Zimpapers Logo

Dr Masimba Mavaza

Set in a beautiful landscape around the chiefdom of Chikwaka in the rich area of Mashonaland East this wry and short stories are about emigration, identity, diasporas, family ties,sadness and Christmas away from home.

Diaspora stories are inter-laced with humour, compassion and the importance of food and cooking, and the memories that meals evoke, as many Zimbabweans in the UK navigate unfamiliar worlds, try to tell children about beautiful Zimbabwe. Many Zimbabweans find their cultural bonds of friendship tested when the pains of distance penetrates their present circumstances.

This Christmas diaspora drills below the surface of their characters’ circumstances with exemplary narrative skill and subtlety. These are stories to savour like the fine food they describe. Sharply observed, funny, sad and entertaining, they leave you more knowledgeable about the world we live in.

Mushandu’s mother arrived on a late October morning when winds were heralded from the Arctic north. Mathew Mushandu’s husband insisted on driving Mushandu to Heathrow to meet her mother. Mushandu had brought a Russian heavy coat which she knew her mother would refuse to wear, but it was cold outside. When the wind blew, it felt like being lapped with an icy tongue.

Mushandu’s mother had a lot of prejudices. She disliked fake Whiteman’s cooking Rice and Chicken was not Whiteman’s cooking. She hated the cold and above all she hated being called by her first name. She abhorred religious emptiness and soft preaching and she had already labelled the British society as ungodly. Usual things that most people didn’t like—roaches, spiders, crammed buses, having to sit on a suitcase to shut it—were  her normal things. But there were an awful lot of things peculiar to Mushandu’s mother, like not minding a crowd or meeting strangers as long as it is in church.

This year, Mushandu’s father had passed away after two years of fighting cancer. Mushandu didn’t manage to make the funeral. The cost of airline tickets and the quarantine fees were prohibiting.

The Covid pandemic was at its pick  and her father was buried within two days. ‘They sure were in a hurry to get him in the ground. There was a law against gatherings and funerals were all hush hush.

Although Mushandu was close to her mother, she was less close to her father. He was an intemperate man who often flew into rages over Mushandu’s love life with boys. He spent a lot of time at church and brooded whenever he was home. When he suspects someone was having an affair he took his belt and randomly chose a daughter to blister.

When he died, Mushandu reflected that there was rough justice, all in all: a man whose ‘damn terrible’ cussing could be heard three doors down the street they lived in was rendered mute towards the end of his life.

With her mother, Mushandu shared an inherent trait: they could both read faces like tealeaves. Oddly, for all this perspicacity, it hadn’t made her mother a more empathetic soul. Mushandu herself found it a nebulous blessing. It was how she knew, the very first time she met Mathew that he’d been struck by her and wanted to marry her. It was also how she knew that, while he had married her, he also married an ideological vision of ‘her as representing the African Zimbabwean race’, and yet, paradoxically, it was because he really didn’t ‘see’ race; she understood it was about bridge-building, about wanting to connect.

Neither any child was close to their mother, it was the culture. There should always be a space between the mother and children. A respectable space. but Mushandu at least had an uneasy alliance. Unspoken dialogue often bloomed between them when together, interpreting the other’s faces, but seldom liking what they read there.

The last time she spoke to her mother was just a couple of weeks ago, when  Tad(‘Tadiwa’), her brother, whom her mother lived with in America was complaining about their mother.

What happened?

Tadiwa swore in colloquial. ‘Every night she asking for Sadza and Mubora”

Tadiwa is driven crazy boiling these mealies eh? Who can boil and boil and boil? My poor wife, her face now boiled as red as the top layer of a pasta.

This time the mother was coming to England to spend six months with Mushandu. Mushandu with her white husband Sadza was out of the question.

Mushandu was so sure her mother will build or destroy her relationship with Mathew. She married Mathew very much against her parents.

The very first visit of her mother left her in a serious quagmire. She did not know what to expect

As they pulled at the car park at Heathrow airport she started trembling softly as she alighted from the car and making her way to the terminal.

They were just on time just on the dot arrived as her mother walked out of the double doors having been cleared by the immigration.

Mathew had seen Mushandu’s mother on video calls so it was easy to identify her. He stretched his hands to embrace her but the mother looked at him and pushed him aside. Mathew felt the rejection very sharp. Mushandu’s mum said in Shona”Dzidzisa murungu wako tsika. Amai havambundirwe”. Teach your whiteman manners. He can not hug the mother in law.

Mushandu explained to Mathew  and told him to brace for the coming six months with mum. He has to be strong cross cultural marriages have their prices to pay if the parents are serious conservatives.

Just after two weeks the mother went into a silent mode.

When Mushandu spoke to her mother, she found her oddly quiet, not her usual querulous self. This resulted in long lapses on any conversation neither of them said anything, and all that could be heard was the tinselly chirp of TV programmes.

That, and a curious susurration, a clicking like crickets, mysterious and faintly disturbing.

