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Sekai Nzenza on Wednesday
When Muchaneta died two weeks ago, most people around this village celebrated. They said, God is wonderful. He brings justice to the poor and the oppressed. “Who poisoned her?” asked my cousin Piri laughing. “Nobody,” said Mai Girasia, our neighbour from along the mountain. It was Saturday afternoon and it was blistering hot outside. We were eating sadza, with sun dried vegetables and tomatoes, mufushwa, in Mai Girasia’s kitchen hut. Piri sat on the bench next to me.

We had come to ask for groundnut, pumpkin and cucumber seeds for planting this season.

So we sat there, shelling nuts that were so hard to crack. Baba Girasia had added a little water to them to make them soft and easier to crack.

“Muchaneta stole my eggs and ate my hens twice,” said Baba Girasia shaking his head.

“That dog was evil. If he was a human being, we would say he was a witch. Muroyi weimbwa,” Piri said.

Muchaneta the dog belonged to Samaita, the hunter, village thatcher, fisherman, farmer, drummer, singer and carpenter.

There is so much Samaita can do with his hands. People hire him for all handyman jobs. He is tall and very strong. He used to work for my mother and we still call upon him for the odd village jobs.

Samaita will do work for widows and old ladies without asking for payment.

He is a good man. But, when it comes to his dogs, Samaita will not accept any criticisms. Samaita’s dogs are very loyal to him.

Among Samaita’s loyal dogs was the notorious Muchaneta. For more than two years, it terrorised the villages, killing chickens, eating eggs, mauling little goats, breaking into houses and eating meat.

It was an unusual, ugly, sneaky dog that looked like a hyena.

Few months ago, Muchaneta had broken into one hut and ate a whole goat that was being smoked on the fire.

The village women locked Muchaneta in the hut and some held poles, wanting to kill her.

But others said no, the name Muchaneta alone, was a warning message to say, we shall all get tired of the dog and will stop complaining about it.

Killing it would bring bad luck. In the end, it was agreed that killing an animal was not a nice way to resolve the dispute over a troublesome dog.

Samaita pretended not to hear people’s complains and Muchaneta reigned and ate chickens and eggs as she pleased.

Then one morning, two weeks ago, Muchaneta arrived in Samaita’s village courtyard frothing from the mouth.

She vomited and convulsed. Then she died. Samaita held his dog in his arms and cried.

He silently took her away and buried her in his field. People celebrated silently and in their houses.

Back in the days when we lived here, a dog that behaved like Muchaneta was put down or the owner was fined a goat or two.

The same was also done for a difficult and stubborn cow that broke the fence into other people’s gardens and ate the vegetables.

“I wanted compensation for the loss of my hens and my eggs. But who cares? A human being has become a difficult animal when it comes to small disputes,” said Baba Girasia.

“These days, some issues in life resolve themselves or you try and resolve them yourself,” said Mai Girasia.

“But others hang in the air for a very long time. Look what happened to the rape case of that young girl,” Baba Girasia said, attacking his mountain of sadza, making a small morsel and dipping it into a small plate of mufushwa.

We all knew the story about the rape case. Baba Girasia then retold the story to revive our memory of the events.

The beautiful, slightly mentally challenged orphaned girl from behind Dengedza Mountain said she was raped on the night of Jairosi’s funeral.

The girl only mentioned the rape when the pregnancy was beginning to show. Her two uncles, brothers to her mother, pressured her to name the man who committed the rape.

The girl said Godigo was the man who had sneaked away from the funeral and raped her while she slept alone in her grandmother’s old hut.

We all know Godigo. He is married with two children. He is also a good friend of the young girl’s two uncles.

At first, such disturbing news was spoken about in small hushed tones. How could Godigo do that to such an innocent girl living with one of the uncles? And to leave Jairosi’s funeral during the night and commit such a crime? Her uncles were very angry with her and more angry with Godigo.

They said Godigo had deflowered the girl. Who would marry a girl who had been raped and impregnated by someone else? The girl must become Godigo’s second wife. But Godigo said he did not rape her.

