Self-inflicted ‘Wounds’ most painful

At the Bookstore With Elliot Ziwira
AS a surgeon, the artist uses his pen to bisect society, so as to expose the follies and ills inherent in its depths, with the hope of combating them afore they become endemic. Using his experiences as a stethoscope and his inspirational words as the prescription required for possible medication, the competent artist comes to truth’s defence. Such is the role that Jameson Gadzirai plays in “Wounds” (2007).

The wounds that Gadzirai talks of are two-fold; literal and metaphorical.
The literal or physical wounds inflicted on the body, though painful, are not permanent as they heal through the passage of time, leaving only scares as a reminder of the excruciating pain once experienced; but those wounds of the metaphorical kind that burden the heart do not usually heal, no matter what Time brings.

It is these wounds that so much worry the writer as they are destructive, not only to the individual who suffers them, but to the one who inflicts them, as well as the innocent ones who make up the family unit, community and nation. If such kind of wounds are not checked timely, society degenerates into chaos.

Yes, it’s painful to be wounded in the heart and the haemorrhage is difficult to stop as reminders are always thrown one’s way which perforates the wound anew; but one somehow has to learn to forego past pains through forgiving the transgressors.

It may be taxing really, but by forgiving others we will also be releasing ourselves from our inner selves, who refuse to move forward by clinging on to the past. We should all take a cue from Simone de Beauvoir, who once said: “We must not confuse the present with the past. With regard to the past, no further action is possible.”

Hence, by forgiving others’ follies we will also be disentangling ourselves from our own foibles; and it is this that shapes a fruitful future, not only for the individual, but for the family unit, community and nation. It is this rationale that obtains in Gadzirai’s “Wounds”.

Society has a way of inflicting wounds on itself through its expectations from the individual, who somehow escapes from the rather oppressive pathos imposed on him/her. The violent vents that the individual escapes through scald others who in most cases are innocent, and when this happens society becomes the major loser.

Societal ills like witchcraft or the fear of it, barrenness and incest are cultural creations whose wounds hurt not only the individual but an entire community.
Although there are noticeable Mungoshi and Marechera influences, especially on the use of metaphors in highlighting the essence of the family on the individual, Gadzirai’s family and community do not remain alienated or clinging on to hopelessness by seeking solutions from charlatans, like Mungoshi’s, neither is his family perpetually diseased and out of sync with cultural reality like Marechera’s.

Gadzirai’s family is redeemed through the redemption of the individual, which is reflected in communal Nirvana that is collectively sought. The community does not remain burdened by drought, barrenness and disease.

In the sizzling, captivating and revealing offering, the writer collapses sense boundaries through the exploitation of a plethora of images and symbols drawn from the fictional village and town of Ngondi, which can be any village or town in pre-independence and post-independence Zimbabwe.

The juxtaposition of life in the exotic village of Ngondi with that of the town of Ngondi, and the former being conducive for regeneration through exorcism and self-correction, makes the novel a pastoral one. Gadzirai also uniquely fractures the plot into individual episodes which interact and merge into the familial, communal and national discourses.

The fragmented plot is sustained through a narrative technique that combines all the different voices; first, second and third person perspectives, in such a way that draws the reader into the story.

Notwithstanding some minor editorial glitches and narrative inconsistencies in some chapters, as the voices are somehow merged inappropriately, the artist’s technique is top drawer, as it does not only make the story cinematic by effectively tapping into the stream of consciousness; but it also checks on the weaknesses culminating from the use of a single narrative technique.

By allowing the individual characters to speak their minds out without any inhibitions, Gadzirai checks on the limitations of the third person narrator; and the constant shift to the omniscient and omnipresent third person authorial voice, averts artistic self-justification, which is the bane of the first person voice technique.

The novel does not tell an individual’s story since he/she is a product of a society or community; hence the individual psyche is merged with the societal discourse. As the story opens Takundwa, a six-year-old Ngondi boy, narrates their daily escapades at Ngondi River, in one of whose pools Anne, his friend, was taken by a water spirit.

He tells the reader about the serene environs of Ngondi and the village’s expectations about Anne’s disappearance at the pool. The narrative voice, still in the first person, shifts to Adam, Takundwa’s 17 year-old elder brother, who fills us in about their mother, Robina’s death; his fears of witchcraft, his contemplation of leaving home in a desperate attempt to escape from it all.

However, the reader’s anxiety is heightened through adept use of suspense as Robina’s demise is shrouded in mystery until after Tazvitya, her husband, retraces his travails through life, with a father who always thought that he was less of a man than a woman.

The trouble started when Tazvitya decided not to partake in the “Whiteman’s war . . . beyond the seas” because he “could not stand the sight of blood.” Unfortunately, society, in the mould of his father, could not take that lightly, as he tells him: “I called you Tazvitya after your great grandfather who helped Sando build Ngondi. I see you are not worth it. I bred a woman here and you are not worth the member that dangles between your legs.”

It is this chiding that puts the train of events in motion as Tazvitya is determined to prove that he is a man, albeit in a violent way. He vents his ire on his blooming beautiful sister Tsitsi whom he incessantly rapes until she falls pregnant.

Tsitsi suffers silently as society does not take lightly to women who are raped; they are considered loose and seductive. The pregnancy is subsequently forced on her foreign boyfriend Bernard. In a fit of rage, she strangles the child at birth in full view of her mother, sister, Mary and Tazvitya; because she fails to bear the sight of such an abominable incestuous product.

The child’s death does not in the least stun the community but it drives Tazvitya’s father away from home, as he packs his bags and bids farewell; never to return. Tsitsi never recovers from her wounds as her beauty fades, her smiles wane and that caring heart of yore is turned to stone. The affable Robina, Tazvitya’s wife, becomes the innocent pawn in her games of revenge.

She could brutalize her at will, and in the end she poisons her and sadistically, watching her die, she quips: “Whatever did you see in Tazvitya that made you jump into marrying him? You are paying for Tazvitya’s wrongs . . . You were nice and innocent. That was why you had to pay with your life.”

Three days after his wife’s death, the repentant Tazvitya commits suicide; which society frowns on, and his home and livestock are destroyed at the instigation of the hard handed chief, Sando, who takes his three children into custody. Sadly, two of them, Andrew and Adam, die within a couple of months, leaving Takundwa who is taken to Ngondi town to live with his hypocritical and barren aunt, Mary and her husband Tobias, who “remove(s) the stool of other men” at the clinic.

Twelve years on, way after independence, the town of Ngondi is afflicted by “a new disease” and strife; the villagers of Ngondi are reduced to scavengers because of perennial droughts; the pompous chief loses 11 of his 12 wives to the city.

As society seems to be paying for its foibles, Burombo the healer and Father O’Brien, the priest, call for a cleansing ceremony; starting with rituals to bring the spirits of Robina and Tazvitya to the fold.

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