Mushandu had a strong feeling after the talk that her mother was having more trouble dealing with her father’s death than she let on and so difficult to adjust to the weather and the life of staying in the house.

The mother wanted to go back home. Home as in Zimbabwe.

This morning Mushandu’s mum did not wake up. She was in pain. An ambulance was called and mum was taken to hospital.

Fate was not smiling mum was diagnosed of liver cancer.

It had spread fast and she had no days left.

Within few days mum embarked on a journey to join her husband. She died in diaspora.

Mum died very unhappy. Never liked the Mukuwasha never liked the life in the Uk. She died without striking a code with her daughter.

Having been in diaspora created a big bridge between parents and the children.

Mushandu was not the only one who had a misfortune of a parent visiting and died in diaspora. There was no happy ending. Many thoughts fly around. Regretting having invited a parent to the UK. Many in diaspora invited parents only to send them home in coffins. The black cloud never seize to hoover over the  diaspora children.

Robert Mandaza had not seen his mother for over twenty years.

He was excited mum was coming  at last. This was after six applications for mother’s visa and finally it was granted.

Robert was at the airport as two hours earlier the excitement was killing him.  The time had come he kept fixing his eyes on the double doors at terminal 2   Anytime now mum was coming out.

When his mother finally emerged from Customs, Robert was struck by how old she looked. Her hair had gone white a long time ago, but now it was also falling. Her stoop was more pronounced and she shuffled, as if she were wearing cat slippers. Dragging a big blue suitcase behind her, she wore a red sweater with pink long skirt Robert had bought for her. She looked like a housemaid nearing her pension.

She looked at Robert as if she has lost something in his face.  She moved close to her son. Hugged him so tight. She still could see her child not a grown up Robert.

She started shedding tears , tears of love tears of joy. I missed you my son. If you decide to go away again always remember your mother. She said.

Whatever you do my son please remember we love you.

This was an emotional reunion. Robert took his mother home. He was so excited he had not seen his mother for twenty years. This was like he was born for the second time.

Robert’s mother stayed in the UK for six months and  went back home.

It was that feeling of being born again. All what Robert could say was if your mother is in Zim. Invite her for a short time.  It is filling to have the mother know where you are staying. “How did I know it was her? I looked at that profile picture and I knew, because you know when you are staring at your mother in her eyes. The eyes that look just like yours.

my whole life changed the day my mother messaged to say she was coming over”

These are the words Robert repeats whenever he meets friends.

Noah Mukombami shared her diaspora story “Growing up, I looked forward to Christmas all year. I loved the food, I loved the decorations, I loved our small-town parade, I loved the anticipation of opening gifts, I loved the music—I could go on and on. And while I thoroughly enjoyed pretty much every aspect of the season, my all-time favorite was Christmas Eve night at my grandparents’ house. I was surrounded by family; my Dad’s six siblings, their families, my parents, grandparents and brothers. We shared a magnificent meal, gathered around the most beautifully decorated tree in town and opened gifts one by one. And then, with full tummies and warm hearts, we all moved into the living room where the best storytellers in the world would take turns commanding the room, performing out the different scenes and scenarios they had encountered over the past year, leaving us all doubled-over in laughter. We were connected, together and understood. For me, this was the most wonderful time of the year.” Noah said.

“my aunts and uncles have spread out across the country. Not to mention, I’m now an adult with two little ones of my own living at least four hours from my closest relative. Needless to say, my Christmas Eve setting no longer includes the most beautifully decorated tree in town, my grandparents, my aunts and uncles, nor my cousins. I have spent Christmas away from family these past few years, and my heart longs for each and every one of them. Being away from Home this Christmas makes my tummy run cold. “ Noah sits in nostalgia.  Pastor Chihwai commented

“Is your heart longing for family this season? Whether your son or daughter isn’t able to make it home this year, your current circumstances don’t allow you to travel, the weather messed up all your plans, or it’s your first Christmas away from family—let’s first remember that it’s okay to grieve. It’s perfectly healthy to let it all out with a good, ugly cry. And after we pull ourselves away from the pillow, dry our tears and recover from the ugliness, let’s look to Scripture to help us through the feelings of loneliness, because after all, Jesus came to Earth so that we would never be alone. Let us remember to lean on His truth for encouragement during this time:

“Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” 1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 NIV”

We all know how hard it is to be grateful when things don’t go our way. But, we must remember that God calls us to give thanks for “all circumstances,” not just the good ones. So, think through the many ways God has blessed you over the past year and spend some quiet time with Him, praising Him for His goodness.

“You have changed my sadness into a joyful dance; you have taken away my sorrow and surrounded me with you.” Psalm 30:11 GNT

Boldly ask God to take away your sorrow. While it may seem unrealistic that your sorrows will instantly vanish, remember that we have a God of miracles.

Diaspora now turns to God as Corona scuttles their dreams of going home.  –[email protected]