| Leaving Zimbabwe for the last...
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| Leaving Zimbabwe for the last time |
| My last memory of the land of my birth was that of walking along the runway of Bulawayo airport as we made our way to Viscount waiting there patiently for us all to board. The sun was hot and you could smell the land all around you. We slowly reached the entrance of the plane and I stopped and turned around to look over the land I had called home for all of my life. It was as though I was trying to burn then memory of that sight into my mind forever. The sky was blue and filled with large fluffy cotton wool clouds and the land was greeny red. This was my last sight of Africa and still when the cold northern winter evening come I can close my eyes and see that wonderful day so long ago. |
Julian, |
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| Leaving Zimbabwe for the last time |
So how do you say farewell to a lifetime of memories?
Well to begin with you don't bath and change your clothes for two days and you sleep on a mattress on the floor. You watch as people, some whom you know well and some, whom you do not know at all, descend on your home to claim the spoils of a departure. And you sit like a king in his counting house counting all his money and the sums mean nothing at all as another memory goes out of the door.
The echoes of your mind are mirrored by the hollow reverberations from rooms once filled with laughter and the contented sounds of a close family life. There are the images that queue up to crowd your mind. That Wacky Wednesday party that ended in such a glorious mud fight on the lawn. What about the Peter Pan bash when as Captain Hook I was nearly massacred by a horde of miniature Peter Pans who took their roles a little too seriously! Of course the Roman Banquet was an altogether sedate affair. Thankfully my daughters and their be-toga-ed friends were far too young and innocent to know it usually came served up with an orgy!
Throughout history book burning and the destruction of the past have been vindictive events. But how does one cope when it has to be a voluntary act governed by the knowledge you are limited by what finances will allow you to take? The school magazine recording your record breaking run burns no differently to the paper packet that contained yesterday's shopping. In the end you are thankful for the raw consuming power of the flames, for the sudden flaring that rapidly obliterates that treasured handprint of your daughter from her first day at nursery school.
A hurricane of thoughts flood the mind with yesterdays and yet more yesterdays. This has been the first home we owned. This is the only home that two of our daughters have ever known. Who can remember the number of times we lost the lawn to drought yet rejoiced in the trumpeting of nature in our front garden as the bougainvilleas, flamboyants and jacarandas burst into a flaming riot of stunning colours.
I picked up a piece of glittering and startlingly white marble from a shelf in my cupboard. What a day that was on the Greek island of Paros, the fields were blood drenched with poppies and best of all I had my wife clinging to me as my pillion passenger as I tried to master the art of riding a hired motorbike. Being ever the unrepentant historian we had to visit the quarry where Michelangelo ordered much of the marble he used to sculpt his magnificent works of art. It was renowned for its purity and colour and I found a piece to bring home with us. I never got around to carve it, but sitting on the shelf it became one of those constants in life. Now I shall bury it in the garden knowing that a good part of us shall always remain here.
There have been heart-rending moments. Amy's piano was collected by the buyer without prior warning while we were away from home. No opportunity for her to play any farewell melodies. Now the lounge is bare and stark. No prints and paintings to enliven the walls, no book shelves crammed with myriad titles from Asterix to Zwingli, no ornaments with all their emotional attachments and yet if I close my eyes I can see my peaches and cream daughter seated at her stool and feel the music she made wash soothingly over me.
I sold one of sporty Sarah's tennis racquets today and felt the pride in all her achievements on court. Her determination and never say die attitude that is so inspiring. We packed many of Joy's ballet outfits in packets to donate away and there she was kaleidoscopically on stage as a little spotted Dalmatian, in top hat and tails and in flowing Isadora Duncan style robes.
The other night lying on a mattress on the floor I read to Amy and Joy some extracts from Alice's early letters to me that I had sorted out some time ago. How tied we have been to Africa, what experiences we have shared from the tip of the continent - University at Grahamstown - to the harsh beauty of the barren animal graced plains of Samburu in Kenya. The magic of our meeting in the Chimanimani mountains by the light of a full moon. I was instantly smitten by this caring, thoughtful, beautiful and spirit filled blue-eyed blonde.
