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Elliot Ziwira Senior Writer

This is one of a series of articles on talent that came out of Glen Norah, cutting across every spectrum of human endeavour.

The glen, is indeed rich. Such wealth that inspires generations of those of us whose hearts remain ensconced in the ghetto of our dreams.

See, some feelings just refuse to go; that resonating feeling you once had when papa just materialised from nowhere Superman style, when you had just handed your coins to the cashier in exchange for buns, majipe (fresh chips), starfish, fried tongue or crumbs (a mixture of pieces of this and that) kwaChikuhwa or kwaNyashanu.

And then? You hear young Ezekiel Mphahlele’s voice asking his uncle in “Down Second Avenue” (1959). And then you knew Dawson could have been right about “Disaster at Level 12” after all, especially so when of late coins at home had suddenly acquired the curious habit of disappearing. Valuable kosher coins, not maZuda (worthless foreign money as we used to call it). Of course, there were other ways of chancing on a handful of coins, but you could not possibly tell pops that you had a good day at chigoza (a form of gambling) or Crazy Eights, just as you couldn’t explain to dearie mummy why all of a sudden all your shirts were button-less.

So you had to cook up a story fast before an average person could spell out “L-I-A-R”. Something like, “Sekuru Godhi was here, and he said hi. He left me some money!” You would effortlessly tell an untruth, knowing that Sekuru Godhi, pops’ much-loved brother-in-law could get away with anything. By the time he would show up, the story would have been forgotten.

Gosh, those buns ekwaChikuhwa, were just something else. Am still to excite my taste buds with buns with a remote semblance of those dear Mr Chikuhwa’s recipe produced. Eish, am I salivating? Ooh no! Those buns, those buuuuunnns, impossible! I just feel like singing. Not these light, sweetened buns we are made to endure these days — all risen like chimupotohai and no substance.

Well, the beautiful valley gave us more than our fair share of gifts, I guess. Like I alluded to in our previous engagements, secondary school disconnected us a bit as some of us would go to boarding schools, or former Group A schools, and others would go to so-called Group B schools. Western forms of education would further separate us at A-Level, and careers placed a wedge among us as life’s deck dealt us different cards. But, you see, every hand is equally a winner as a loser (it all depends on how one plays the cards), so the ghetto remained, and still remains our link.

As we chased the plastic balls of our formative years, soccer players, sports administrators, legal minds, captains of industry, journalists, politicians, doctors, accountants, academics, models and entertainers among other professionals, were being honed for the future good of the Motherland.

Administrators

Our hood is home to such luminary sports administrators like Gerald Maguranyanga (former Warriors and Mighty Warriors fitness trainer), Milton Nyamadzawo (ex-team manager of Mwana Africa Football Club), Joel Serengedo (Shooting Stars boss) and Dyson Dzapasi (soccer talent scout now based in the UK). Had it not been that I have dwelt more on soccer already, I would have given you my personal relationships with them. Am trying to be space conscious, but maybe I should briefly tell you a bit about Nyamadzawo, I feel I should.

Nyamadzawo, “Midza”, as we affectionately call him, lived in Glen Norah B, kuMushayabhande, a gaze away from Ruvheneko Primary School, which he attended for his primary education. He lived in the same area with Joel Serengedo. A close friend of mine, Nyamadzawo and I were classmates at Glen Norah High 1. We would literally go our separate ways at A-Level. He would go to Harare High, and I to Oriel Boys School.

Always passionate about soccer and people issues, Nyamadzawo pursued a career in human resources, the reason why he ended up at Freda Rebecca Gold Mine, the owners of Mwana Africa Football Club (it was in the Premier Soccer League then). The gods directed the human resources and labour law guru to an internationally-acclaimed educational books publisher, which saw him working briefly in South Africa before moving to the United Kingdom where he is now based.

We come a long way, Milton and I. One Saturday morning when our first child (Lin and I), Tinotenda was about seven-months-old, we paid Milton and his wife, Linda, a visit at the Nyamadzawos family home in Glen Norah B. He was working at Solid Insurance as a human resources (personnel) manager then. It was such a wonderful occasion; quite memorable with our Tino bubbling as always. Milton and his wife then accompanied us to paMapuranga where we got a lift home kuChitubu. We could have walked back home, the four of us, as we used to do, but it was a bit late.

