A peek into Mutambara’s closed family

Abel Zhakata Senior Reporter
THE man who made headlines by isolating his family from the outside world for more than 25 years, making his homestead a no-go area — even for the police — has died after a long battle with a leg ailment.
Kimpton Mutambara was known as a dangerous being, always armed with bows and arrows and no one knew what was up his sleeve. His sons and daughters — some grey haired, but single — are experts when it comes to bow-and-arrow handling. They are also famed hunters.

With his homestead tucked in the fertile lands of the mountainous Chimanimani District under Chief Mutambara’s area, the late Kimpton, who died on October 23 and was secretly buried by his family at the homestead two days later, made his compound a no-go area. It is always manned by his vigilant children, armed to the teeth.

When news broke that the controversial character was no more, our news crew visited the compound to find out the truth.
It was a not a walk in the park. One cannot visit the homestead without police protection, lest you become mince meat in broad daylight.

Our first port of call was Cashel Valley Police Station where we appealed for escort to visit the late Kimpton’s homestead, which is almost a 10-minute drive from the station.

As we asked for assistance from the station’s officer-in-charge, Inspector Mafaka, who subsequently advised us of the perceived dangers ahead, we bumped into one of the deceased’s daughters, Mwadzirerutsa, who was also asking for escort together with her husband to pay condolences at the homestead.

Mwadzirerutsa, who was in 1996 taken into the custody of a child support group following a raid on the homestead, got married in 2005, but her husband failed to pay lobola to Kimpton as he was chased away when he attempted to do so in 2006.

“My father has died, but I can’t go there alone, I am afraid. In 2006 when my husband wanted to pay lobola, my siblings and parents did not approve of it. They became violent and manhandled me, saying I was not going back to my new family. I had to be rescued by police officers who intervened and freed me. If I go alone to pay my condolences, I don’t know what might happen,” she said.

After a short while, we got into a police Defender truck in the company of four police officers, including the officer-in-charge, and headed for Kimpton’s homestead. As we got closer, our pulse rate tripled, in fear of the unknown ahead of us.

We disembarked from the truck and walked into the compound. Before us was a well-ploughed field in preparation for the oncoming rainy season. Mid way, we were intercepted by two women who told us to stop and not to proceed further.

They told us to go back, saying we were not welcome. Before we could explain our mission, a boy-like grey haired man came running and told us to follow him. A heated argument ensued between the three, as they disagreed whether we should be allowed in, but the matter was only resolved after the man said he had been told by the elderly brother to welcome the visitors into the compound.

We got in at last.
The homestead is neatly fenced by burnt sugarcane plants, tied to rusty barbed wire, creating a fortress.
We were led to a central place (padare) within the compound, where we were ordered to take seats on some wooden benches.

It was a sombre atmosphere, as the family was mourning the head of the house.
His wife, Tamary (66), sat in the middle facing us, while she was encircled by her two sons, three daughters and a relative.
She chronicled how her husband got ill and finally passed on.

“He started complaining about his leg in April this year. The leg got swollen to the extent that he could not walk. He spent most of his time indoors. The situation got worse and he died,” she said.

Her elderly son Matekenye, born in 1968, said when the illness got worse they visited a prophet who said his father had been bewitched by his relatives over the Mutambara chieftainship.

“My father was in line to inherit the chieftainship. When we visited the prophet, he told us that this was the work of my father’s brothers over the chieftainship. They are after some traditional paraphernalia of a royal nature which were given to my father long back by our great grandfather Mukorangebhachi. We visited the prophet only too late when the complication had got the better of him. When he was about to die, he told us that no one from his family should attend the funeral. He died a bitter man, saying his family members should not visit his compound. We buried him alone in this compound,” he said.

When asked by the police if their two siblings — Mwadzirerutsa and Samuel — were free to come to the homestead and mourn their father, the family said they had no problems with that.

Mbuya Mutambara said she could do no harm to her own children.
“They should come because it is their home. We are also eager to see them. I don’t want to see her husband whom we don’t know here. Presently, we are mourning my husband and we don’t want strangers disturbing our peace,” she said.

The family said it was peace-loving, but people had a negative perception about how they lived.
“We were treated badly by the police in the past. When they used to come here, they did so armed with guns as if we were criminals. I remember at one instance, a total of 17 police officers came here and harassed us. That was long back. They turned their barrels on us, but I would like to thank these officers for understanding our way of living.

“We respect the law and it is the duty of the police to arrest those who break the law,” said Matekenye.
The family members then pleaded for assistance from Insp Mafaka to help them get national identity cards and birth certificates.
Insp Mafaka told them that they were doing the right thing to register and that they would get assistance from the station anytime.

Former Deputy Prime Minister Professor Arthur Mutambara is a nephew to the late Kimpton.
The words on the lips of many in Mutambara Village is whether his children will continue with his closed-door policy or they will open up to the world and unlock a 25-year legacy of isolated living.

Without taking anything away from this closed family, they are good farmers who lived well from an array of things they produce. The compound is home to a wide variety of fruits, while maize production is the mainstay.

Researchers on social science would come out richer if they tapped into the traditional knowledge evidently abundant in this homestead whose inhabitants resemble Stone Age citizens.