit crimes everywhere and ngozi compensation is not always the answer to resolve them. Hunhu and the fear of ngozi do not always work. The law will come in to punish the perpetrators of violence. But what do we do when an individual is injured or killed and his blood line gets cut? How shall we restore traditional justice and family harmony without taking away girl children from their homes?

As we walked down the hill going back home, in the heat of the day, Reuben stopped to put away his Ipad and Iphone in his back pack. “I think I am done with village photos. It’s great that there is no violence. Is this normal in Zimbabwe?” he asked. Then Piri addressed him by our totem, the eland. She said, “Mhofu, why do you talk like you did not grow up here? Why don’t you dance to the song that is playing? Tambai rwuri kurira,” she said.

Walking down the hill to the village, we could feel the cool winds of the Nyamavhuvhu season blowing the leaves. Up in the trees, the doves sang. Spring had come to Zimbabwe.

Dr Sekai Nzenza is a writer and cultural critic. She holds a PhD in International Relations and works as a development consultant.