When we got home, I helped Lin to unstrap the child from her back, and to our horror, we realised that our Tino (the sleeping beauty as our friends called him) had passed on; just like that. Young as we were (Lin was barely 18), we really could not tell how it happened. Born a pre-term baby, Tino had just been diagnosed with a heart ailment. Doctors said he had a hole in his heart, but he couldn’t be operated on before turning 18 months. He was too young, they said, so they prescribed a certain drug, digoxin, which, however, was not locally available. We tried all we could, but we could not get the drug. But at seven months, was he also not too young to cross to the other side of life?

Milton was devastated, his wife Linda (our sweethearts are namesakes), was depressed. His parents were dumbfounded. As for us, no words can capture the feeling. Like the good friend he has always been, he took over all the funeral expenses. Well, I did not want to burden you with this sad occasion, gentle friend, countryman and kinsman, seeing that we are meant to be celebrating, but you see, some feelings, are not meant to be subdued. Some stories refuse to remain hidden; they simply escape from the dark recesses of the soul where we try to confine them in.

Well, you know what they say about music? Music is food to the soul, no matter the situation, which takes us to the lyrical talent that emerged from our hood.

Music

There is a popular song released in 1984 by the Marxist Brothers. It should be “Denda” which had the following lines:

Mai vaJulie munoendepiko?

Hamuzivi here kuti chitima chakafa?

Ndinoenda kumusha,

Kwedu kuShurugwi

Ndakanzwa kuti mbuya vanorwara nemoyo

Denda irori, denda here

Denda rakatora vasekuru . . .

The song was a hit. The Chimbetu siblings, Simon and Naison were known as the Marxist Brothers then. In the same year that the song was released, 1984, Simon joined the hood, through acquisition of property. He bought a house kuma48, kumaline kwemaRasta, Frank, Paul (my quiet friend, BaTina) and Bonnie, from one Onismo Tazvitya Muzangaza for $7 000. The late Dendera Kings frontman’s siblings Allan and Briam would at some point lived with him at the house. Sulu also grew up in the hood.

When music was still therapeutic to the soul, when the studio was sacred, and not just a walk-in mall where one would go in, and 10 minutes later comes out with a master copy to this genre of disorganised sound or the other, there was a group known as the Bhundu Boys. Their music was a combination of Chimurenga and American rock and roll with a tinge of disco, pop and country. The genre would later be known as Jit.

Formed in 1980, the immensely talented group comprised guitarist Rise Kagona, Biggie Tembo (singer and guitarist), bassist David Mankaba, drummer Kenny Chitsvatsva, and keyboardist Shakespeare Kangwena. The outfit was the first Zimbabwean group to play in Europe after landing at Gatwick in May 1986. They serenaded 240 000 fans over three nights in Wembley, and supported Madonna in 1987. Some of their hit songs are “Simbimbino”, “Hatisi Tose”, “Babamunini Francis” and “Kuroja Chete”. Gosh, what’s this music now playing in my ears: Kuburika ndoburika mwanangu, asi kuti baba vako/hona vakandicherera gomba mumunda/Simbimbino wee, Simbimbinho wee, Siiimbimbinoo weeee.

There was a house we knew belonged to the Bhundu Boys kuma18, close to Shiriyedenga Primary School, and a stone’s throw away from Chikomo Chembira, not so sure who really owned it. The late Chamu Mangudi, also from the hood, would later join the group as a keyboardist.

Sadly, Biggie Tembo hanged himself in a psychiatric hospital in 1995, and his fellow band mates David Mankaba, Shepherd Munyama and Shakespeare Kangwena have since died. Mankaba died in 1991, Munyama in 1992 (a year after replacing Mnakaba), and Kangwena in 1993.

A lot of other musicians would later appear on the scene. I would have wanted to say more about them, but due to space constraints, I will just mention them, and probably say a word or two on them. Leonard Zhakata of the “Mugove” fame is from our hood, kuChitubu.

Pio Farai Macheka lived less than 400 metres from our house, and a few metres from the main gate of Chembira Primary School, in the same street with the Mini Cooper boys. The “Karinga Wangu” hit-maker would incorporate other talented youths from the hood, like rhythm guitarist/drummer, James  “Jimalo” Tonderai Nhema, and two female vocalists whose names slip me now, who were part of the Black-Ites.  His music style was Chimurenga. At one point he was attacked and had his dreadlocks cut by thugs in Waterfalls, in an incident he suspected to have been engineered by Thomas Mapfumo.

