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Elliot Ziwira At the Bookstore

In the many battles that one encounters in life’s experiences, often-times winning may be considered a form of loss.

Indeed, there is so much to lose when one is obsessed with winning, for the scars left usually reflect the wounds endured.

As human beings we carry so many scars, the source of which may be wounds of our own making.

When it comes to scarred hearts, Jameson Gadzirai’s “Wounds” is in a class of its own, as the writer highlights both the literal and metaphorical nature of wounds.

In the literal sense, wounds inflicted on the body, though painful, are not permanent, as the passage of Time heals them.

However, the scars they leave are a constant reminder of the excruciating pain once experienced.

Wounds of the metaphorical kind are burdensome to the heart; hence, they refuse to heal, no matter what Time brings. It is these wounds that Gadzirai is worried about.

Metaphorical wounds, as highlighted in the book, are destructive, not only to the individual who suffers them, but to the one who inflicts them, as well as the innocent ones, who constitute the family unit, community and nation.

A wound in the heart is the most painful type, because it keeps on haemorrhaging. Reminders are thrown one’s way non-stop, thus, perforating the wound anew. In spite of all the pain, however, one has to learn to forego past pains somehow, through forgiving the transgressors.

It may be difficult, of course, but forgiving others helps in releasing one from the inner self, who refuses to move forward, opting instead, to clinging onto the past.

As in the words of Simone de Beauvoir, “We must not confuse the present with the past. With regard to the past, no further action is possible.”

He who forgives others’ follies, also disentangles himself from his own foibles. That way a fruitful future, which will benefit the individual, community and nation, is shaped.

It is this reasoning that Gadzirai’s “Wounds” highlights.

When society imposes expectations on the individual, it is likely to inflict wounds on itself. Under pressure from societal expectations, the individual seeks vents of escape, which sometimes may be violent.

The violent routes that the individual escapes through scald others, who in most cases are innocent, and when this happens society becomes the major loser.

Social ills like witchcraft or the fear of it, barrenness and incest are cultural creations whose wounds hurt not only the individual, but an entire community.

Although there are noticeable Charles Mungoshi and Dambudzo Marechera influences, especially on the use of metaphors in stressing the essence of the family on the individual, Gadzirai’s family and community do not remain alienated, or clinging on to hopelessness.

Unlike Mungoshi’s, Gadzirai’s community does not seek solutions from charlatans, disguised as healers, nor is his family perpetually diseased, and out of sync with cultural reality, like Marechera’s.

The artist’s family is redeemed through the redemption of the individual, which is reflected on the communal Nirvana that is collectively sought.

The community does not remain burdened by drought, barrenness and disease.

In the evocative, captivating and revealing book, Gadzirai collapses sense boundaries through the use of images and symbols drawn from the fictional village and town of Ngondi.

This exotic setting can be read as any village or town in pre-independence and post-independence Zimbabwe.

The juxtaposition of life in Ngondi, the village, with Ngondi, the town; the former being conducive for regeneration through exorcism and self-correction, makes the novel a pastoral one.

Also, Gadzirai adeptly fractures the plot into individual episodes, which interact and merge into the familial, communal and national discourses.

The fragmented plot is sustained through a narrative technique that combines all the different voices; first, second and third person perspectives, in such a way that draws the reader into the story.

Notwithstanding some minor editorial glitches and narrative inconsistencies in some chapters, as the voices are somehow merged inappropriately, the writer’s technique is top drawer.

This technique makes the story cinematic as it effectively taps into the stream of consciousness. Also, it checks on the weaknesses culminating from the use of a single narrative technique.

By allowing the individual characters to speak their minds out without any inhibitions, Gadzirai checks on the limitations of the third person narrator.

The constant shift to the omniscient and omnipresent third person authorial voice averts artistic self-justification, which is the bane of the first person voice technique.

The novel does not tell an individual’s story, since he/she is a product of a society or community. Instead, the individual psyche is merged with societal discourse.

