Chronicle Editor
Sekai Nzenza on Wednesday
In early December, people gathered in Mai Nyasha’s old hut. She knelt down with her back to all of us and spoke to her dead husband’s spirit. As we all listened, Mai Nyasha told her husband that she had disrespected him by refusing to share the same mat, kurara pabonde, with him during the last few years of their marriage before Baba Nyasha died. In doing so, she had dishonoured his manhood and was seeking forgiveness.We all clapped hands and others ululated. Some women said, yes, that is what is done. When a husband dies unhappy and unloved emotionally and physically, he would certainly return in a different form, demanding those rights. He may not have spoken about it before his death.
But once he is dead, his spirit will trouble the wife, especially at night. Strange male dwarfs, gnomes or zvidhoma, come to wake her up, asking for love. They will whisper that they represent the dead husband who died starved of love and his conjugal rights.
After several months of sleepless nights, Mai Nyasha approached the elders with her problem. Everyone seemed to know about it, even before she came out in the open to say she would like to seek forgiveness from her dead husband.
I also went to the ceremony with my cousin Piri, who swears that the gnomes, dwarfs or zvidhoma, are real.
“They will trouble you forever, unless you say sorry to the dead,” Piri said.
After kneeling down and speaking in a low contrite voice, Mai Nyasha then offered a whole goat to the people. The goat was presented to two nephews of Baba Nyasha. It was taken to the bush as is the custom. Outside the village homestead, the goat was slaughtered and roasted then eaten by some of us who are not related at all to Baba Nyasha or Mai Nyasha. No plates were required there. Only salt, one knife and matches. When eating the meat, we mocked Mai Nyasha and all the women who mistreat their husbands during marriage.
“Shame on them,” we said, as we shared the roasted meat, like we were old hunters celebrating wild game. Yet it was just Mai Nyasha’s goat, sacrificed to pay for her sins. After the goat was all eaten, we returned to the kitchen hut and some beer was shared. Mai Nyasha looked relaxed and happier, having been forgiven and set free by the dead.
This is not the first time that we have such ceremonies around here. If you do something wrong to your mother or your husband and they happen to die angry, vaine chigumbu, then you can only find peace if you follow tradition by seeking atonement in the manner expected of one who is really sorry.
Mai Nyasha’s offence was bad, but it was not as bad as the one committed by Razaro when he beat up his own mother many years ago. In this village, the last big ceremony to seek atonement or forgiveness was Razaro’s kutanda botso.
This is the practice of seeking forgiveness when you have done something wrong to your mother.
One day, Razaro had an argument with his mother and slapped her on the face. His two sisters were there and they witnessed it all. Over the years, this was an incident he wanted to forget. Whenever he had flashbacks of the incident in his mind, Razaro blamed the influence of alcohol, marijuana or the devil. He also told himself that the assault had happened more than 20 years ago when he was still young.
The beating of his mother was ignited by an argument over two goats that had been eaten by a hyena. His mother blamed Razaro for not fixing the goat pen properly as a man was supposed to do.
“The goats were eaten due to your negligence,” she said. Razaro stormed out of the village compound and went out to drink skindo, the highly intoxicating 24 hour brew made from maize porridge, yeast and sugar.
When Razaro came back from the beer party, his mother and sisters were already in bed. Razaro woke them up with his shouting. He told his mother that he was the head of the family because his father was dead.
Therefore the goats eaten by the hyena were his goats and no one should challenge him on why they were eaten. His mother came outside and pleaded with him to go to bed then discuss the matter in the morning when he was sober.
But Razaro pointed at his two sisters and called them bad names. Then he ordered the one who had just had a baby to leave the village and go back to her boyfriend. “This is not a home for single mothers,” he shouted, pushing his sister over. His mother said he could not abuse his sister like that. In one swift move, Razaro slapped his mother hard on the right cheek. That was the crime.
The following day, the elders summoned Razaro. Sabhuku spoke to him in anger and said, “You can be forgiven for hitting your father. But to lay a hand on your mother is not done. Hatidaro. Even if you were to kneel down right now and say you are sorry in front of her, she would not forgive you. Only kutanda botso will free you. Mother is sacred. That is the law.”
When the talk about slapping his mother was too much, Razaro packed his bags and left for Bulawayo. But the memory of the slap did not leave him. He could not bring himself to talk about it to anyone, not even his wife.
A few years later, his mother collapsed from a stroke in the field one day and died.
Razaro bought an expensive white casket to bury his mother in. During his graveside speech, one muroora, his mother’s nephew’s wife, shouted, “Nice coffin, but it does not give you forgiveness from your mother. When are we going to dress you up in the sack? When will you do the ceremony to appease your mother’s spirit for beating her up?”
A year after his mother’s death, bad luck started to follow Razaro around. His son became very ill. Razaro had a couple of near death car accidents. Every night, he dreamt of his mother crying. His wife suggested he finds peace of mind by going to church. He joined the Apostolic Faith, Johanne Masowe WeChishanu.
The prophet told him to go back and make peace with his mother’s spirit first before becoming a member of Johanne Masowe. Razaro came back to the village and started the kutanda botso, or the atonement ritual preparations. He began by informing his mother’s brothers, nephews and nieces of his intentions. Varoora prepared the sack outfit for him. They scolded, mocked him and sent him away to walk through the villages covered in ashes carrying an empty sack begging for rapoko, the red grain used in brewing beer.
I recall seeing Razaro passing by our village. He was a lone figure dressed in sacks with a shaved head and face covered in ash. He walked barefoot with a sack strung over his shoulder. He stood on the outskirts of the village compound and shouted: “I beat my mother. It is not done. I ask for forgiveness!” We mocked him and gave him grain.
After two days walking and begging, Razaro collected five bags of rapoko. He brought it back to his village and varoora brewed beer from the grain. A big beast was slaughtered for the kutanda botso ritual. As per custom, Razaro did not take one sip of the beer nor did he taste any of the meat. On the day of the ceremony, Razaro sat covered in ashes and confessed again and again to anyone who asked what abomination he committed to his mother.
When the ceremony was over, Razaro looked relaxed and forgiven. He drove back to Bulawayo, feeling free, protected by his mother’s ancestral spirits.
These ceremonies for atonement happen so often not only in our village, but in other places as well. Do male dwarfs and gnomes exist? Maybe they do, in our fantasies. Our culture demands that we seek forgiveness when we are guilty of doing something wrong to another person. Or, perhaps, we traditionally kill goats or publicly dress up in sacks because this is just one way of accepting responsibility and wanting to be accepted back into the community.
Dr Sekai Nzenza is a writer and cultural critic.
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