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Arthur Choga

THERE is an American party game called ‘Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.’

In it, players challenge each other to arbitrarily choose an actor and then connect them to another actor, via a film that both actors have appeared in together, repeating this process to try and find the shortest path which ultimately leads to great American actor Kevin Bacon.

This game rests on        assumption that everyone involved in the Hollywood film industry can be linked, through their film roles to Bacon, within six steps.

The game’s name is a reference to “six degrees of separation”, a concept which posits that any two people on Earth are six, or fewer acquaintance links, apart.

If this was a party for Zimbabwean sports players, administrators and sponsors, the game could easily be renamed Six Degrees of Robson Sharuko.

At some point or another, most people in sports have had an encounter with Robson, or they can easily link back to him, in six or fewer acquaintances.

Robson Sharuko casts a huge shadow over Zimbabwean sport, earned through years of hard work and a determination to get to the story that few of his peers possess.

I met Robson’s work long before I met him.

Back then he called himself the Godfather.

He would later drop this title and use his own name.

I will look back at how we got to meet and grow from bloody antagonists to blood relatives, in six situations.

LITTLE KNOWN CHOGA

I joined the Zimbabwe Football Association in 2002.

I was coming from the newsroom of a popular weekly that ran on pink pages, while spending some hours mentoring some journalistic minds, who grew into giants in their industry at a college in Marondera, my hometown.

I had the pleasure of mentoring young minds and many of them have gone on to do great things in their lives.

UMAA Institute in Marondera became the springboard into football.

It was from this space that I applied for, and got the job, of ZIFA Communications Manager.

My first day on the job, I walked straight into a minefield.

The Herald ran a story titled “Little-known Choga lands ZIFA post.”

No lie detected there.

I was little known but it just did not feel good seeing it on the headlines.

It was a rude awakening to the reality that I was now further from Marondera than the sign posts indicated.

I was a long, long way from home.

Just before I took on the job, the Warriors had lost to Swaziland, leading to fan violence and the besieging of the ZIFA office.

The team was due to begin AFCON qualifiers with a match against Mali in September.

It was the worst time to be coming in to do Public Relations.

I remember Colly Masuku, who held the post before me, visiting me one day and telling me, “You will be fine, but you will need to be strong.”

ZIFA went all out to pacify the fans.

Hero and favourite Sunday Chidzambwa was appointed coach.

I had to land on my feet, managing a media that was expecting the worst.

On the day, though, football won the day.

A downpour hit the National Sports Stadium just before kick-off, the sun came out, Lazarus Muhoni scored to lift the clouds.

And, the journey to the Warriors’ first successful AFCON qualification had just begun.

I eventually left ZIFA, after I realised that I was not good at football politics.

In that time however, I met many football writers and sports editors, many of whom I am honoured to call friends today.

MY DANCE AT KEPEKEPE BHORA

My second encounter with Robson was as Administration Manager of CAPS United.

The owner of the club Twine Phiri, and his chairman Andy Hodges, somehow, had the notion I would be a good administrator after I met Mr Phiri (we all called him that at CAPS) during my ZIFA days.

In 2003 CAPS finished the season strongly, after a wobble that saw fans attack Mr Phiri at Gwanzura, accusing him of being responsible for the team’s poor run.

I still recall the 1-0 loss to Kambuzuma, a goal scored by Hubert Munjanja.

It was a horrific moment, holed up in the Gwanzura changing rooms with large blocks of assorted masonry flying in, from all angles.

This incident was the last day of Fewdays Musonda’s reign as CAPS Utd coach.

Robson’s Herald team covered the events.

They spoke to Twine, as he bled from the assault by the fans.

And, they convinced him that if he walked away from the game at that moment, it would be a victory for violence, and for enemies of football.

Their human touch would come to the fore the following season, following the crash that took the lives of three players, and two fans.

These were brothers who spent days together at training and weekends.

It was one of the most painful work-related incidents I have ever faced.

These were more than workmates and supporters, they were family.

The Herald led the tributes, and Robson penned some heartfelt articles in that moment when every member of the CAPS United family was lost, and pained.

In the aftermath, we took the players into our hearts, placed their memory on the team jerseys and blazed through the league season with only one loss.

THE HERALD SUB-EDITOR

In 2009, I joined The Herald, as a sub editor.

Sub editors are the people who read through all the stories, after they have passed through the various editors.

They are charged with creating headlines, finding appropriate pictures and doing the layouts and designs on the pages.

It was a pressure task on a daily paper like The Herald.

Just my luck, I was assigned the sports pages, where I would be reading through the work of Robson Sharuko.

