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Isdore  Guvamombe Reflections
Under the blistering mid-morning heat, I set off herding cattle towards the bend on Mupinge River — aptly named Gonyo, the Korekore dialect for a bend. My bare feet and legs caked with knee-high cow dung paste, acquired from entering the kraal to drive out cattle, themselves the beasts that endured long nights

in knee high dung and mud paste. It was towards the end of the rainy season and the kraal was a spectacular rut of cow dung paste. White worms and maggots frolicked in the paste, but they never harmed this villager. Flies hovered and somersaulted, unabated.

Gonyo was sacred and scary grazing pasture but I had to herd cattle. Like any boy of his age, this villager had a catapult round his neck and a small axe in one hand. Three dogs followed and were handy security. The cattle were fat and looking good. The riverine was thick and at times lions were spotted there. But the belief was that they were not real lions but the spirit mediums that manifested themselves through the lions. Mhondoro! They never ate cattle or humans unless you broke taboos.

Karitundundu, the ageless autochthon of wisdom and knowledge had set simple rules. Once you followed those and avoided breaking taboos, you were safe.
As this villager drove the cattle deeper and deeper into Gonyo, there was the timid smell of rapoko. Across the river were distant clanging bells from cattle. The bell sound was different from that of our cattle. It was hard, to keep the eye on the cattle. If the villager lost one beast, that night hell would break loose.

Grandfather never wanted that kind of nonsense.
By the river the cattle suddenly mixed. The huge bulls sized each other up, sniffing at the behinds of the cows, mooing and spattering dung. Small bulls, the teaser bulls, mooed, jumped and smashed bushes with their small horns. They fought anthills as mock enemies, spattered dung and egged the big ones to fight. They were urging the two huge bulls to fight.

Alexio was herding the other cattle and typical of the mantra of that time, he wanted his bull to fight this villager’s bull. Both bulls were equ0ally fit, stubborn and stout. Eventually the big sight started. At some stage the horns seemed to have been used to breaking point. There was pushing and knocking on horns. It was a big fight. Alexio cheered on as this villager’s bull looked cornered for a while. Somehow it recovered, rather miraculously and pushed harder, delivering a head butt, a horn, another head butt, a left horn, right horn … combination, left horn, right horn, then another combination and Alexio’s bull took to its heels. The fight was over.

Unbeknown to this villager, more boys from Alexio’s village had arrived. They equally enjoyed the bull fight, albeit from a distance. After the bull fight they closed in and started shouting. “The bull fight is over what about the owners?” They turned to this villager, Your bull has won, but you will not win a fight against Alexio! Will you?”

Naturally there had been a grudge between grandfather on one side of the Mupinge River and Alexio’s father on the other. Grandfather was by far known as a calm, composed, calculative and successful farmer. Alexio’s father was known as drunkard and lazy man who survived on stealing firewood from grandfather and selling to teachers at the school. By that token and by the bulls’ fight, there was a cause to fight for.

Takawira, the eldest of the boys from the village, was very fast in organising the fight. Using his two hands he moulded two sets of breasts on the ground, suing sand. “Iwe zamu ramai vako (your mother’s breast) and iwe zamu ramai vako.” We used our feet to kick the mounds and the fight exploded. It is difficult to describe your own fight. But within moments, this villager had floored Alexio. How? Up to now the villager has no clue. All this villager knows is throwing around punches and kicks with reckless abandon. Alexio’s young brother joined in but Takwaria would have none of it. It was enough.

Days later, this villager heard that he had a new nickname, the Ultimate Warrior. This villager had to travel a long distance the next Saturday to watch wrestling from a small black and white TV set in Museka to find out who the Ultimate Warrior was. The Ultimate Warrior!