The story opens with Takundwa, a six-year old Ngondi boy, narrating their daily escapades at Ngondi River, in one of which pools Anne, his friend, was taken by a water spirit. He tells the reader about the serene environs of Ngondi and the village’s expectations about Anne’s disappearance at the pool.

The narrative voice, still in the first person, shifts to Adam, Takundwa’s 17-year-old elder brother, who fills the reader in on their mother, Robina’s death; his fears of witchcraft; and his contemplation of leaving home in a desperate attempt to escape from it all.

However, the reader’s anxiety is heightened through proficient use of suspense as Robina’s death is shrouded in mystery, until after Tazvitya, her husband, retraces his toils through life.

Tazvitya reflects on his father, who always thought that he (Tazvitya) was less of a man than a woman.

The trouble started when Tazvitya decided not to partake in the “Whiteman’s war…beyond the seas”, because he “could not stand the sight of blood.”

Unfortunately, society, in the mould of his father, could not take lightly to such wanton betrayal. It is this chiding that puts the train of events in motion as Tazvitya is determined to prove that he is a man, albeit in a violent way.

He vents his ire on his blooming beautiful sister Tsitsi, whom he incessantly rapes, until she falls pregnant.

Because society does not take lightly to women who are victims of rape, as they are considered loose and seductive, Tsitsi suffers silently.

The pregnancy is subsequently forced on her foreign boyfriend, Bernard.

In a fit of rage, she strangles the child at birth in full view of her mother, sister, Mary, and Tazvitya.  She could not bear the sight of such an abominable incestuous product.

The child’s death does not in the least stun the community, but it drives Tazvitya’s father away from home.  He packs his bags and bid farewell; never to return.

Her beauty fading, smiles waning and her once caring heart turned to stone, Tsitsi never recovers from her wounds.

The affable Robina, Tazvitya’s wife, becomes the innocent pawn in her games of revenge. She could brutalise her at will, and in the end she poisons her, and sadistically watches her die.

Three days after his wife’s death, the repentant Tazvitya commits suicide, which society frowns at.

His home and livestock are destroyed at the instigation of the hard-handed chief, Sando, who takes his three children into custody.

Sadly, two of them, Andrew and Adam, die within a couple of months, leaving Takundwa.

Takundwa is taken to Ngondi town to live with his hypocritical and barren aunt, Mary and her husband Tobias, who “remove(s) the stool of other men” at the clinic.

Twelve years on, way after independence, the town of Ngondi is afflicted by “a new disease” and strife; the villagers of Ngondi are reduced to scavengers, because of perennial droughts; and the pompous chief loses 11 of his 12 wives to the city.

As society seems to be paying for its shortcomings, Burombo, the healer, and Father O’Brien, the Priest, call for a cleansing ceremony; starting with rituals to bring the spirits of Robina and Tazvitya to the fold.

Much to their surprise, the Priest tells Christians that the God Burombo subscribes to is the same One that they worship, only in different ways.

He tells the stunned congregation: “I came here to campaign for God and righteousness. I did not come here to change your ways. . . Do not reject the earth and the customs that made you what you are in favour of the act and custom of another people whom you do not understand.”

Thus, joining hands as a community; Christians and “heathens” alike, perform Robina’s rituals.

Everyone, including Sando and Tsitsi, confesses his/her sins in the presence of Burombo, the spirit medium, and Father O’Brien, the Priest.

Those possessed with different family spirits congregate in the veldt and are joined by Anne, now a beautiful young woman with healing powers, 12 years after the water spirit took her.

Before the ceremony is over, pregnant clouds gather and hover about, only to break up in torrents as the community celebrates the birth of a new season of hope and abundance once more.

Life returns in its fullness to the faithful inhabitants of Ngondi; Takundwa is helped by Torwei, the rustic and comic drunkard, and other villagers to reconstruct his father’s homestead and kraal for the “six cattle, three heavy with offspring”, and Mary, considered barren for years, falls pregnant.