The ‘Sharuko on Saturday’ column invariably came through after all the other stories were done, so we would twiddle our thumbs while waiting for Robbo to finish his piece.

It would come through and we would rush through the page layout, which was often complex as we needed to get it just right.

One day, I noticed an error in an article.

As per my job description, I made changes to his article.

Robbo was not happy with it.

And, there he was, standing about 15 odd metres from where I was sitting, yelling:

 “Young man, you do not change things in my article like that.”

Those who have been in most newsrooms will tell you that banter flies back and forth and most people think nothing of it.

This was somehow different and the newsroom giggled and cast sideway glances at this foolhardy mortal who dared change anything.

I was not letting this one go, though. I put together a (Google sourced) justification for my changes and fired off an email to Rob.

About 30 minutes later, he strolled back into the newsroom, went and stood in the same place he was standing earlier and shouted out, “Young man, you were right.”

I felt good.

And, from there, the respect grew.

THE 2010 WORLD CUP

The 2010 World Cup rolled into town while I was with The Herald.

Who can forget the way people spruced up their homes into BnBs and bought Toyota’ s Ipsums and Nadias as they prepared for an influx of fans, players and other football-mad celebrities, who never pitched up?

Our sports heavies, Rob and Petros Kausiyo, instead, made their way across the border to attend the showpiece event.

My football history was well-known and I landed the joyous task of producing an 8-page daily pull-out for the duration of the tournament.

I worked with Dyton Mupawaenda, a brilliant sub-editor with an amazing creative touch, who loved creating magical images.

His work on that daily supplement remains some of the best I have ever seen at close range.

It was a pleasure chasing the articles, getting the stories together, knowing the pictures, which would make the pages special, were in good hands.

The stories came thick and fast and the printers would be on hand, and on our backs, as we battled to put the supplement together.

The level of connection needed to get things happening, before the advent of WhatsApp and other platforms, remains one of the best newsroom career moments.

By 2013, I had left The Herald for over a year and I was attending my niece’s wedding.

The young lady had found herself a young man and she was happy to tie the knot.

I was happy to be part of the entourage, supporting my babamukuru, her dad.

When it was time for the groom’s father to make a speech, I recall I was talking to someone and the stage was hidden behind a flower arrangement.

I recognised the voice but I needed to make sure.

I stepped to the side and got a clear view of the stage and Robson Sharuko was delivering his speech as the father of the groom.

He had just become the guy who claps when we meet.

They were the vakuwasha (sons in law).

As family members do, I went to see Robson several weeks after his wife sadly left this earth.

We sat through the last overs of a cricket match, it was India and England, I think it was, then he announced he was going to watch a football match at the National Sports Stadium

It would be the first time he was going out since his tragic loss.

I bade him farewell and, as we shook hands, I saw a vulnerable side that he had never openly shown before.

He turned and we went our separate ways, to occasionally say Hello and chat about our young relatives, and the family they are raising, to catch up on the football issues or (the sub editor dies hard) to send in a correction on an article already published.

Too often we wait until someone loses their life before we eulogise them.

I have fallen into this trap many times, saving my most heartfelt writing for someone who can no longer read it, let alone understand the importance of the moments.

I hope this article will inspire more people to share good memories while they can reminisce over them with the people they made them with.

Rob was the leader of my nemesis when I was at ZIFA but, with time, we built a grudging mutual respect that blossomed into a full professional appreciation of our differences and our complementary skills, and has led to me writing this column today.

It has been my pleasure sharing this glimpse into how Robson Sharuko has touched different lives.

I was delighted when the Sports Journalists inducted him into their Hall of Fame alongside Charles Mabika and Steve Vickers.

The most exciting part of that honour, for me, was that all three were able to say what they felt about it.

Steve gave me my big news break, writing glowingly on his BBC platform and I will always be grateful for the coverage he gave, sometimes calling me a football expert when we both knew that I was nothing of the sort.

Charles Mabika was the life of many of my events, either as an MC or as that one guest that everyone ends up gathering around laughing while he yells one hilarious story after another

These are stories for another day.

Today I celebrate Robson Sharuko, the boy from Chakari who dared to make the trip to the fabled streets of Harare and stayed the course.

It has been a joy sharing parts of that journey with you buddie, Mr Chakariboy, the Godfather, Manchester United by choice, the Warriors by birth.

For years, you have been making my Saturday morning beautiful, as they say it in Mbare, kakatowanda.

Thanks for the memories, my brother.

Peace to the Dombaz, Yellow City and Chi-town massive.

Kepekepe Bhora!

Arthur Choga is a journalist, father, public relations official, football lover, God-fearing man who loves his family.