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Elliot Ziwira At the Bookstore
Confucius once said; “To put the world right in order, we must first put the nation in order; to put the nation in order, we must first put the family in order; to put the family in order, we must first cultivate our personal life; we must first set our hearts right.”

Indeed gentle reader the individual plays as much a part in shaping himself or herself for the betterment of humanity as does the family unit of which he or she is both a product and functionary.

“Families are the compass that guide us. They are the inspiration to reach great heights and our comfort when we occasionally falter,” intones Brad Henry.

Literature the world over is awash with the essence of the family unit in the construction and or destruction of the individual which reflects on the violent inclination that the world has tilted towards.

But there is another story which I believe is not being given prominence in our literature; the issue of kombi crews; drivers, mahwindi, rank marshals or touts. We easily dismiss them as the menacing breed in our midst without finding time to get their side of the story. Who really are they, what brought them into such a dreaded occupation and what are the rewards or lack thereof?

There is such a great, touching and enthralling story if only writers find time to explore their story in the ever receding train of hope, which they persistently trail.

There is a story that I bumped into two years ago which left a lasting impression on me, no matter how hard I may try to push it into the periphery of memory.

The incident left the Glen Norah community in Harare befuddled, but somehow wiser as the essence of the family unit played out.

A tout was pronounced dead at Spaceman Shopping Centre and his body spent almost the entire day in the open as the family played hide and seek.

The man popularly known as Nduna, who was in his early 30s, has led a turbulent life as a tout at the Spaceman rank. Like most in his trade, he lived on the fast and rough terrain punctuated by drugs, alcohol and reckless sexual escapades, which also led to running battles with the police. His death at the very spot that gave him notoriety, family and hope on January 9, 2015 gave a new dispensation to the essence of the family unit; which is believed to be the cornerstone in the building of the institution called the individual.

According to his fellow rank marshals; T-One, Beast, Ray Mafia, Thomas Anwazi, Mabiri, Phil and Jiggaz, he succumbed to the torturous nature of life at around 10am and they went to inform his family which lives a five minute walk from the shops, but instead of co-operating, his father told them off insisting that as a family they were done with him and that he now belonged to them (the touting family).

The body became a community spectacle for almost eight hours which prompted other rank marshals, conductors and vendors who had become his family for over 10 years, with the sympathetic crowd in tow, to again seek recourse from his family; this time around in a no nonsense mood, but his elderly father and stepmother refused to barge, as they locked themselves inside.

After failing to get an audience the irked mob became restless and threw missiles at their refuge, breaking a window pane in the process.

Although his neighbours told a story of a young man hoisted by his own petard and “driven by his own demons”, as opposed to the family expectations, his friends were of the view that Nduna was alienated and condemned to scavenging because of the circumstances surrounding his birth.

Mabiri, who said he had known the deceased for close to 10 years at the rank, told a tale of neglect, frustration and despondence. According to him, Nduna was sidelined because his mother was a family maid who was said to have taken advantage of the lady of the house’s long sabbaticals in South Africa as a cross border trader.

When her boss returned, she was no longer her employee, but had been elevated to a co-wife. The former maid was chased away and later remarried, but the seeds of animosity had already sprouted. This also, was corroborated by his neighbours and other marshals.

“Nduna was a jolly good fellow and for all the years that I have known him, he rarely talked about his family, but there was something that seemed amiss, considering that his six siblings could not put in a good word for him or assist him in any way in spite of their good standing in the community,” Mabiri said.

This selective up-bringing all, but destroyed the young man’s desire to pursue other avenues as the black sheep tag haunted him, strangled his dreams and hang them in the dry hamatan of his existence. To him, hope died the day his father decided to bed the family maid.

For the better part of 10 years his family had become fellow touts, vendors and flea market traders and his home a dilapidated makeshift shop close to Spaceman Bar. But drugs, alcohol and recklessness got the better of Nduna and with time all that mattered to him was to be intoxicated and remain in that stupor, as he strived to atone for the family he so much missed.

