Book to solve the girl child equation

two is equal to four.
He has managed to bring together the Mighty Warriors, Willie Musarurwa, the girl-child and the body that was buried in the kitchen.
“The girl-child will raise the flag of Zimbabwe high during the All Africa Games to be held in Mozambique next month,” Mabika said in a soccer commentary on Defence Forces Day.
“The girls will be out there in full force to do us proud. The manner with which they qualified to be there speaks volumes for the girl-child.”
Willie Musarurwa was chair of the Child Protection Society when he won a High Court test case in 1988 barring parents from giving away children to appease avenging spirits.
Newspaper articles making up a book show how the robust journalist found out in Murewa that a row in connection with the girl-child led to a man being buried in the kitchen.
The trouble started on the morning that a local man went with his daughter halfway to school.
“Run along and join others,” said Baba Shamiso. “You can see them ahead of you. I’ll see you when you come home from school.”
“Thank you, Daddy, for coming with me this far,” said Shamiso who had been in Grade 1.
“Let me run and join others. I’ll see you when I come home.”
Baba Shamiso went on to fight Joram during a dispute on land. Joram died from the wound he sustained when Baba Shamiso struck him with his spear. Baba Joram brought the body to the home of Baba Shamiso.
“Where is your son?” asked Baba Joram.
“I want to speak to him on a serious matter. He must have told you what he did.”
“Baba Shamiso hasn’t come back from the fields,” said Sekuru Mugandani.
“He went there in the morning to speak to your son.
“He should have come back by now. He had said that he wasn’t going to be long. Have you left Joram at home?”
“Your son is no longer where you think he is,” said Baba Joram.
“I thought he had come to tell you that they fought. There was a fight.”
“You say they had a fight?” asked Sekuru Mugandani, clutching his head.
“Nobody told us about it. We’re hearing this from you.”
“Your son struck my son with a spear,” said Baba Joram.
“We took him to hospital thinking that doctors would save his life. It has failed the healer while the patient was willing.
“I came thinking that I would find your son at home. We would have seen what we could have come up with. I should have known better.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Sekuru Mugandani.
“That issue was bound to end that way. It was bound to end like that. People couldn’t have gone on talking about that sensitive issue without something happening.
“I wish I could help you. Baba Shamiso must have gone to police. At this home there is only me and my daughter. You see her standing over there with my granddaughter. I wish I could help you.”
“I shan’t worry about seeing your son,” said Baba Joram.
“When I’ve seen you I’ve seen Mistake. Tell him that I was looking for him.
“I had come hoping that we could work out something. You know what people do when matters like this happen. We’ll take it up when I hear from you.”
Baba Joram dumped the body in front of the kitchen of Mai Shamiso.
“I told you what I want for the death of my son,” he said.
“What you’ve given me is nothing. This is not a time for us to play.”
“Baba Joram,” said Sekuru Mugandani in exasperation, “a case doesn’t rot. I will give you what has remained when I bring in my harvest.”
“I don’t have time to waste,” said Baba Joram.
“I will take my son when you have given me what I want.”
Baba Joram took the money and the cattle that Sekuru Mugandani had given him. He went away with Shamiso.
The member-in-charge came to the village and held a meeting with the two families.
“I’ve come to tell you what the law says when a tragedy like this one happens,” said Inspector Magwaza. This case is now in the hands of police.
“You are not supposed to do anything outside the law. The man who is with us will appear in court soon. The judge will decide what to do with him.”
“We’re doing what is within our culture,” said Baba Joram. “We haven’t seen police getting involved in cases such as this one before. My son is like other sons who died before him.”
“What you are saying used to happen during the days of Smith,” said Inspector Magwaza.
“A man is tried once for one crime. Baba Joram, return that child to her parents. You should also give back the money and the cattle that you took.”
Inspector Magwaza went back to charge office. Baba Joram went to the home of Baba Shamiso and buried Joram in the kitchen. The men from prison reburied the body at the growth point.
Willie Musarurwa found this out when he was in Murehwa. “Sekuru,” he said, “Our society is interested in the welfare of children. I’ve come to see if I can help you to have your child back. The court can help us. Why did you allow those people to take her?”
“I allowed them because we do that when a man kills another,” replied Sekuru Mugandani.
“Those people might have come back and set our houses alight at night. I would have been answerable.”
“Mother,” said Musarurwa, “giving birth is painful. You should have stopped them. The child had nothing to do with their fight.”
“I know,” said Mai Shamiso.
“I had nothing to do with the decision that was taken. I’m a woman who was married into this family.
“I don’t get involved in their discussions. Besides, I couldn’t contradict father when he had taken that decision.”
“Have you heard from your daughter of late?”
“Yes. She has stopped going to school. She is afraid that those people might follow her and kill her along the way. I wish . . . I wish . . .”
“Sekuru,” said Musarurwa, “the society wants to take this case to court. The judge can rule whether that family has the right to keep your child.”
“We haven’t heard where it happened before,” said Sekuru Mugandani. I don’t want to start something I’ll regret. Leave that child where she is.”
In spite of that, Willie Musarurwa went to the High Court in Harare with the civil suit and his lawyer presented his arguments before Mr Justice Chris Greenland.
“The child should return to her family,” said the judge. I see that bad blood has come between the two families. She should stay in a protected home until she reaches 18 years of age.
“The Child Protection Society will pay for her upkeep. Only her close relatives can visit her where she will be staying.”
Willie Musarurwa died in 1990 and was buried at Heroes’ Acre in Harare for his contribution to the struggle and to journalism.
It hardly seemed as though 10 years had passed when Sunday Mail reporter Phyllis Kachere tracked Shamiso down in Goromonzi and asked her how she was getting on with her life.
“I remained in the home up to the time when I was doing Form 4,” she said. “Arrangements had been made for me to go and study in Germany. I had to pass Form 4. I fell pregnant when one term had remained for me to write my final exams. The man who did that had told me that he didn’t have a wife.
“When I went to stay with him, his wife challenged me. He beat me up mercilessly with his wife everyday for a week. I couldn’t take it and went to stay in the waiting room at Mbare Musika.
“A woman saw me looking for food in dustbins and asked me what I was doing there. She took me to the shelter for pregnant girls.
“The matron said I should join the queue like other girls that were coming there. The Good Samaritan pleaded with her. Meanwhile, the people at the home where I had been staying were looking for my parents. They had sent a man to tell my parents what had become of me.
“My family had left the village at night without telling anybody where they were going. When I gave birth, the matron told me to give way to other girls.
“I went back to the home where I had grown up and told them that I had nowhere to go and stay with the child. I had turned 18-years-old.
“The matron said Social Welfare could close the home down if they took me back. She could consider taking my child in when he had grown up a bit. But she couldn’t give me a firm promise.
“It would depend on whether room would be available when I came back to them. While we were discussing like that, the man who was looking for my relatives arrived.
“He had found my uncle staying in Epworth. However, uncle had said it was out of the question for him to stay with me. I was the wife of the man who was dead and the avenging spirit on me could attach itself on him and kill him and his children. The people who had spent 11 years looking after me pleaded with my uncle to keep me while they looked for a suitable home where I could go and stay.
“The brother of my mother agreed on condition that he would send me to stay in Goromonzi looking after his homestead.”
A long silence followed this long explanation during which the interviewee exhausted herself. The reporter broke the silence by asking the first question which came into her heard.
“Do you still hope to go and study in Germany?”
“I don’t know. It’s not easy to read and look after the child.” Shamiso burst out crying – for help from the human rights community in Zimbabwe.