adminDavid Mungoshi : Shelling the Nuts
It used to be that even the petty hunter of mice attracted the attention of prospective mother-in-laws, and that many a girl somewhere would be dying to be the wife of this “enterprising” man. Wild vegetables would be a thing of the past if she landed that trophy. It also used to be that the man who could play the drum and “had a throat” was also a big catch for girls with soft hearts. His yodelling and adventurous low notes got him his damsel.This is what Hakurotwi Mude, the mbira maestro of Mhuri yekwaRwizi fame, meant when he sang “Mune mvana ndinopinda runa. Rwashanu ndabuda nayo” (I go into a hut where there is a single mother four times. The fifth time, she follows me out!)
There was a time too when as soon as a man had saved 100 pounds (we used pounds, shillings and pence then) he quit his job to settle for good in his rural home. Imagine then what someone who earned that handsome figure every month could do.
The man became a fabulous prince with riches galore. He was a flower of sorts and attracted all kinds of birds and insects. Such was the status of the locomotive fireman in the days of the huffing and puffing steam engine of 1960s Zimbabwe.
Our trains were pulled by steam engines on which there was a driver and his fireman. The fireman was an engineman in training. In time he became a train driver.
Being a fireman was hard work. He had to shovel the coal in so that there was a good fire going all the time. This was the fire that boiled the water that produced the steam that moved the locomotive.
No doubt about it, he worked for his money and he earned his £100 by the sweat of his brow. And the girls and hangers-on would not leave him alone.
One guy was not so easy to look at, but he had the money. In those days of impoverishment most unattached women almost literally swooned over him or feigned it. Moneybags George picked them, loved them and left them.
Young men from this era were convinced that they were what the doctor ordered and fancied themselves as studs. The philosophy was live fast, die young and have a good-looking corpse.
George was the envy of every boy in town. He had his own flat and had moved out of his parents’ house. So we made a beeline there whenever he was not on duty, and everyone was welcome. You just had to be his age mate or be in good books with his younger brothers, that was all.
Firemen could afford classy weddings in a big hall with a live band playing and lots of eats for all and sundry. In the locations there was no such thing as poor relations at a wedding. A wedding was everybody’s wedding. Everyone was welcome emsakazweni. The idea was to show off one’s largesse, so the more the poor devils that came, the merrier it was!
Mario was a fireman too. We ate cake at his wedding. Not too long after the wedding he and his charming bride set up home in a house of their own from where they were soon running a grocery shop on the side. Those were the days when the fabulous four from Liverpool were singing:
In a couple of years they have built
A home sweet home
With a couple of kids running in the yard
Of Desmond and Molly Jones
And we all joined in the chorus:
Ob la di ob la da life goes on bra
La la how the life goes on
Ob la di ob la da life goes on bra
La la how the life goes on
The Beatles were on an all-time high with the hits just pouring out one after the other. And it seemed to us that they were singing about Mario and his wife because they too soon had children running in the yard. The ultimate picture of bliss.
If Mario was riding around on his bicycle and began to feel tired he left his bicycle on the spot. Nobody dared touch it because he had a feared younger brother who was reputed to be good with the knife and more than willing to use it.
Believe you me, in those days of the grapevine, word of mouth transmission easily matched a wild fire as rumours spread as effectively as they do now on WhatsApp.
Pound was the name of his thuggish sibling. I do believe now that much of what was said about Pound was embellished. But a few unsavoury things beefed up his profile and raised his credentials.
He was held in awe for stabbing another boy at school and getting his sidekick to take the blame. Everybody knew what had happened but none could squeal.
Then he did what everyone wanted to do. He sneaked aboard a train on its way to Joburg and was only discovered at Mafeking. On his return they sent him to a boy’s reformatory school and his reputation became even fiercer.
Guess who else got the girls? The tsotsis, of course! One such character, a snappy dresser who wore a hat with a wide brim and always looked like he had just stepped out of a shower, was a heartthrob of sorts.
I could not help but notice the aptness of the Shona proverb ‘Kwadzinorohwa matumbu ndiko kwadzinomhanyira”. The proverb speaks about the fatal attraction that such characters have for some of the most wholesome girls around.
More or less like the hapless heifers that walk towards the whip that lacerates their stomachs. Whenever this chap came from jail after serving his latest sentence for some misdemeanour or other, the whole place would be buzzing.
Going to prison and surviving it was thought to be the true mark of a man. I was one of those who could quite easily have gone down the road he travelled. He seemed to have it all, an exciting life and a reputation to book.
Now I know better, of course. The man was a petty criminal guilty only of very petty crimes and so naturally he always came out of prison sooner rather than later. And the showy clothes he wore belonged to his brother!
Next in line after the suave rascals were the soccer stars. Good football players who had fame but no fortune. Of course, the girls did not know this. They would only discover this disparity and be disillusioned after they had a bun in the oven.
The girls would scream themselves silly when a certain smallish man called Venice had the ball at his feet. He did things that were unbelievable with that ball and was quite the dribbler and the juggler. He was soon married and the good lady told him to stop that useless nonsense. A grown–up man chasing the tanned skin of some dead cow. Ridiculous!
One man got his woman because she wanted to mother him and to protect him. He was very small of stature while she, by contrast, was an Amazon. No man dared antagonise her little man because she would come out smoking and pulverise anyone that foolish. As they say, hapana chisingawanisi. There’s some merit in everything.
Now, for the million dollar question: Who is getting the girls these days, and who is getting the guys? Things have changed, haven’t they? I bet my last dollar that on both sides of the gender divide the winners are those people with something to commend them.
Sportspersons are still among the most sought after as are the musicians. Writers and sculptors tend to be a curiosity, but of course there is always an exception to every-thing.
Maybe we need a proper survey. Where are our social scientists? Here’s a phenomenon crying out for your attention.
Online Reporter