Zimpapers Logo

Mary–Ann Mandishona

Herald Correspondent

On September 9 this year, it was the first anniversary of my father, Dr Gibson Mandishona’s death.
I have written my fondest memories of my beloved late father to honour him in tribute. When my father died last year, a dark shroud of grief enveloped our family.
I was comforted when so many people from all over the world including California, London, Australia, Toronto, France, India, China, and many other countries reached out to me and my siblings to express their condolences.
They all expressed their heartfelt gratitude for my father’s amazing impact on their lives. I am fortunate to have observed this love and affection for my father.
It is amazing how the light of one individual man can permeate from his inner core to radiate into the rest of the world through the various individuals he positively impacted.
True heroes are people who lift others, defend those weaker than themselves, and lead by example.
My dad will always be my hero. Even though he was laid to rest, the loving seeds he planted are still growing, some are blooming and others have born fruit of their own. His great legacy continues.

My dad the paradox
My father was a traditionalist and a non-conformist. He was full of extreme paradoxes and he shifted with ease between what most people would perceive as polar opposites – mathematician, musician, an astute scholar, comedic party animal, composer, renewable energy scientist, racecar driver, Shona poet, professor, singer, writer and inventor.

My dad the nurturer
I remember when my dad taught me how to cook sadza, muriwo and mabhonzo mixed with spinach.
I was in my late teens, visiting Zimbabwe from California where at the time I was attending university.
My dad watched me cooking ‘mbodza’ several times in amusement before he said: “Alright, I am going to teach you how to make proper sadza the way my mother (Ndaitirwa) did in my village at Chikwaka.”
I never knew my grandmother, unfortunately, she died before my birth. However, I will always remember that my dad always spoke highly about his late mother.
She was the spark that made his eyes shine with so much radiance that I knew he revered the very ground she walked on.
Ambuya Ndaitirwa was the kind-hearted matriarch who ruled the Mundawarara-Mandishona household with a firm, yet gentle hand. A template my father copied and used well with his own children.

My dad the mad scientist
In the 90s I recall the ramshackle, heavily rusted machinery sitting in my dad’s garage. In ignorance, I asked him why he kept so much useless junk. He explained that these were his inventions from the 70s.
I soon learned about his international awards for innovating alternative energy generators, solar dryers and biogas plants.
He taught me that green energy would protect our planet and empower marginalised communities to rise. I became proud of that heap of rust.
When my dad inaugurated the first Solar Summit in Africa in 1996, he set his goals to build solar energy power plants.
He spent the last 30 years of his life leaving his office at midnight, working tirelessly to build Zimbabwe’s largest solar farm project.
I truly admired his non-wavering dedication and work ethic. However, due to economic challenges, his project stagnated. It deeply saddens me that he never lived to see his solar dream come true.

My dad the scholar
My father often spent his evenings in his library reading Britannica Encyclopedias, his head fully immersed in the pages of mathematics, physics, biology, science, history, philosophy, and every other subject under the sun.
He was extremely knowledgeable about every subject and often spoke to me about various topics with such excitement and glee that I often wondered how he had such a deep capacity to understand so many subjects with an all-encompassing passion.
“I have an insatiable thirst for knowledge,” he would often say with that cheeky grin.
“We Africans must practically implement knowledge to improve standards of living and expand our consciousness in service to all,” I remember thinking to myself, this is a true sign of a master.

My father the academic freedom fighter
My father founded various Pan-African initiatives during his years as a student at Nottingham University in England during the late 60s and early 70s.
I recall he formed a scholarship fund for specifically black southern African students to learn subjects that they were prohibited from studying in apartheid Rhodesia and South Africa.
Dr Gordon Sibiya, the first black nuclear scientist in Africa was the first recipient of this award. He remained one of my dad’s closest friends until he died.

My dad, a fighter for girl child rights
My father grew up with seven sisters, which made him to have the utmost respect and understanding for women.
In 2003, I recall how he rescued his great niece from a Vapositori sect leader, who had forced her into a child marriage.
This angered my dad, who took the church leader to court. This later resulted in a ‘Save the Children’ initiative.
He always fought for the girl child and encouraged village girls to go to school to become experts in every field, to uplift the living conditions of their communities.
I remember how my father founded a co-op for women in the early 90’s (KoreKore Women’s Co-op) where the village women in Chikwaka used pig dung to make biogas and convert it into energy.
He often said women would emancipate the villages of Africa from poverty. During those days, I recall the medical doctors my father rounded up over weekends to treat poor villagers for free.
Thousands of impoverished people were medically assisted and serenaded by jazz musicians who also accompanied us on those special trips.
During the Solar Farm project development phase in 2008, I recall my father telling the Chief and Sabhuku in Goromonzi that I, his daughter, would sit with the chiefs in the key decision-making process whenever we had community village dares.
He argued against separating men from women and insisted that women should be equal decision-makers.
He always said a true leader is someone who lifts others, defends the weak, and leads through action. “Leadership is not about gender, it is about the heart,” he would say.

My dad the musician
My dad was so proud of his co-creation, the song ‘Zimbabwe’ with Bob Marley. They met in Ethiopia during the 70s when my dad was part of the African liberation movement during his diplomatic stint with the United Nations.
My mother, a South African nurse, was always at his side also raising emancipation funds to aid South African marginalised groups.
He often quoted Shakespeare: “A man that hath no music in himself, nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is for treason, stratagems, and spoils. Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music.”
Music was part and parcel of my childhood. I recall the late 80s and early 90s with a sense of jubilation, my brothers and I enjoyed our childhood immensely because it was such a fun escapade of endless parties.
Our sprawling estate in Glen Lorne was filled with music ranging from jazz, rhythm and blues, Motown soul, mbira to African calypso marimba.
Every single weekend we had a party – happy people, rhythmic beats and delicious food.
I can still smell the rich aroma of charcoaled flame-grilled meat on the ‘gotcha nyama’ braai. And I can still hear the loud music blaring in our bedrooms.
I recall my father on his microphone singing and playing his guitar then effortlessly switching to the piano.
He really enjoyed imitating Louis Armstrong. He was always accompanied by his bandmates – his childhood best friends (former cabinet ministers) Chris Kuruneri on the guitar and Herbert Murerwa on the drums.
I remember my dad was always cheerful; his entire body shook when he expressed joy, such intense laughing that his shoulders would bob up and down.
I loved the way he enjoyed living, he was effervescent with a full zest for life. He was always happy, singing and smiling.
He would sing, laugh and say, “This strange, amazing life is a gift.”
I miss you so much dad, more than my words can truly express. I know there is a huge party in heaven where you are, singing, dancing, and playing your wonderful music with your joyful spirit.
As the angels celebrate your radiant essence, I thank God Almighty that I came into this world as your daughter.
I love you baba, uneNdoro Samanyanga, Nyamasvisva.