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Sekai Nzenza On Wednesday
In a Ugandan Valentine’s Day video clip circulating on WhatsApp, a well-dressed messenger arrives at a big door carrying a present, red flowers and a card. He knocks and a man dressed casually in shorts and an open short-sleeved shirt revealing a gold chain quickly opens the door.

The messenger says he is looking for Mr Simon. “Yes, I am Mr Simon, who do you think I am?”

The messenger says the present is from Mr Simon’s girlfriend. But there are specific instructions; Mr Simon must give the name of the girlfriend to the messenger before accepting the present.

Mr Simon looks puzzled. He mentions one girl’s name and the messenger says no, wrong one. Then Mr Simon mentions several names including names like Susan, Mable, Joy, Malaika and others. But the messenger still says no.

These names are all wrong and already, Mr Simon has exceeded the two names he was expected to have given. Mr Simon then begs and says that he is a man and surely the messenger, being a brother, should understand that and help him identify the name of his girlfriend. Was she short, tall, fat, light skinned or dark skinned?

Speaking softly but firmly, the messenger says his company’s rules of professionalism and ethics do not allow him to reveal the name to Mr Simon.

“Don’t you know what your girlfriend looks like?” asks the messenger as he walks away with the Valentine present and flowers. Mr Simon is angry. He shouts back saying, “Go, go away with your gifts!” End of video clip.

I received this video clip from my cousin Reuben. He said such a video clip only applies to African men.

“African humour, I tell you,” he said, as if other cultures do not have men who have various women that they call girlfriends.

“But I do not want a present, especially one with no name of the sender on it. I just want meaningful love poetry on Valentine’s Day. Hopefully, I can get this from my wife,” Reuben said.

We were sitting in a Harare café, drinking coffee and mineral water while dreaming of past and present romance.

Yesterday, it was Valentine’s Day and the whole of this week, we should feel loved and wanted. In return, we must also give love and warmth to someone through presents, cards or just a message to say I love you or something warm like that. That is what Valentine is all about, pachirungu, in the Western sense.

“Loving the way we did in the village is so different to the loving we do now. WhatsApp messages through the phone take away the real meaning of love,” Rueben said. But I half listened to him because I was checking for messages on my phone.

My niece Shamiso had sent a Christian message about Jesus and love. Her husband Philemon sent one with these lyrics: “Speak softly. Tell me how much you love me. Explain your love to me, and then I know, I have found complete love.”

Another old friend called Temba, son of Muzorori & Sons Stores, sent a letter written in what we used to call ShoEnglish, or Shona English.

It read: “The Green Land of love, P.O. Box when we meet, there will be no grass left. My dearest Chocolate, my ruva remoyo wangu, my love forever. When you are not there, I do not eat.”

I sent a text back to him saying all I needed was an old love song from the village. Temba said he had lost touch with old songs. Temba has been living in America for more than 25 years. “No wonder his jokes are old,” said Reuben, laughing in hysteria.

We decided to send a nice romantic song to Temba, a song that would make him think of the days we played music in his father’s shop and also the time when we moved to Harare during the liberation war.

Reuben found the lyrics of Murambinda, one of the most romantic songs written and sung by Paul Mpofu and Zambuko. Translation will not do any justice to this song.

Mpofu used the jiti style drumming as he told the story of bringing his beloved woman all the way from his village in Murambinda to the big city of Harare. Mpofu warns a friend to stay away from his loved one and threatens to fight hard and keep his woman’s love to himself. Here is the short version of this romantic Shona classic:

Ndakabva naye kure kuye kwaMurambinda

Kuuya Harare ndichiti ndamuwana

Ndichiti ndamuwana achandichengeta

Ndichiti ndavawana amai vepamba

Iwe shamwari yangu watanga ruchiva

Mangwana, mangwana uri pamba pangu

Zuva rega-rega unouya wakapfeka

zvipfeko zvakanaka kuti uonekere

Mira ndikuyambire shamwari yangu

Wangu ukamuzembera

Ukamuzembera tinoburana!

Chikomba ndakuverengera

Murume wangu

Chikomba ndakuverengera

Ndanzwa ngoma kutapira

Huchi hunobva kuZambuko

Zambuko Neria, Kutapira Neria

Temba wrote back to say that he recalled Murambinda and longed for a poem, written or recited to him in Shona. He wanted to dream of the days when we used to live in the village and we saw young men sing the lyrics of love deeply rooted in nature, the moon, the stars, the sound of doves, and the song of frogs after the rains.

Like me, he also wanted to recall a time in February when it used to rain a lot and we ate plenty of roasted corn and mangoes. In those days, we did not know about Valentine’s Day. Love and marriage was deeply connected and rooted in the respect of family relationships and totems.

Long before we knew about Valentine’s Day, we had a poetic language for expressing genuine sentiments of appreciation and gratitude for a job or an act done by a husband or a wife. In those days, praise poetry, detembo, was an expression of love and affection. It was a different kind of village love and romance.

My early observations of love were based on the romance between Lovemore and his girlfriend Nkazana. They fell in love when we were herding cattle and goats. Lovemore made beautiful intricate grass bracelets and a bark and sisal whip, chamboko, for Nkazana.

They would always drive their cattle away from everyone else. In the late afternoon, when their cattle were full and no longer wandering around to graze, we saw Nkazana and Lovemore lying a little too close together on her cloth under the muchakata tree. I still remember how happy and content they looked, even though they were too young to look like that.

When the war came we moved to Salisbury and settled in a two bedroomed flat in Glen Norah B. During that time, we listened to romantic songs and discovered the romance that came on Valentine’s Day. Educated boys bought balloons, red flowers and teddy bears for their girlfriends.

I recall that one day, in February after independence, a card arrived at our flat with the words “Happy Valentine’s my love.” It was a big card, with padded stuffing, a picture of a big red rose and a European couple holding hands in the middle of the heart.

When we opened the card, it was written: “I love you. Yours Forever, Your Valentine”. There was no real hand written signature. My sister Charity claimed the card as hers.

Paida did, too. I claimed the Valentine card as well, hoping it was from Brother Jerry, the guy with an Afro who sang in the youth choir at the Assemblies of God Church in Lusaka.

Brother Jerry quoted so many Bible verses using an American accent without ever having been to America. But the card was not mine. We never knew whose card it was. For months, the card sat on top of the display cabinet and we admired it and dreamt of love on Valentine’s Day.

“I feel sorry for the girl who sent the Valentine’s present to Mr Simon in the Ugandan video clip,” I said. Reuben laughed and said, “But why should a girl play such a trick on a guy? If you love a guy, just love him. Why do you want to look for other women in his life? Ukatsvaga makudo mugomo uno awana. (If you go looking for baboons in the mountains, you will find them).”

“Meaning what?” I asked him. Sometimes, this cousin of mine behaves like he is not married.

Reuben took a long pause. Then he said, “Valentine’s Day should be a confirmation and celebration of love. We can celebrate it by sending love poetry, sharing food or drink, dancing or even sending presents and flowers to the loved one. Simple as that.”

Dr Sekai Nzenza is a writer and cultural critic.