The late Pio Farai Macheka

He used to pass by our place and we would chat, like brothers do. I called him Mukoma, or simply Karinga Wangu. Macheka died on October 19, 2008 at the age of 41 at Chitungwiza Central Hospital in a suspected case of suicide. When I learnt of his death, I was pained.

From the rich soil of the glen would also sprout the muse’s other disciples in Mary Bell (Tuku’s vocalist), Alexander Matare, Tendai Chidarikire, Cleopas Manyowa, Pah Chihera (Pamhidzai Tracy Mbirimi), Stunner (Desmond Chideme), Malvern S, Ngoni Kambarami, Alexio Kawara, Clive Barangiro, the late Jamal Mataure and DJ Squilla.

Music promoters

One of the well-known music promoters to have emerged from the Motherland is Lashton “Lashers” Chitoro. Riding on the crest of his entertainment joint Club Lashers, Chitoro promoted the likes of Alick Macheso (who would later dedicate a song to him), Jah Prayzah (in his early days as a supporting act), Nicholas “Madzibaba” Zakaria, Tongai Moyo, R and K, Sandra Ndebele and Mambokadzi. He was also the man behind the hyped Freddy Gwala shows billed for Bulawayo, Gwanda, Beitbridge and Victoria Falls in 2007. Lashers would later sue the South African pop musician for failing to turn up for the shows. Gwala claimed that he had received a life-threatening letter from a Bulawayo-based promoter, who was against his deal with Chitoro.

Chitoro’s journey started in 2002 in Epworth paReuben. He would later spread the Lashers brand to Makoni, Rusape (at Crocodile Motel) and Budidiro. Later he sold Club Lashers Makoni to Partson Chimbodza (Chipaz), whom he introduced to the trade. The Rusape joint was also sold.

Chitoro joined the hood through his uncle, who worked kuSugar, and later bought a house kuma17. When he joined our hood, we called him Cronos because he drove a sparkling new, white Mazda 626 Cronos (a car of the moment then). He was working at a bank. We accompanied him, my friend Sylvester and I, kwaReuben in 2002 to mount a wide screen TV in his joint (it was a supply and fix deal if I may recall). If you owned a television set, or video-cassette recorder (VCR), or aspired to own one, then you had to know Sly (the only Sylvester I know whose name is shortened to Sere). Now based in South Africa, where he, surprisingly, is running a trucking business, Sly could fix anything as long as it was a television set.

But there is one electronics guru that he respected, and we all did, and still do, also from our hood; Saxton Chibanda (Mukoma Saxton). He had a huge repairs shop at Gazaland in Highfield, where you could gawk at some tellies that beat your imagination. He owns a house in Glen Norah B, although he has another one in a quieter glen. He would later acquire the World Radio Systems (WRS) Zimbabwe franchise. His wife, my sister from another mother (we are linked to our totem, Tembo), is the principal at Denmak Training Services.

If you owned a radio you had to know Moenda (Mukoma Moe).

If you possessed a car, no matter what it was, or was a motorist, and wanted to buy, sell or have your radio repaired, and you lived in whatever dale, glen, vale or borough in Harare, then at one time or the other, you paid our glen a visit, courtesy of our very own Peter “MaCar Radio”. Whatever radio issue it was; CD player, face-off, cassette player, booster, or speakers, as certainly as the sun rises in the east, you knew Peter would solve your sound problem.

He would have them jalopies converge in our hood kuma32 with Spaceman shops to the north, Zuvarabuda Primary School to the north-east, Glen Norah 7 Primary School and Glen Norah Hall to the south. It is in the same area that Tinashe “Father” Nengomasha lived. There is a story that I wanted to tell you, involving Peter, my friend Angeline (Mai Letty), car radios and I, but I guess I should reserve it for my memoirs. You see, one should not always tell all his best stories at one go.

Well, I would later sell a cellphone to Chitoro’s wife through Kuda Garwe, another friend from the ghetto. By then Lashers was driving a green Mercedes Benz E-Class. Despite all his achievements, he remained humble, and would offer us free entrance to his joints, although I for one rarely took the offers.

The horn-bill would then lead me away from the hood. When I met Lashers again in 2012, I was running a butchery at Gazaland, and he was down.

To be continued