Elliot Ziwira @The Bookstore
THE controversial and contradictory nature of liberation struggles across Africa in general, and Southern Rhodesia in particular, makes the reading of Nyamfukudza’s hero in “The Non-Believer’s Journey”(1980), evocative, revealing and thought-provoking, especially when read against the backdrop of the struggle between the individual and the collective.

Through Sam Mapfeka’s depiction, Nyamfukudza’s folly, so it appears, is that his “vision of national patriotic culture in Zimbabwean liberation struggle is, therefore, conformist and retrogressive. He downplays the positive role of a national patriotic culture during national struggles”, (Mandove, 2017:191).This rationale also finds base in Zhuwarara (2001:134), whose reading of “The Non-Believer’s Journey” is that it is informed by “the subversion of the goals of liberation struggles across Africa that attained independence ahead of Zimbabwe”.

Questions still abound, however, chief among them, being; was the liberation struggle a bed of roses? Is the individual simply a pawn in a Manichean world, which looks at issues through binary lenses? Are the reasons for joining the liberation struggle uniform?

Looking at events obtaining on the ground almost 38 years after independence, can it be difficult to vindicate Nyamfukudza as a prophet, which is one of the roles of an artiste?

“The Non-Believer’s Journey” (1980) questions the essence of nationalist culture vis-à-vis individual aspirations in the same way that Alexander Kanengoni’s “Echoing Silences” (1997), Shimmer Chinodya’s “Harvest of Thorns” (1989) and “Silent Journey from the East”(1989) by Isheunesu Valentine Mazorodze, do.

Sam’s character in a way can be likened to Pepetela’s Fearless in “Mayombe” (1980), who despite being a revolutionary, questions the essence of nationalist ideology and the place the individual in such a space occupies.

Though Nyamfukudza fits into Generation Two of Zimbabwean writers as categorised by Viet-Wild (1993), to call him “lost”, or one who retreats into “self-effacing nothingness”, (Mandove, 2017), risks limiting the role of the artiste to a bogey man.

There is a whole outlook to teaching that Nyamfukudza subtly infers, albeit unconsciously. Although teaching takes a multiplicity of forms, it should be divorced from individual intonations, as it hinges on societal expectations, for this is what gives the individual bearings into the future. Though scepticism may seem to be the bane of humanity, especially when it is exposed through supposedly torch bearers like artistes, it is Nyamfukudza’s forte.

Taking caution, lest he be drawn into the essence of heroism, which finds glory in many a writer’s repertoire, Nyamfukudza uses a rather anti-hero in “The Non-Believer’s Journey”, as he seeks to make his kindred understand the futility of it all. He follows up on the trait in “Aftermaths” (1984), especially in the stories “Boots”, “Opting Out”, “Aftermaths” and “Settlers”.

Set in the pre-independence era, which naturally could have seen him captivated in the euphoria of the liberation struggle, culminating in inevitable and sweet freedom, the writer decides against swallowing it wholesome. Using Sam, a degreed, outspoken, charismatic and atheistic teacher, who can be read as Nyamfukudza himself, the writer pokes at the vanity of heroism.

At the roadblock Sam exposes the bane of a nationalist culture premised on blind hope, where the collective voice finds solace in numbers, yet as individuals they fail to locate their voices.

Yes, as an educated African he is exempted from certain restrictive machinations of the racist Smith government, which in a way gives his voice articulation as is evident in his dialogue with the white soldier, but his questioning of the status quo remains valid. To him the white soldier, like the guerillas, is in the war for different reasons; many of which are devoid of a nationalistic cause.

Like Theory in “Mayombe” (1980), he is not blind to oppressive white apparatus that relegated his people to the periphery of existence, but he represents that third voice, which advocates the creation of space for “maybe”, instead of “either” “or”.

Through dialogue and interior monologue, Sam abets the understanding of the power politics at play on either side of the tussling in the liberation struggle. The Rhodesian soldier’s individualistic nature is exposed as he is driven by jealousy and not collectivism, as the others do not join him against Sam, whom they see as harmless. Even black soldiers among the group are said to be unmoved by the encounter, because the young soldier is not their leader.

The white soldier sees Sam as an enemy and potential sponsor of terrorism because he earns more money than him, not because he is black.

As is evident in Alexander Kanengoni’s “Echoing Silences” (1997), George Orwell’s “Animal Farm” (1945) and Charles Mungoshi’s “Waiting for the Rain” (1975), Nyamfukudza is contemptuous of heroism; that kind of heroism one comes across in Thomas Bvuma’s “Every Stone That Turns” (1997).

His giving Sam a voice and ability to analyse life’s complexities, and determining what is right for him, expresses liberty and freedom of communication; be it interpersonal or intra-personal. But the question that beckons is in determining whether freedom is a right or a privilege; a question that rarely finds straight answers in post-colonial societies.

Sam refutes the notion that being a man means fighting not only for one’s principles, but defending others’ as well, like the unnamed narrator in “Opting Out”, he decides that politics is not his thing and opts out. He really cannot be blamed for making such a decision as an individual, notwithstanding the consequences.

