Online Reporter
Richard Muponde-Zimpapers Politics Hub
A media giant has taken his final breath. The journalism fraternity has been robbed of one of its finest sons following the death of Sunday News Assistant Editor Mkhululi “Mckayz” Sibanda, who passed away last Friday after reportedly battling a rare bacterial infection that was only discovered when it was too late for effective medical intervention.
He will be laid to rest at his rural home in Kezi, the land that shaped him and which, throughout his distinguished journalism career, remained close to his heart.
For the nation, he was Mkhululi Sibanda. For the newsroom, he was simply Mckayz. For me, he was “Big”.
We called each other Big — a newsroom tradition borrowed from the late veteran journalist Emmanuel “Shooza Manuza” Chuma and Eliot Siamonga, who is still alive, and who affectionately addressed everyone older than him as “Big” and younger colleagues as “Small”. What began as a simple greeting eventually became the language of brotherhood between us.
Today, I write not merely as a fellow journalist, but as a man paying tribute to a mentor, friend, drinking companion, teacher and brother who fundamentally changed the course of my life and career.
Beginning of the journey
I first met Mckayz in 2003 when I joined The Chronicle as a junior crime and courts reporter under the mentorship of the late veteran journalist and war veteran Paul Nkala, then the only court reporter across media houses in the entire Matabeleland region.
Coming from Mashonaland, I suddenly found myself immersed in a completely different cultural environment. My IsiNdebele vocabulary could hardly fill a sentence.
The only words I confidently knew were those I had heard from Radio Zimbabwe programmes such as Kwaziso/Ukubingelelana, Izaziso Zemfa and Selimathunzi Sesiphandele Makhaya.
That was the extent of my linguistic preparation for life in Bulawayo. At the time, Mckayz was Deputy News Editor, deputising Isaac Waniwa, while Blessing Ruzengwe served as Assistant News Editor.
Our interactions were minimal because I reported directly to Waniwa, only occasionally meeting Mckayz during weekend duties when he was in charge.
Little did I know that this soft-spoken editor would become one of the greatest architects of my journalism career.
The assignment I initially resented
Everything changed in 2004 when Mckayz became News Editor. One day, he called me into his office.
Calmly, he said:
“Muponde, I know you are learning crime and court reporting, but develop yourself in feature writing, especially rural reporting. That is what I want you to start doing while continuing with your official beat.”
His first assignment shocked me. He sent me to his own rural home in Kezi to produce a district round-up and, at the same time, deliver groceries to his mother, Gogo Sibanda, in the eMadalweni-Donkwetonkwe area.
He particularly wanted me to investigate Valley Irrigation, whose operations had collapsed because of electricity shortages.
To be honest, I was angry.
I believed he was setting me up for failure. How could he send someone who barely understood IsiNdebele into the rural heartland of Matabeleland?
Fortunately, I travelled with our editorial driver, now also late, Mr Tshalibe, who came from the same area. He became my interpreter, asking questions on my behalf and translating responses into Shona.
What I expected to become my professional humiliation turned into one of the greatest learning experiences of my life. The stories dominated The Chronicle for a week.
Yet, despite the success, I still believed Mckayz was deliberately trying to expose my weaknesses. I could not have been more wrong.
The mentor I never saw coming
The assignments never stopped. Village after village, district after district, feature after feature.
Only later did I understand what Mckayz was doing.
He was building me. He refused to allow language to become a barrier as he forced me out of my comfort zone.
Without realising it, I gradually learnt IsiNdebele, understood the people of Matabeleland, appreciated their culture and became familiar with almost every corner of that beautiful region.
Even today, those memories remain among my greatest treasures. Mckayz had seen potential in me long before I saw it myself.
A news hound like no other
Behind his gentle personality was one of Zimbabwe’s finest newsmen. His nose for news was extraordinary. He always knew where stories were hiding and generously shared story ideas, contacts and diary leads with colleagues.
He believed journalism was never about individual glory. It was about producing the best newspaper possible.
He quietly nurtured young reporters without seeking recognition. Many careers, including mine, owe much to his patient guidance.
