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Isdore Guvamombe Saturday Lounge Reflections
The new year holiday fell on a Saturday. It was the last day of a long festive season that had rocked the village since December 25, Christmas Day.
Suffice to say, in the village Christmas holiday was not much about the son of man, Jesus Christ.
It was more about an opportunity to take days off the arduous farming activities. It was about receiving brothers and sisters from urban areas, who more often than not, came with groceries and new clothes for entire families.
In many cases, the holiday passed without the mention of the harbinger of the day, Jesus.
As young boys we did not forget that Saturday evenings were time to watch wrestling.
We cherished the moments between Incredible Hulk Hogan and the Ultimate Worrier, Rich Flair, Jack “The Snake” Roberts, The Undertaker, the Bush Hawkers and may others in the cast.
But there was one television set in the entire village.
The owner was Mr Levi Chimuntu, a shopkeeper at a white man’s hop across the Dande River. Chimuntu, a man of Malawian origin had befriended the village head and gotten a piece of land in our village.
His TV set was black and white, old and often had showers and the antennae was always being adjusted. We would still see through these showers and enjoy the Word Wrestling Federation (WWF) matches.
Everything was at the benevolence of Mr Levi. We were at his mess and mercy.
It was the sitting arrangement that followed strict protocol. Mr Levi and wife sat in front in the round hut, his children also occupied various places in what was the high table. The rest of us watched from outside, via the door that was always left ajar.
But there was a bench in the kitchen. That bench was reserved for respected village elders in case they came to watch.
They rarely did, though. At some stage, youngsters like this villager, were allowed the privilege to sit by the bench, an equivalent of the ringside, only if you helped Mr Levi with some chores.
We used to cut the grass from his yard to buy “expensive” ringside seats. We thrashed his maize and groundnuts to buy the ringside seats.
We cleaned his yard to gain access to the ringside seats. We did so many things to buy our way to the ringside seats. We helped him weed his maize fields to buy our tickets to the ringside seat. That was the most vintage seat.
Every Saturday, that was the position.
This particular day, there was Rumble in the Jungle and it was to the followed by a fiery match between the Ultimate Worrier and Hulk Hogan.
We sat there glued to the set, the shrieking sound forcing us to tune our ears carefully. The showers forcing us to tune our eyes.
The crowd squeezing and squeezing.
The battery was fully charged and Mr Levi, was excited about the match.
Just before the match started, Mr Levi and his family drank tea. His wife shared the tea in a brown Kango teapot and plastic cups. As usual there was no share for the rest of us. Mr Levi himself was given tea in a white Chinese cup. We always cherished things written “Made in China”.
Tea in itself was a delicacy in the village, whenever we came across it, we loved it.
At every opportunity we would have it. But not at Mr Levi’s house. Tea was a preserve for his family.
And so they drank tea as the match started. Everyone in the village believed wrestling was real. It was not acting. So, the match started and the excitement was huge. Some watched through the v-shaped windows of the heart. Some watched through the door way. A few of us who had worked for our prime seats watched from very close distance.
Do they not say, that many are called but a few are chosen?
Takariwa, Austin, Oddo, Isaac and yours truly were the chosen ones. The bench inside the kitchen was as good as the ringside. Many envied us. But we had worked for it.
As the match proceeded, the battery exploded and people scampered for cover. There was a loud bang, and then darkness. Somehow we found our way out. No one was injured but the match had ended abruptly. We were very disappointed.
Mr Levi’s home was at the edge of the village and the whole group had to go back o the centre of the village, a distance of about 2km. There were also boys from the next village who had come for the match.
Soon we discovered that the moon was rising. The conversation was about the match that never was. The conservation was about what would have happened. The conversation was about who would have won. The arguments continued. The group was split first on the Hulk Hogan versus Ultimate Worrier. Then as the arguments proceed it became a split of the two villages.
As the moon rose imperceptibly, changing from being a mere mothball to brightness, faces became more visible. The fights broke out, village against village.
The fights were not structured, they were about kneeing, shoving, kicking, stoning. Everything went. Some tried the wrestling suplex. That was very dangerous.
Many boys were injured. In the morning this villager found himself with some cicatrix on the hands and on the legs. Many boys too had them. They were signs of the brawl.
By mid-morning news filtered that one of the boys from the next village, Justin, had suffered serious head injuries.
In the afternoon, he died in hospital. How sad.
Police came and arrested all of us. It was not clear who hit him with a stone. We found ourselves in the cells. Young and stupid. The rest is for an instalment for another day.
Online Reporter