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Isdore Guvamombe-Reflections

Back in my village, in the land of milk, honey and dust or Guruve, elders with cotton tuft hair say, every tree must know its position in the forest.

Here, trees are trees and bushes are bushes, and in that fad, bush shrubbery cannot claim to be big trees. Their time to become trees will come, that is if fate does not make them be visited by a man with an axe.

Suffice it to say, a tree is not a forest.

Apparently, Oliver Mtukudzi’s (MHSRIP) roots are in Guruve, and his main family still clusters in a village in Nyangavi, close to where the Shinje River pours into Dande River, hence his Dande-mania. “Ndafunga Dande!” Madziva, where his remains are entombed, was his second home.

It is very interesting how, in the past few days, a storm brewed in a tea-cup, when Tuku Music, represented by his surviving spouse, Daisy, had a tiff with step-daughter Selmor over a binge arranged to commemorate Tuku’s life in symphony. Well, the tiff is unfortunate.

This villager, the son of a peasant, followed the debate with great trepidation.

There are many who sided with Selmor, while a few others sided with Daisy. As it turned out, much to my chagrin, those who sided with Selmor, simply did so, because she is Tuku’s daughter and deserves to participate at her father’s commemorative gig. But that alone is not enough. Simply put, being Tuku’s daughter is not enough. She needs to be a family player.

Allow me dear reader, to take a dive into the foggy waters.

In the first place, Selmor must know her position in the family. She is a daughter. A married one, for that matter and not a “returnee soldier” as street lingua franca puts it in reference to those ladies who divorce and return home.

Selmor should position herself as a family member, knowing that she is married elsewhere where she has obligations as a mother and daughter-in-law.

Daisy was not Tuku’s girlfriend. She was a wife for decades. Tuku died with Daisy on his side. She went through the rough turf of nursing a husband wasting away to death. That is not a joke.

To respect the vows she made on their wedding day, Daisy stood steadfastly with Tuku, until he breathed his last.

Daisy Mtukudzi

Does any Tuku Music follower remember the song “Svovi Yangu” and for the avoidance of doubt, part of the lyrics go, “Daisy wazadzisa hupenyu hwangu hwanga huri gasva… ndiwe mbabvu yangu, ndiwe,.. ndiwe svovi yangu, ndiwe…”

Waxing lyrical about Daisy, here Tuku, no doubt, expresses his love and gratitude to Daisy whom he declares, has filled the gap he brought her into the family for.

But wait a minute, Tuku has another song, “Hazvirevi Rudo Handina”, where Selmor fits into the cast, if we assume it because she was sung by name. “Takapesana pamhararano… Mai vaiva mwana mudiki, ini ndakanga ndichiri mudiki… hazvirevi rudo handina mwanangu. Rudo ndinarwo mwanangu…’’

This to me, was Tuku’s disclaimer that could fit into the matrix of his divorce with Selmor’s mother and his subsequent unease relationship with children born in that previous marriage. It is in the public domain that Tuku had an unease relationship with Selmor.

Suppose we bring in the film “Neria” into the fray. Does it ring a message for Daisy? Did Selmor follow her father’s spirited effort to drive home what widows go through? And, where does it leave us as a nation?

In “Neria”, Tuku aptly captures and emotionally so, the trials and tribulations of widows. Daisy is a widow, but the cowls on social media forgot that she is a widow trying to remember, in the best of all ways, her husband in music and dance. Why can’t we spare a thought for the widow?

She has not stopped Selmor from using Tuku’s music to her benefit. She has not stopped Selmor from getting trinkets; we all know she got nice “feet”, a Range Rover.

Music and dance was Tuku’s life.

As we scrunch into the murky waters of this issue, it is critical to remember that, in the first place, Selmor, who is a core-beneficiary of her father’s music, which she plays at her gigs without a problem, did not think of having a commemorative bash for her legendary father.  Daisy did and planned for it. She remembered her husband and should be applauded for it.

Selmor is now latching on Daisy’s binge and she should graciously thank Daisy for planning it.

Whatever argument Selmor proffers does not hold water. She did not plan anything, albeit enjoying the benefits of the music and fame, not only for herself but for her husband, children and beyond.

Selmor deserves to plan her own gig, should she feel that she has the capacity and can do better than Daisy.

Selmor Mtukudzi

This villager is a football fan too, and the Daisy-Selmor tiff reminds the village boy of the year of Zimbabwe national coach, Reinhard Fabisch’s tiff with Moses Chunga.

It ended with a show off at Rufaro Stadium, the ceremonial home of football. The fans got the answers in situ.

In that vein, if Selmor has other ideas, she should run her own show for her father. We can see who does it better. That option is just a provocation. It is not necessary. The Tuku family must unite and grow together. Social media should not split the family. It must build it by standing firm with our traditional family ethos.

As we debate, pack or unpack the tiff between Selmor and Daisy, we should also understand that Tuku himself was a traditional man. He ran his family by the traditional norms and at one stage when he had issues with Selmor, he refused to be drawn into a fight with her.

Tuku stuck to the appropriate African registers, that determine how we relate and refused to belittle himself so as to square off with Selmor.

He was the father and not Selmor’s mate. Daisy is a mother and she should behave as one. She must occupy her position. She is a mother, and not Selmor’s mate.

Selmor is a daughter. She must be accorded her position and she should also accord Daisy her position as the matriarch. Social space and appropriate registers should be followed. They were carefully crafted by those who saw the virginity of the sun. And indeed they work.

Like the elders led by Karitundundu, the ageless village autochthone, would put it; every tree must know its position in the forest. Indeed, a tree is not a forest.

I chug my coke and return to the village, for more wisdom.