Monday, August 31, 2009

Odzukulu Power

Two weks ago I found myself in the village for the funeral of my niece's husband. I felt oblidged to attend this funeral despite the fact that the pocket was unwilling to support a trip to the Kapitolo on this date of the month. Firstly, I deeply sympathized with the niece for losing her husband of just three years. Pepa mwana wanga. Secondly, memories of their colourful village wedding are still fresh. It was one the very few weddings I have enjoyed so much in recent years. They got married in 2006 in pure village fashion with a few modifications. Remember the village weddings those days? May be these dyas too in some parts. But in those days there was no Just Married. The only means of transport to the church was a bicycle and in some cases, ngolo or wa Abraham. The ankhoswe were the ones who ferried the couple to the mission. And very often there were reports of bicycle accidents where the bride would fall off the bike and get her dress soiled in the dust! hahahaha! O their return from the church the new couple would be dropped a few hundreds meters away from the village while the ankhoswe rushed to the village to announce their arrival. The whole village would then flock to gate of the village to welcome the new family and that marked the beginning of the celebrations! Simple. No photo session, no convoys, no rings, no champaigns, nothing, but full of fun!

But the eve of the wedding was the most exciting one! That was time for boys and girls to enjoy themselves under the cover of darkness! That also marked the beginning of other marriages! But for most naughty boys that was time to pull a fast one on the unsuspecting women sleeping in the chikhuthe (a temporary grass shed). The chikhuthe is where all the foodstuffs (thobwa, luwende, nthumbwana, nkhuku etc) are stored. It also gives shelter to the women after being exposed to the scorching sun and heat from the fire place. Our women! After a day's hard work and joyous singing and dancing they retire to the chikhuthe for a short nap. And that was the time for boys to play a few tricks. They would prepare a metre long drinking stroll made from reeds. And as the women easily fell into sleep surrounded by drumfulls of freshly prepared thobwa (the main refreshment for the wedding reception), the boys, who must have done a thorough surveying in the afternoon on the positions of the mbiya za thobwa, would launch the assualt. In typical guerilla style, while others danced the night out, the boys quietly tiptoed to the back of the shed, and with great precision dipped their strolls through the loose grass into the clay pots. With utmost care and speed they drained out as much thobwa as they can while making sure noone is choked lest they wake up the women soundly sleeping inside. The women would wake in the morning only to find empty pots. Kalekale. Tikanasankha kale. I was surprized that more than twenty years on, the Tradition has continued. At my niece's wedding a few unlucky boys were caught in the act and fined.

The officiation of this wedding was done at the maginificent Nkhoma CCAP Mission. Onyamata's Bubble Shape proudly escorted the bride. No bikes this time! Driving on the Kamphata -Nkhoma road listening to Mlaka's Usakaiwale sent me back to my childhood days (kale zedi). On the far right, across a stream that runs adjacent to the road, is a foot path I once used when I was about seven or eight on one of the most memorable journeys of that time to the Mission for the third term Sunday School Closing ceremony. In those days it was always a big attraction and a feat every sunday school goer yearned to achieve. Reason? Worshiping in the big Nkhoma church lit with electricy and a piano playing in the background, with several azungus was something everyone from the distant villages longed to experience. Secondly and most importantly, the church served all the sunday school children with rice porridge at the end of the service. And this happened once a year! I am saying Rice! Think of it! It was an early Xmas for many! So we always tried to memorize verses from the Bible so we could make this Pilgrimage! And when the teacher said you were not going because you were too young to walk the 15km journey (one way) you endlessly cried knowing you would have to wait for another year to retry your luck. We all wished we were old! Finally, my day came. it was all smiles knowing I was going to sit in the big church's pew, stand before a big crowd and recite a verse and thereafter enjoy a cupful of rice pprridge. As I negotiated the turns, my eyes remained fixed on the Chilenje mountain on the right. On that July Sunday morning as we climbed up and down the Chilenje mountains bare foot, we sang Yesu chingwe chosaduka nthawi zonse always avoiding any sign of fatique lest they send you back home. We were finally in the church yard and I parked the vehicle just outside and took a stroll around the premises. Everything looked just as then.

The wedding reception was so colourful. A local band entertained the big crowd. There were also mganda and kamude (Chimtali) dancers. The women were always singing as they cooked in the big fires. I enjoyed the band so much.

And when I heard the news about the passing on of my mkamwini I remembered all these things. 2006 is just like yesterday. And today he is gone. I arrived home at 8am. The whole family was there. It was time for a reunion. a Sad one. We updated each other on our lives and ate and slept together. As food was being served around 11 am on that hot Saturday morning news came through that the grave diggers (adzukulu) had abandoned their work and were at the chiefs camp. Apparently the chief was in the company of his cunterparts from the neigbouring villages. It later transpired that a relation to the deceased had insulted the adzukulu by offering to pay them if they prepared a nice resting place for his departed relation. Where I come from you don't just joke with adzukulu or indeed about funerals! He had scratched them on a wrong spot, as we say. In pure jungle justice system, they quickly bundled and tethered the drunken fella to a tree like a goat right in the graveyard. Two more drunken brothers to the hostage appeared on the scene and rescued him. The three quickly vanished but promised to return and avenge their brother's kidnapping!

Incensed by this, the adzukulus decided to refer the issue to the village head where they demanded a 3 goat outright fine before they could return to the graveyad to continue with the work. The chiefs were somehow caught off guard and their negotiating skills eluded them for a good three hours. The adzukulus were later seen treking back to the grave, a kilometre away from kumasiye. Finally the funeral ceremony began at around 3pm during which time most people had abandoned the funeral and left for their homes. Mind you the people had been at the funeral from Thursday and this was Saturday. How would you expect them to be there for three good days when there were weddings in some neighbouring villages which they also felt oblidged to attend. But most importantly (tó them) there was also a gulewamkulu ceremony a few villages away where free beer and enteratinment was on offer which most people found more inviting than waiting for adzukulu and chiefs to agree a ransom. As we sang Kuli dziko lokoma m'mwamba with the mourners leading the procession to final resting place for my nience's husband, the singing was briefly interrupted. From the crowed of mourners appeared three young men with drunken eyes but evidently in excruciating pain. They were in their mid twenties and one of them was donning a DPP shirt. Their arms were tied at the back in the elbows with a rubber (nyakula style). The procession moved, singing Bwinoli, bwinoli tipita tidzaonana m'tsidya lija. Tears of shame and pain treked down their checks as they meandered through crowd to the end of the procession to meet the chiefs. A group of uncompromising adzukulu followed with one boy carrying a velemoti of kachasu, apparently confiscated form the unrully boys. This was to be presented to the chiefs as evidence. As I returned to the village from the graveyard I met the three unrully boys now freed and challenging to deal with the adzukulus for shaming them. I can only speculate what transpired later as I immediately started off for Zomba. Osamasewera ndodzukulu