With his wife having deserted him and his family disowning his behaviour, Nduna found solace in the receding horizon of hope, ironically, by destroying himself. When he was diagnosed HIV positive in 2013, he is said to have defaulted, which led to the deterioration of his health, prompting his friends to ferry him home in a cart in October 2014, realising that he needed extra care.

Mabiri reiterated that when they arrived with the miserable lot that had become of the fearless Nduna, his father was touched and he took him in, because his stepmother was not at home. He subsequently took him to the clinic to access ARVs, but because of his defaulting inclinations, the much needed help did not come his way and this was also aggravated by his drinking and smoking habits.

Around Christmas, his stepmother returned from South Africa and Nduna was back at the rank, albeit in a pathetic state, much to the surprise and ire of his adopted family. He could hardly walk and discord seemed to be playing havoc with the music of his soul.

Phil, who is also a rank marshal at the Spaceman terminus, but stays in Waterfalls and had known Nduna for more than eight years, concurred with Mabiri’s. He said that the life the deceased lived was at variance with his family status because his siblings, who were all older than him, have respectable jobs.

He said he once conversed with his elder brother, who is a clearing agent and he maintained that Nduna’s wayward behaviour was intolerable and beyond redemption.

Efforts to get a comment from Nduna’s brother drew blanks.

Phil maintained that he had always been on his buddy’s side in all the highs and lows. He would buy him food and bath him in the nearby Spaceman Bar with his own towel and soap. A day prior to his demise, he had also bathed him and gave him new clothes courtesy of one of the flea market vendors, a woman whose name could not be ascertained. He had accompanied him home the previous night, only to see him tottering in agony in the early morning before his death.

According to eye witnesses, Nduna’s exit was a piteous way to depart this miserable and unforgiving world. A woman who requested anonymity was at pains to come to terms with such departure as Nduna’s. “It was around 10am when I went to the shops to buy bread, when I saw him sprawling on the ground in agony. His blistered mouth was wide open and flies where swarming menacingly around it.

“He was trying vainly to swat them off, and was offering 5 Rand to anyone who could help him fight the menacing flies. All along he was calling out for his father. There were a lot of people around and we saw him succumb in such an agonising fashion,” she mourned.

His body, which was a public spectacle for close to eight hours, was eventually taken to the mortuary, with the help of the police around 5pm, without the blessing of his father.

When my brother Shepherd and I left the family’s house around 6pm on the fateful day, the place was deserted, but the family remained locked up in the home which they denied one of their own in the hour that he needed them most. There was no indication of a funeral wake in progress, as the few who trickled in to express their condolences met closed doors.

Pandemonium broke out the following day, January 10, 2015, when the family decided to take Nduna’s body straight from the mortuary to his final resting place at Granville Cemetery, without according him a chance in the comfort of home, albeit, in death, which the neighbourhood frowned at and the touts and commuter omnibus crews; his adopted family contemptuously puked at. To them this was as shameful as it was deplorable and could not be condoned.

Overwhelmed by fury and unconditional love for one of their plumage, they threw caution to the wind, forced their way into the house, emptied it of movable property and took the body of their comrade inside. Even the police details from Glen Norah Police Station could not deter them, as his friends in need and deed, complemented by the irked hood, put their feet on the ground for one of their own.

They organised a befitting vigil for their friend, whom they rechristened Nduna, the leader. He was finally interred on January 11, 2015.

Nduna’s plight was well known in the vicinity and his neglect even in death did not go down well with the community that bayed for his elderly father and stepmother’s blood.

Lloyd “Toga” Pfupa, former Caps United player and Sporting Lions Assistant coach who also had a coaching stint with the now defunct Buymore and lives a stone’s throw from the rank and had known Nduna for a long time, took a swipe at the callous way he was treated by his family even in death and hailed his friends, especially Phil and Mabiri, for being there for him.

Verily, the “family is not an important thing, it’s everything,” (Michael J. Fox).

Such is the nature of life in a world so impenetrable that the only way out is death and even in death one is still not guaranteed love. The Shona people say one may be intolerable throughout his or her sojourns in life, but once death’s cold finger touches them they are cleansed. Wafa Wanaka! They say. Could they really have been wrong?