Online Reporter
Freedom Mupanedemo
When I think of Nicholas Zakaria, affectionately known to his fans as Madzibaba, I cannot help but recall the man who introduced me to the magic of sungura music — my uncle, Danias Shanga.
Uncle Dany, born with a disability and walking on crutches, had a passion that was larger than life. And at the centre of that passion was Madzibaba.
Every morning, Uncle Dany would rig together a collection of old rechargeable batteries, tying them with string and rubber, sometimes even letting them soak under the sun to harness enough power to play his small, one-deck Seiko radio.
When the music of Nicholas Zakaria filled the room, it was a pyrrhic victory over his daily struggles, a small but triumphant ritual that marked the start of his day.
Uncle Dany’s devotion to Madzibaba was legendary. If a new Khiama Boys album was released and he couldn’t afford it, he would record every new song broadcast on the radio.
This dedication sometimes got him into trouble; he was once banned from visiting his brother Bonias in Bulawayo’s Nkulumane because he had a habit of “borrowing” Khiama Boys cassettes during visits.
Growing up under Uncle Dany’s influence, I became immersed in that world of music. I still remember sneaking out as a child to watch Madzibaba perform live for the first time in Maglas, Zvishavane.
It was my initiation into the joy of live music — the shortest night vigil I have ever experienced. Watching Madzibaba sweat it out on stage, leading with his guitar and vocals, left an indelible mark on me.
Even as I pursued a career in journalism, where I rarely wrote entertainment stories, my admiration for Madzibaba remained unwavering. I would muscle my way past bouncers at Midlands Hotel in Gweru whenever he performed, determined to witness the magic firsthand. After a night with Madzibaba’s music, I would rise early to write about the show, glowing with the joy of the experience.
Though I never met Nicholas Zakaria personally, his music shaped my childhood, inspired my youth, and continues to resonate in my life today. Madzibaba was more than a musician; he was the heartbeat of sungura, a maestro who poured his soul into every performance, and a legend whose music will live on in the hearts of Zimbabweans for generations.
Go well, King of sungura. Your legacy will not be forgotten.
