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Dr Josephine Shambare
Correspondent
As I was having tea and sweet potatoes one Saturday morning, my thoughts started wandering about. Then suddenly, I subconsciously muttered, “Uuuum kwandakabva kure” (“Uuuum, I have come a long way”). Little did I know my sahwira (best friend) had just arrived and was standing behind me.
She started laughing at me uncontrollably: “Eeeh sahwi kwakanaka? Kokutaura wega kwakanaka? Kupenga hakuridzirwe bhero (“Eeeh my dear friend, is everything alright? Why are you talking to yourself? Going nuts has no signal”).
As a sahwira would do, I also replied in jest: “Aaah ko iwe uri kuenda kupi mangwanani akadayi. Uri kunditadzisa zvandiri kuita?” (“As for you, where are you going this early? You are disturbing my peace”). She even laughed louder:”Kukutadzisa kunwa tii nembambaira. Ibhurakifasiti iroro?” (“What am I disturbing – a breakfast of tea and sweet potatoes?”). I retorted, “Ndozvandakakura ndichidya. Uyezve zvine utano”. (“This is what I grew up eating. After all, it’s healthy”).
A conversation full of jest between sahwiras never ends. Such relationship cements even family ties for generations to come.
My dear friend bade me farewell and I continued with my daydreaming. I recalled a certain incident that took place about three decades ago. I started laughing but at the same time feeling embarrassed as if it was a fresh incident. I heaved a sigh “Chokwadi kudzidza hakuperi” (Learning does not end”) as I remembered:
My husband got an invite from an Embassy to attend a heroes’ commemoration of their country. He had to confirm attendance whether alone, with a spouse or partner; for planning purposes.
I assured him that I was free to attend on the day and time indicated. He gave me the invitation card to keep and produce on the day. I kept the card but never looked at what was written on it.
I made prior arrangements with my home assistant for extra hours of baby-sitting on the day and she was agreeable.
The day of the function arrived. I put on my evening dress and wore my best perfume. I looked myself in the mirror and was convinced I was looking good for the occasion.
As we entered the Meikles hotel, Stewart room, people looked in my direction. I smiled to myself and thought “ndakachena” (“I’m looking great”). After a while my husband joined his lawyer friend, who was an envoy; for a chat. The envoy’s wife gave me company. The waiters gave everyone in the room some toast-wine.
I held the wine glass with my right thumb and forefinger seeping the wine slowly with an air of being ‘cool’. My friend who was filming the event for the national television saw me seeping the wine and made a gesture to me. I presumed she was waving at me and I waved back in a manner the models on the ramp wave at spectators.
She went to another corner and made the same gesture and I waved back. As she continued with the gestures, I continued waving back until she gave up, to which I thought she was busy with the filming.
As I had been communicating with my journalist friend, the envoy’s wife had been observing.
She said: “My friend, as someone coming from Europe, I really love your African attires. They are good for all occasions including this one”. I asked her: “What about the dress I’m putting on?” She replied, “Uum tell me, would you put on such attire for a heroes’ commemoration here in Zimbabwe?” I said, “No”. She then said, “The same applies for this function”.
Suddenly, I realised I was dressed wrongly. Everyone in the room was dressed up in sombre colours — greys, navy blues, black.
I dashed to my husband and said to him, “Lets go home. The children are alone. Do you want us to arrive home when they are already asleep?”. He replied, “No my dear, we can’t go home now. It’s not proper for us to go in the middle of the function”.
The truth was I was now embarrassed with my dress. I was the only one putting on an evening dress that was so glittery for such a sombre event. I begrudgingly went back to the company of the envoy’s wife.
After a while, it was time to make a toast to our respective countries. With speed, the waiters dashed from different directions of the hall towards me to refill my wine glass. It then dawned on my mind that my journalist friend had earlier tried several times to stop me from seeping the wine and reserve it for toasting. I felt more embarrassed and could not withstand being in the room anymore.
Such embarrassment would be best described by the Shona idiom ‘nyadzi dzinokunda rufu’ (embarrassment more severe than death). I went to my husband again pleading for us to go home: “Let’s go home. The kids are missing us. My husband replied calmly:” My dear, we will go when the function is over”.
I was so drenched in embarrassment to the extent that I felt that time was not moving and we were glued in the room forever. The envoy’s wife could not ignore what she was seeing through me and decided to give me a lecture:” When you get an invite for future events my friend, read thoroughly every word on the invitation card. You get the date, time, venue, dress code, et cetera. Where you are not sure, phone the number provided”.
I listened and realised etiquette was paramount. And, while I pestered my husband about going home, I knew I was not being sincere. I however apologised, but not on the particular day.
Dr Josephine Shambare writes on social issues for entertainment and awareness, in her own capacity. Excerpts are taken from her unpublished autobiography; and PhD thesis: ‘The Enigma of Child Sexual Abuse in the Zimbabwean context: Beyond Statistics’.
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