Kavhidhi: Finally, the village elder sleeps alone

Isdore Guvamombe Reflections

Back in the village in the proverbial land of milk, honey and dust — Guruve — the 10 of us sat apart, further than the spitting distance, social distancing.

Four mango trees provided the shed for the 10-member village politburo. Each member brought his stool and the stools were visibly polished smooth by years of use.

Since journalism, by its nature, puts one on the ringside of issues, the whole village wanted to hear from their son everything about coronavirus. The meeting was on time, just on the shadow of national lockdown.

But village head, Elias Nhamoyebonde, after thorough explanation from this villager, called his politburo.

It was a strange meeting by all village standards. The set-up was strange. For the first time in the village’s history, we were in a rare moment where we had to discuss matters of serious concern on dry throats. Coronavirus swigged all the beer pots dry.

In such grave moments, it was now taboo to gather and imbibe or even to share a calabash. Gone are the days when a calabash did the rounds from one elder’s mouth to another then a deep sip followed by another and another plus the systematic wiping of the drags from the goatee beard. Soon we went into the details of the disease, elders awestruck by the figures in Europe and shaking their heads in disbelief.

“Naka tinepera,’’ (this time we will be wiped out) shouted the village head in typical Korekore dialect.

Soon we seemed to be on the same understanding and soon we started identifying possible penetration and spread areas of Covid-19.

The villagers called it Kavhidhi.

The borehole, premonition ceremonies, drinking binges, firewood gathering, communal bathing by the river, gold panning and social distancing topped the list. After heckling over preventing measures and possible punishments to those who break the Kavhidhi taboos, one old man raised his hand.

“Young man, you talked about social distancing. What do we do with our wives? Sleep apart? NO!

“My grandfather had four wives, I have only two and already I am a shame to him for failing to beat his record.

“Young man, your social distancing in practice means I should sleep away from my two wives, am sure my grandfather will turn and twist in his grave with anger and disgust that I have failed the whole ancestral lineage. I have not slept alone for 40 years!”

The meeting broke into uncontrollable laughter, but died into miffed voices, others saying he was correct, others opposed. For a moment there was chaos.

But the village head called the meeting to order, having laughed his lungs out too, but quickly remembered his responsibility.

We broke up into clusters to disseminate the information on Kavhidhi across the village and were to convene the following morning for feedback and possible solutions. Being wintry, we gathered by mid-morning and agreed on many issues, but before the meeting proceeded everyone wanted to know about the man of many wives.

“Finally I slept alone, but it is hard guys. Very, very hard. I had nightmares. The women agreed grudgingly, especially the one on duty. I doubt I can make it a second night.’’ There was laughter again.

Resolutions started pouring out.

With immediate effect all visitors are banned from the village and those who sneak in would be reported to the village head and then to the village health committee for clinical testing.

The youngest member of the committee was ordered to get a sign writer and for a signpost barring visitors. It is a lockdown. But the sign writer got the spelling all wrong:

“VISITERS ARE NOT ALLOUD BECAUSE OF CORONA VIRUS”

But the message was clear.

The communal borehole would be monitored and sanitised with lemon juice. Gold panning and all gathering are prohibited. Women should stop fetching firewood in groups and washing by the river in groups. Social distancing should be practised.

The spread of the virus, the fears, the need to avoid contracting it, has set the tone for a new thinking in the village. Some are in denial, but bothers are seriously observing. Time, they say, is a great teacher.