As a character he may be said to be aloof, arrogant, impatient and pessimistic as is evident at the roadblock and the pungwe, for he seems to throw caution to the wind, but such traits are not akin to lack of patriotism, because they are simply individual traits; and fiction as a reflection of life is awash with such characters.

He creates both urgency and agency, which society desperately needs, because it is not Western education that changes him, as we are told that even as a child he would question the authenticity of his grandmother’s folk stories.

Refusing to be drawn into hobnobbing with a mere reverie of things that seem to be, against what is hoped, Sam persistently articulates his lack of belief in bruised heroism.

He is convinced that Africans should fight for their liberation for them to be free from the colonial yoke of oppression and its subtle apparatus of subjugation, but he is not convinced that freedom is collective, because the political leaders will eventually hijack the revolution, and that nothing much will change. Here he shares Fearless’ viewpoint in “Mayombe”(1980).

However, unlike Fearless, who fights with all his heart for the nation and its national ethos as a liberation soldier, despite his lack of belief in ideological dogma, Sam’s idea of freedom is rather individualistic, which makes it fragile and selfish as it is divorced from the communal nature of suffering, which initiates universal suffrage as enshrined in Kwame Nkrumah’s Conciencism.

Sam’s thoughts betray an individual in turmoil akin to what Du Bois (1903) calls “dual consciousness”, yet his words are incisive, candid and as sharp as a razor blade; and his actions reveal a pugnaciousness that borders on irrationality. His major weakness, therefore, remains his haste in decision; he puts his mouth where silence could do, resorts to silence where words would do, and engages in combat when the rational thing to do is to hold his horses.

At the pungwe, he blunders, stutters and wilts inside, unable to put meaning to the idea of collective suffering.

Nyamfukudza, like Pepetela, is conscious of the tragedy that Africa faces during and after independence, hence, like Pepetela, he checks on the growth of dissent through such insightful characters in the mould of Sam and Fearless, (Mayombe). Such voices should be allowed to be heard, but are robbed of life to give a chance to the national patriotic culture.

Sam becomes an enemy not only to the whites, who do not trust him, but to his people, who are jealous of him; and also do not trust him. The guerilla commander tells him: “I know all about you educated people! You always have a clever answer all the time! But you never do anything!” (Nyamfukudza: 110).

Notwithstanding his incredulous nature, Sam’s foresight and rather prophetic vision on neo-colonialism, points to the vanity of politics in general and pertinently the futility of heroism as is aptly captured in the following: “If we escape political enslavement, they won’t mind so much, as long as we take good care of their invested monies, go on working for them for peanuts, exporting all the profits to them.”

Like Mwireri WaMukirai in Ngugi wa Thiong’o’s “Devil on the Cross” (1983), the protagonist condemns such an arrangement with the contempt it deserves and he openly speaks of it, in the same way that Nkrumah philosophically does.

Unfortunately, like Mwireri waMukirai in “Devil on the Cross” Sam meets his Waterloo. He should have known like Benjamin in “Animal Farm” (1945) that sometimes silence makes the loudest noise; it really echoes, as is metaphorically apt in Kanengoni’s “Echoing Silences” (1997).

Sam espies a hijacked revolution in his mind’s eye; haunted by ethnic rivalry, and petty personal tiffs, and decides to distance himself from it, so that he would die “a worthwhile death”, choosing his “own way of going”, letting “them sort out their problems first before they call on (him) to die for their rivalries.”

His apt dismissal of heroism premised on the communal nature of burden embraced by Ayi Kwei Armah in “Two Thousand Seasons” (1973) proves to be his demise as he is faced with the reality of having to see the freedom fighters first hand. As someone from the city and with the means — both financial and mental — he has to play his role like everyone else by helping the guerillas with medical equipment.

Really? He finds this hard to swallow as he feels that he should be allowed to exercise his right of refusal. Sam tells the guerilla leader that he has made his choice to join the liberation struggle, so he has to respect his decision not to join as well because he has “responsibilities”.

But in Manichean world can one afford to sit on the fence for long? As the protagonist’s adamant resolve excites the beast in him, his vulnerability is exposed when he bellows in retaliation, and it is this that infuriates the darkness in the guerilla commander, who sends him to total silence forever; childless and single. Ironically, the sad turn of events, points to the bane of heroism and the triumph of silence; total silence.

Sam, probably, could have swallowed his pride and allowed it to pass, and the commander could also have kept his cool for progress’ sake, but man sometimes has a vain belief that he is in control of himself, whereas in actual fact he isn’t. He is mere a fly caught up in the labyrinthine web of his existence, which he neither creates nor understands.

The guerilla commander’s resolve to settle scores violently with one labelled a sell-out for merely deciding to sit on the fence and questioning certain aspects of collective suffering, raises questions on the role of the gun in the liberation struggle. The gun, a symbol of liberation, can also be read as a weapon to silence dissent and consolidate power; and power is scantly collective.

You Might Also Like

Comments

Take our Survey

We value your opinion! Take a moment to complete our survey