Zimpapers Logo

Isdore Guvamombe Reflections
Kenya is a country in East Africa. It is a very nice place where people are very friendly. Forget about the terrorist threats for you hardly find the threats in the streets in general. Kenya is also known for harbouring the highest mountain in Africa Mt Kilimanjaro – that huge massif that superintends over the skies of the blessed continent.

Kenya is rich in literature, proverbs and idioms. What has inspired this instalment is that a Kenyan friend this village is living with cherishes proverbs and idioms from the land of milk, honey and dust or Guruve, if you like.

Kenya is one of the countries that also provided migrant labour to Africa. One such worker was Abasi Adimu or Adimu Abasi, a truck driver. This villager does not know which is the surname and which is the first name? Or was it a nickname? Either way, the man was very unfortunate. His God and ancestors must have forsaken him.

Back in the village, the sun had just set and the business centre changed its role. As scores of people left their workplaces for their homes, ladies of the night started preparing for their nocturnal endeavours.

Suddenly the streets burst with colour and perfume as the ghostly figures flocked to the various pubs for drink and men.
While workers toiled throughout the day, selling the brains between their ears, the ladies did it differently, selling the forbidden fruit.

The cynosure was Guruve Hotel, a complex that has stood the test and taste of time, having been built by a white man called Mr Hughes in young Zimbabwe. To date it remains the only hotel in the land of milk, honey and dust but was bought by the indigenous Mabhena family about two decades ago.

Dande itself was known for its cotton growing hence the huge cotton processing plant in the valley below. The cotton business often attracted huge haulage trucks that laboured to carry the cotton from the valley to the world yonder.

More often than not, the truck driver sought to park their cotton carrying huge trucks near the hotel for the night. It was safe. Very, very safe! The hotel bar normally closed late.

Back to Abasi Adimu or Adimu Abasi, whichever was his name. He drove a haulage truck that carried cotton from Dande to I-don’t-know-where. The road to Dande is dangerous, far more dangerous than Boterekwa in Shurugwi.

This night, after driving down the bad patch, aptly named Mudzimu Ndiringe, a Shona tribe name that summons the ancestors to take great care of the travellers, Adimu Abasi or Abasi Adimu parked by Guruve Hotel.

After drinking one or two, he was swallowed by the pleasure-filled night. Did the driver not need some massage for his back, forever troubled by the huge monster truck?

Driving that truck was a herculean task. But unbeknown to him, Karitundundu, the village soothsayer and ageless autochthon of wisdom and knowledge, had always warned that a hunter in pursuit of an elephant does not stop to throw stones at birds.

Around midnight, a guard at the hotel noticed some smoke from the cargo of the truck. He alerted others but the fire had grown bigger, the flames licking every bale of cotton.

There is no fire brigade in the land of Karitundundu, Mutota, Dumburechuma, Chingowo, Svembere, Nyamapfeni, Gumboremvura and other spirit mediums.
The hotel manager phoned Mvurwi, a small mining town some 50km away, itself the very small place with one fire hose. When the fire brigade eventually came, the cargo had been reduced to smouldering ash and the vehicle to as mangle. Abasi Adimu or Adimu Abasi was nowhere near. Every hotel room was knocked but he was not there. The booking sheet did not have such a person, either. The forbidden fruit! Yes, the fruit.

Having been worked by the truck and overworked by the fruit eating process, Adimu Abasi or Abasi Adimu woke up late and slowly walked to the hotel.
On arrival he was shocked. His truck was burnt beyond explanation. Like a woman, he wailed loud in his Swahili accent. The crowd that had gathered there, including this villager, only heard one word from him: “Makahaba…, Makahaba…, Makahaba…, Makahaba…, Makahaba.a.a.a!”

This villager kept that word in mind until yesterday when his Kenyan friend told him it meant prostitute. The guy had spent the night with a prostitute while his truck burnt.