Lockdown: From the ghetto to Murombedzi

Tiller Maringa

Features Writer

When I first heard that a novel coronavirus of 2019 (Covid-19) had broken out in Wuhan, China, I thought it was one of those viruses that would soon disappear.

I never imagined that in a matter of months, the virus would have spread across the entire world, leaving a trail of death, full hospitals and misery.

It transformed the way people live, work and socialise and gave a new meaning to life.

Coronavirus became the world pandemic and affected economic activities around the globe.

As a result, tight precautionary measures were put in place in Zimbabwe following the first two confirmed cases of Covid-19.

National newspapers like The Herald where I was attached, went into partial lockdown and advised workers, myself included, to work from home as a way to curb the spread of Covid-19.

This was before President Mnangagwa announced the complete lockdown which would begin on March 30.

Believing that the total lockdown would only last three weeks, I thought it wise to relocate from the city  a place I had gotten used to for almost my entire life  to our rural home in Murombedzi, Zvimba.

I could not just imagine being stuck in my single rented room for 21 days in Harare, making the rural home my fall-back position.

If anything, people in our rural home had just started harvesting and I imagined the plenty food that would be available for consumption during the lockdown.

As I packed my bags in preparation for my journey, my room mate Tobias Mamvura (24) said he would not relocate to his rural home in Rusape.

He was not confident enough to face the reality of being away from the city for that long.

But for me, the decision to temporarily move from Harare to Murombedzi was the best, as I feared contracting Covid-19.

As I sat on a commuter omnibus four days before the total lockdown, I imagined what awaited me on the other side.

The first two days of rural life were exciting, as the total lockdown had not come into effect.

I visited the whole clan  uncles, aunts, cousins, aunts of aunts, cousins of cousins, etc.

When the lockdown finally came, the transformation of my lifestyle, from Harare the ‘Sunshine City’ to the dark nights of Murombedzi became a reality.

Without electricity, I had to figure out where I could charge my cellphone to stay connected with colleagues and follow the news.

I cringed when I imagined going for three weeks without television.

I instantly started missing Harare.

But in a few days, my schedule became so hectic.

In Murombedzi, life turned out to be different and interesting.

Countless household chores before going to the growth point and other rural homes to gather news became the order of the day.

Having been used to my city routine of waking up around 7am, jumping out of my bed, taking a quick shower and having a fast meal then head for work, I had quite an interesting start to my three week journey.

I had to help in the fields, herd cattle from 9am to 1pm when I would hand over the herd to someone to take charge till 5pm.

All these chores, and walking long distances to as far as Kawondera, Mhandu and Mururi, in search of news made working from home a difficult task.

Being in the rural areas also meant a change in my diet.

I missed my regular lunch meal of sadza, chicken and green leafy vegetables in the Herald House canteen and had to do with dried pumpkin leaves.

Almost daily, we had more of the pumpkin leaves. I regretted telling my grandmother, Evelyn Ndewere (59), they were my favourite meal.

One day I was brave enough to tell her that I missed meat and in days that followed, she slaughtered a goat.

I missed drinking tea, we had no sugar, thanks to shop owners who took advantage of the lockdown and inflated prices.

Sugar was beyond the reach of many other families.

Sugar, rice and cooking oil were valued like diamond, rubies and pearls.

Some low-income families in our rural area struggled to buy these basic commodities.

We worked harder in the fields, so that we could sell our maize and be able to buy sugar.

Our hope was on batter trade with some families who had stocked up on basic commodities, and one morning we exchanged a bag of maize for three packets of sugar and finally had tea.

In the village, I had no luxury of bathing with soap brands like Geisha, Lux and other perfumed bathing soaps.

Instead, my grandmother would cut pieces of green bar, also known as chimugondiya, which we used to bath instead.

I detested the smell of the green bar and trips to Muche River from where we bathed became less and less regular.

It did not bother me, and my cousins who had also escaped the city to hide from Covid-19, also distasted it.

We shared blankets, but we were fine with that. No one complained.

While everyone was aware that gatherings were not allowed to prevent the spread of the virus, risks were taken here and there.

Boredom took a toll on us and during sunset young boys and men of all ages converged at the vlei where we set up goalposts using poles and played football.

Two teams of barefoot men battled it out for superiority.

It was exciting, though done in fear of the police who we vowed to play hide and seek with, should they come for us.

With the lockdown came the hunger for communication with friends, relatives and workmates.

Network problems

Most of my communication was at night.

In search of a network connection, I would go to higher ground just to check my messages and make calls.

My battery was always full, having charged it the whole day using solar energy at a shop at the growth point.

On sunny days, we would listen to the radio. Cloudy days were a different story altogether, the shopkeeper told us to go home.

When we had the chance to listen to the radio, we would always hear “Ishoko reyambiro” a song from Chief Hwende about Covid-19.

The song played on Radio Zimbabwe encouraging citizens to exercise precautionary measures against the spread of Covid-19.

Yet, here I was not doing what we were being taught by the song.

I finally made my way back to Harare during the second phase of the lockdown.

Life in the capital has become rather weird that I sometimes miss the rural areas.

When the thought comes, I listen to “Ishoko reyambiro” as the song reminds me of my life experience in Zvimba during the lockdown.