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Isdore Guvamombe-Saturday Lounge Reflections
For two nights and two days last weekend, I participated at a traditional binge at Rozvi spirit medium Bvumavaranda’s Shrine in Musana communal lands in Shamva.
It is a citadel of traditional African beliefs, a conundrum of that what makes African real Africans.
A cross rhythm of drums and mbira resonated throughout the shrine, shifting in percussion, pitch tempo and crescendo.
Four Mbira players thumped the instrument in frenzied gait, heard tossing sideways, backwards, forth and little everywhere else.
One giant man stood up playing the shakers, while a slim tall man, pumped the ox-hide on the drum with open palms as if there was no tomorrow. The shakers made my adrenalin rush. The shakers. Shakers. Shakers!
The shrine exuded an aura of that which is gothic, inexplicably eerie and profound; that which makes the heart beat fast; that which makes the mind, heart and soul depose to the world yonder, the world of spirits.
Indeed, before you know it, you are in a spiritual realm that gives life its real meaning.
At this moment, the situation defined for itself the difference between religion and religiosity, the belief and the execution of the belief. Traditional religion, I felt, was still alive and kicking.
Women of all shapes and sizes, from the pencil slim to the chubby ones, from the yellow-boned to the charcoal-boned up to those with long artificial eye lashes, came.
The difference, though, is that everyone was decently dressed. In the shrine women walked on their knees from corner to corner only standing on their feet to dance.
Everyone, men and women, plunged into the mood, shaking and dancing to the cross-rhythm, singing along and clapping. Clapping and dancing. Dancing and dancing.
Traditional beer was in abundance and clay pots and drinking gourds made the rounds to little everywhere else. Pouches of traditional snuff, exchanged hands too. There was snuffing all over the place. Nostrils got busy.
But that was a preamble. The night was still young. Everyone was still just warming up.
Soon traditional chiefs, Musana, Masembura, Mutema, Seke and Mugabe arrived with their aides and together with them, we occupied a vantage position, equivalent to high table but seated on reed mats.
The medium of Bvumavaranda lay shiftily on a reed mat to our left, surrounded by his paraphernalia, which included leopard skins, black cloth, a scullery of walking sticks, pouches of tobacco, among others. He struck me, with his composure, calmness and regalia as the one the ancestors anointed.
The month of June is known for its killing cold but we never felt the cold. People continued singing and dancing. It was carnival.
There were intermittent break up and wailing of those possessed as the music and instruments made many people manifest.
One particular song swept everyone off their feet.
“Ndaona Murozvi achifamba
Achiti dhehwa, dhehwa… dhehwa, dhehwa
Ndaona Murozvi achifamba
Achiti dhehwa, dhehwa… dhehwa, dhehwa, dhehwa Ndaona Murozvi achifamba
Achiti dhehwa, dhehwa… dhehwa, dhehwa…!”
That the song went with a partially macho man obscene hand gesture was amazing. Everyone joined in, man and women.
The spirit manifested and the medium went on stage and danced steady feet but with staggering gait.
Soon the music and dance rattled to a halt and it was time for introductions.
The main officiant, (Muzukuru) who apparently shared the same totem with me, Mhofu (the elegant, exquisite and flamboyant eland) lined up clay pots of beer before the medium for a prayer.
After the prayer each of the Chiefs present was identified by totem and welcomed through a clay pot of beer. A small gourd full of beer was given to the chief and he accepted by drinking the beer. Then followed ululation and clapping. Clapping, clapping, clapping ululation.
First was Chief Musana of Shamva, then Chief Mugabe of Masvingo, Chief Seke of Mash East, Chief Masembura of Shamva and Chief Mutema of Chipinge.
Boy, ooh boy, it was the difference in greeting etiquette and clapping rhythm that differentiated the chiefdoms. That the marvel of African tradition. Thereafter the spirit left.
Then the singing and dancing fiesta took over. There was song and dance, again and again, and, again and again. Again and again. Again.
By 4am, the time elephants normally bath, the spirit manifested again, this time around silencing everyone with a huge lecture on morality, personal development, African humanism and family relations.
The spirit also paraded two walking sticks that will form part of my next instalment. Let me leave it here for now.
By the time the lecture ended, it was almost run rise. The binge adjourned for breakfast, amid dance and song.
After a few hours of relaxing, the dancing and singing continued, this time outside the shrine. This time around, two traditional dance groups battled it out in the open space. One group was from yonder Mberengwa while another was from Mufakose in Harare.
Theirs was a scintillating performance.
A day is never long when all is well. Soon night fell as sunset gave way to darkness and we found ourselves inside the shrine.
The Mbira players were at it again, this time around thumping our hearts and souls to a soothing eternity. Everyone danced up and about. Some went into trances, clay pots with frothing beer circulated and drinking gourds exchanged hands.
It was unbelievable. The waist- wriggling dances, the deft and fancy footwork and the melodious singing, all gave the traditional binge its credence.
That night, the spirit Bvumavaranda manifested twice but it is the final manifestation at dawn that made my stay amazing.
The spirit gave pin point accounts of people’s situations. In this realm the spirit does not ask you about your problems, it sees beyond the human eye and tells you your problems.
One by one people were picked from the crowd and told about their problems and prescriptions were given.
The medium used traditional snuff to solve many problems.
By the time the spirit left for the world yonder, it was time to queue for the all-important traditional snuff. The snuff has spiritual healing powers and before it you can present all your problems.
The queue was long and one by one people got their share of the snuffs.
The Mbira players were at it again, thumping our souls to a soothing eternity. Everyone danced up and about. Some went into trances, clay pots with frothing beer circulated and drinking gourds changed hands. It was unbelievable. The waist-wriggling dances, the deft and fancy footwork, the singing all gave the traditional binge its credence.
By day break, it was time to rest, eat and tour the shrine for a few selected.
This shrine place is excellently managed. It has well-manicured grounds, solar powered lighting, including street lights and ground water.
A fish pond, a workshop, a chicken run and a paddock on the southern part and several toilets, show architectural intelligence.
Behind the shrine is a booming Miombo woodlands forest, growing on the foot of bald-headed rock promontory.
A rivulet starts from up the rock promontory and skirting the Shrine to the west and then past the entrance down southwards.
Under normal circumstances, this is a bad place to build as it is rocky, but with art, resilience and planning, it passes for one of the best rural settlements in Zimbabwe. Perhaps, what the spirits ordered, no one can stop. This is a shrine of life.
Online Reporter