Godigo’s wife said it was not true that her husband could rape the young girl. Godigo might be a drunk and bad smoker of certain weeds, but he would not touch a young girl.

The girl’s uncles chased after Godigo, wanting to give him a through beating then ask him to pay several cows as lobola, or bride price for the girl. Sabhuku the kraal head tried to reason with the uncles and bring the case to court and to the police but nobody listened to him.

The uncles ordered the girl to elope to Godigo’s village and she did.

Since Godigo already had a wife and two children, the girl moved into Godigo’s mother’s house.

Fearing assault, Godigo fled to Bulawayo where they say he is looking for employment.

Godigo’s mother supported the girl, throughout the birth at the clinic. The girl delivered a very healthy full term baby boy.

Godigo’s mother called Godigo to say a baby had been born.

Godigo thanked his mother for looking after the girl and the baby. Then Godigo called Sabhuku the kraal head and said, “Go to Jairosi’s grave and check the date of burial then call me back.”

Sabhuku took my brother Sidney and a couple of the village men to the grave.

The group of men then agreed that if the girl had been raped on the night of the funeral, then the baby would have been very premature. The dates of the rape did not support the rape on the night of the funeral. This meant the girl had lied.

“Godigo did not rape the young girl,” said Sabhuku.

Godigo’s mother took the girl and baby to the uncles’ village and left her there. But the uncles are still mad and angry with Godigo. They threatened to beat him up if he returns to the village.

“They should take the matter to the police,” I said.

“What for?” said my cousin Piri.

“Someone made the girl pregnant then instructed her to point a finger at Godigo. These village secrets reveal themselves with time.”

Mai Girasia said the baby is three months old now. When people hold him, they secretly check his face, eyes, mouth, feet and the shape of his forehead, looking for some kind of resemblance to someone in the village. So far, the baby looks just like any other baby.

“What if it’s one of the uncles?” Piri asked Baba Girasia.

“But that is not to be mentioned,” he said.

“In years to come, the truth will come out.” But for now, the matter of rape is not resolved. The girl must bring up the baby on her own, with a little help from the uncles and from some of us who bring second hand baby clothes from Harare.

Back in the old days, before independence, such a rape case would have been resolved differently and justice done to the girl. Chibaro, or rape, was not something subject to simple village gossip. It caused huge conflicts and disputes between families. As such, it was resolved in a serious traditional manner.

In those days, disputes were settled quickly in harmonious traditional ways. But everything is changing now.

You hear so many stories of people not honouring the rules of respect, hunhu chete.

Take the story of Mazhanga and his brother Titosi for example.

These two brothers are renowned for digging anthills and spreading the fertile soil across the field. They can start before sunrise and by midday, a whole anthill is gone. Some people say the brothers use a little bit of help from marijuana to help them complete big jobs that require a lot of muscle.

A year ago, Samson the blacksmith asked the two brothers to dig and spread the anthill soil in his fields.

The whole job was going to cost $50. Mazhanga and Titosi worked all morning on the first day and at midday, before the job was done, they asked if Samson could give them $20 as advance, because back in their homes, there was no mealie meal for sadza to feed the kids.

Samson said he did not have change for $50. He gave them $50 and expected to get his change back the same day when the two brothers returned to dig the anthill. They never returned. Samson pursued his money for a whole year but he did not get it. Sabhuku did nothing to help.

On Wednesday last week at dawn, Samson arrived at Mazhanga’s chicken house and grabbed a big rooster and two hens. By the time Mazhanga woke up, Samson was disappearing along the foot path in the light of the dawn. “Give me back my chickens,” shouted Mazhanga.

“Imbwa yemunhu,” replied Samson, calling Mazhanga a dog.

Mazhanga sat in front of my mother’s hut on Saturday night, complaining about the loss of his chickens. We had no sympathy for him. You do not cheat your neighbour like that, we said.

Dr Sekai Nzenza is an independent writer and cultural critic.