Our poor dog. So confused by all the packing going on around him. So much a part of the family. Our warthog cross hyena. An unique mongrel with abundant character and boundless affection. The girls could not stay to see him go. That is what Dad's are for but believe me that did not make it any easier. At least we know he has gone to a good MDC home!
That is something death will only part me from. The medal given to some of us for services rendered to democracy during the June 2000 elections. It is not pride that urges me to keep it but the memories of those brave and wonderful folk I had the great honour and privilege to work shoulder to shoulder with or briefly rubbed shoulders with. My dynamic blonde duo who even stopped a funeral procession to handout pamphlets to the mourners. Sneaking into the townships at night with a loyal Ndebele friend to likewise distribute pamphlets in no go areas. The old lady who limped into my office and placed a substantial sum from her savings on my desk for the cause and wanted no thanks for it. The attack by the ‘youth service programme members’ on the office I was working in - a brick grazed my ankle as I went impressively, given my age, over a 6 foot wall (amazing what adrenaline can do for you) on orders to get away with all the critical election data and the kind women who hid me.
That crippled hobbling woman who pleaded with me to find something for her to do. "People think because I am a cripple I am incapable". I could have asked her to swing 10 kilometres on her crutches to deliver campaign material. What a good aid-de-camp she became.
Not to mention, a polling agent I trained at an all day session at the Barham Green Community Hall on a Saturday whose life was so cruelly taken from him on the Monday. I pray one day they will face a Judge from whom there will be no escape. How can I describe that meeting with the rest of the polling agents after his death? I cannot. Suffice it to say we closed in prayer and even though to my shame I could not understand the Ndebele words that came from the deep bass voice of the man I had asked to utter them I could feel their power - they came from a spiritual induna of note. Mugabe needed to be there to know no matter how hard he tries he cannot crush the spirit of these wonderful people.
Over the last few days we have been exhausted more by the flood and range of emotions that have drowned us than by the punishing physical demands of sorting out a lifetime's memorabilia. The deep wells of sadness, however, have been countered by the springs of anticipation and the excitement of what may lie ahead. At times too we have been greatly humbled by the joy evidenced amongst many of the buyers of our goods who have found something they have really wanted but could not afford before. Then there has been the wonder and blessings of being able to donate so many things to worthwhile and needy causes.
To answer the question I started with. You don't. You take them with you as glittering ever-lasting mental gems that will not be tarnished and eroded by time. The grey ghosts of Africa - elephants - coated with silver moonlight cavorting at midnight by the waterhole, the surreal sunsets from World's View in the Matopos Mountains, the spirit of the nation's incredible people and the song of the sum of all that Africa is will forever sing in our hearts.
I have always said to the girls life is about making memories and while we can not take many material things with us, we will be taking container loads of ever to be treasured memories that will make us billionaires. We cannot turn our backs on this nation nor this continent and in our own way we will continue to carry its favours as we joust in the tournament for the prize of a better life for all its people.