If there was one thing Mckayz loved almost as much as journalism, it was adventure. One weekend, while we were on duty, he suddenly summoned me.
“Big,” he smiled, “get a vehicle requisition signed. Let’s go to Gumtree Plots. There is a story there. We will do it together.”
We drove along Old Gwanda Road.
On arrival, he instructed the driver to park before leading me into what looked like an ordinary bottle store. Inside sat several elderly men. One face immediately stood out.
It was the late Vice-President Joseph Msika, surrounded by fellow liberation war veterans, many of them former ZIPRA cadres.
I prepared myself for a major political interview.
Instead, Cde Msika welcomed us with whisky. There were no notebooks. No interviews.
No press conference. Just stories, laughter, meat, liberation war memories and warm camaraderie.
The following morning, Mckayz called me into his office.
“Muponde, ngicela ubhale a small piece about our encounter with Vice-President Msika izolo, about 300 words.”
I wrote what I thought was a simple account.
The following day, I opened the newspaper and was astonished.
Through what I can only describe as his editorial Midas touch, Mckayz had transformed my rough copy into a brilliant newspaper feature.
That became our routine.
Whenever Vice-President Msika was at Gumtree, chances were high that Mckayz would somehow find himself there.
And somehow, journalism always emerged from those encounters.
Guardian of liberation history
Mckayz surrounded himself with liberation war veterans and nationalist leaders.
His relationships with Vice-Presidents Joseph Msika and John Landa Nkomo, Sikhanyiso Ndlovu, Cde Andrew Langa, judges, war veterans and many other liberation stalwarts gave him unique access to Zimbabwe’s living history. From these interactions emerged one of Sunday News’ most respected columns, Lest We Forget.
It was through that column that Mckayz preserved the stories of Zimbabwe’s liberation struggle for future generations.
It is, therefore, fitting that liberation war veterans have honoured him posthumously for preserving that priceless history.
He understood that nations survive when they remember where they came from.
The man behind the journalist
Away from deadlines, Mckayz was hilarious. He cracked jokes endlessly and never carried grudges.
He loved discovering hidden restaurants, obscure drinking spots and places known only to locals.
Many of those adventures unfolded after a few glasses of whisky. That was when his infectious humour came alive.
Like brothers, we later encouraged each other to give up alcohol after he remarried and began attending church. Neither of us quite managed to keep that promise. As we often joked, “You cannot teach an old dog new tricks.”
Like every close friendship, ours had moments of disagreement. One incident remains unforgettable.
After covering the swearing-in ceremony of magistrates at Tredgold Building, I overstayed at the after-party and consumed more alcohol than wisdom allowed.
I eventually arrived in the newsroom carrying a sack of chickens while Mckayz impatiently waited for the lead story.
The newsroom erupted. So did Mckayz.
Remembering that incident today brings laughter rather than embarrassment. Those were moments that strengthened rather than weakened our brotherhood.
When I decided to leave journalism for some time in 2015, believing my career had reached its natural conclusion, it was Mckayz who refused to let me disappear.
One day, he phoned me. His words remain permanently engraved on my heart.
“Muponde, journalism still needs your contribution. Buya uzobhala eSunday News. You can’t retire now. You are still young and many opportunities are still ahead of you.”
Those simple words changed everything.
I returned.
In 2016, I joined the Zimpapers Matabeleland South Bureau in Gwanda.
In 2019, I moved to Plumtree.
In 2021, I eventually found myself at Herald House.
Had Mckayz not made that call, my journalism career might have ended long back.
Farewell, Big
You believed in Zimbabwe and believed in people.
You believed in me.
Today, the newsroom feels quieter. Kezi has lost a son. Zimbabwe has lost one of its patriotic chroniclers.
The profession has lost a newsroom giant.
But his fingerprints remain on countless journalists whose careers you quietly nurtured.
Go well, Big.
Hamba kahle. Lala ngokuthula, SaMadawu.
Son of Kezi.
Lion of Donkwetonkwe.
You fought your battle with courage. Your pen has fallen silent, but the stories you inspired will continue to be told for generations to come.