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Malcolm, |
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| Leaving Zimbabwe for the last time |
| After reading this I cried a million tears the memories hurt we lost so much, not material things, they can be replaced, but we are all displaced peoples now, yet the memories will linger forever. AFRICA I LOVE YOU. |
annette, reply to memories |
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| Leaving Zimbabwe for the last time |
| When we got on the plane in Harare to fly out of Zimbabwe and make a new life in the UK I turned to my husband and asked if he was alright - he looked at me with tears in his eyes and said "I feel as though I have left a piece of my soul behind" |
Sandie, Broxbourne, UK |
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| Leaving Zimbabwe for the last time |
| Having read Malcolm's memories I had to cry with him and thank him for helping me heal I have taken the one day at a time creed and a year later still have those days when I cant cope with out a flood of tears its a bereavement a death from within that in time may heal. Its a part of life that has no closure that is full of what ifs and maybe and if only. We cannot change the course of history but maybe we can help each other to understand and feel better with in ourselves. I left on a bus to South Africa to say farewell to my family that live there and I may just be visiting for christmas and with a bit of luck go fishing on the Zambesi. Its all too soon maybe to go back but there was so much going on when we left my husband took the brunt of the selling I could not part with things it was easier to give away to good homes and as for the cats not a day goes by with out me worrying about them one was so ancient and crotchety the other full of enthusiam for life I felt like a criminal sneaking off and leaving them behind even if the new owner assured me she would not neglect them. There were people who lost so much more than just a life style and a county do I have the right to whinge and whine? Somewhere I feel that I have been betrayed double crossed and kicked out of the country of my birth and I dont like it. The english people my husband being one have been so kind to us they have given us a stress free life style and yet I still have days of wanting not maybe more but just that magic smell of bush fire, the nightly frogs chorus from the vlei at the back of the house, the monotonous barking of dogs all night long, whineing of mosquitoes, the english ones are quiet, the dust the flies and the smell and taste of a steak on the braai. Oh yes! |
Zimdays, Avonlea 1981 |
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| Leaving Zimbabwe for the last time |
| Thank you so much for sharing those memories Malcolm. I've been away from home for almost five years and I still miss the sights and smells that used to comfort me in my growing years. I often talk about home and try to explain to my new friends in the UK what it was like going on camping trips to Kariba or booze cruising during the Tiger Tournaments each year but even though they cry with laughter at our outrageous antics alas they don't feel the emotion behind them! So many good memories i've bought with me to my new "home" but nothing will ever compete with my one true home in Africa. After reading Malcolm's memories I can only imagine what I've missed since my departure in 2000, although I've returned once since I left, I still miss the little things... but thank you Malcolm, your emotional memories remind me of how bittersweet life was and how you feel as though you are selling a part of your soul when you part with your belongings to raise enough cash for the flights to the next chapter of your life... I will NEVER forget Africa - my one, true home. |
Annalize, Mutare, Bulawayo & Harare 1985 - 2000 |
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| My Favourite Zim Radio and TV adverts |
Ahh there were so many most of which have been mentioned already but what about the soap advert where the lady goes back and asks for a big soap then a little soap then a big gentle soap I think it was geisha.
Also the perfection soap, mommas doing the washing today etc.
And of course the dairyboard cheese advert because I am here and you are (tap on the tv) there.
The black label one was good too hey hey hey... my friends and I whenever we get together we run throuh our favourite ads and laugh. |
Amanda, arundel 1996 |
| This text has not been reviewed by a Zimdays Human editor |
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| Yesteryear in the clubs |
| well mafero a.k.a ma dan gagani a.k.a ma ruff ryderz ne magalinya.... do you remember the end of month cup clashes kwa mudhara a.k.a tube... well been 1 of those so called dancehall Djz, i sure rememba those days... well do remember ma sound ALKEBULANI we had our tym.... Dec 1998, Jan 1999, Feb 1999, Mar 1999, Apr 1999 only for Delta Force to spoil our winning streak with that SHIBHOBHO REMIX, DELTAFORCE IN THE AREA... Well big up to ma HOT NUMBER CREW, Lec MUNYA, WEBBIE DREAD, SUPA DEE, Lt TALKER and all the ALKEBULANI MASSIVE |
tendai, SQUARE TRIGGER |
| This text has not been reviewed by a Zimdays Human editor |
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| My Favourite Zim Radio and TV adverts |
| GEISHA, UNO GEZA, WOGOGEZA, WOGOGEZA... |
tendai, SQUARE TRIGGER |
| This text has not been reviewed by a Zimdays Human editor |
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| My Favourite Zim Radio and TV adverts |
| Well remeber that advert yasekuru TAPERA who didnt have the whole front line... remember that colgate advert???? could someone please write the whole conversation for me!! ............ |
tendai, SQUARE TRIGGER |
| This text has not been reviewed by a Zimdays Human editor |
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