Sakubva, The Eternal Maiden

‎''Sakubva, The Eternal Maiden''

''There are places I remember,
all my life, though some have changed,
some forever not for better
some are gone and some remain
all these places had their meaning
with lovers and friends, I still recall
some are dead and some their living
in my life, I've loved them all...''

The above lyrics of an old, Rod Stewart song,'' In my life'', bear an underlying melancholy, nostalgia perhaps for a faraway yesterday. For a place in time forever gone, a place from memory, that haunts your present, and overarchs into all your tommorows.

Sakubva is such a place. A place of memories, ideals that are a stark contrast to the apparent structural decreptitude. You do not arrive in Sakubva, you can not know her by looking at her. If you are a visitor you discover her, natives remember her.

Though she is a full twelve years shy of a century, Sakubva looks ancient, the houses in Murapa,in the old township, the non descript structures in Chitungo, Chineta and Mazhambe, with arched roofs much akin to a camel. That beast of burden. Perhaps a sign of the multitude of secrets that burden her conscience, the concealed bootleg, kachasu, that illicit brew that spiced up many a labourer's friday, and bruised many a wife's face, soul and more. The whispered affections and furtive passion of love's embrace, eager to bloom but wary of the town police, bursting into the room for ''inspection''.

Sakubva is a maiden. An aged siren, prima donna from a yesteryear opera, who refuses to bow out. The white washed walls of Muchena, the red bricks of Maonde,Chisamba and Old Dangare, resemble hastlily slapped on make up in anticipation of an anchor call that may never be.

Sakubva is a mother. Though in her modesty, she never says it. Her paps have suckled doctors and professors. In Doctor Samuel Parirenyatwa, she broke the matrix jettisoning blackness into the medical profession. Professor Rukudzo Murapa, Vice Chancellor of Africa University, that venerable seat of learning, trod her dusty streets, His father has a road, a surburb and a shopping centre named after him. The Muzorewas, The Makonis and The Tsvangirais have all found solace in her lavish bossom. Her offspring is scattered across the globe. What city, what nation is too farflung from her tantacle-like arms, she has scattered abroad.

Sakubva is surrounded on all sides. The Mutare city centre to the east, clearly visible, promiscous in her commerce. Within walking distance, yet by her unashamed wordliness far removed from the aesthetic subtlety that is Sakubva's charm. To the west, a ridge of mountains rise abrubtly as if in firm rebuttal of the pretensi.ousness that is Dangamvura. To the north, Sakubva river meanders westwards, inviting the suburb to dip and be cleansed, chastised of her guilt, real and surmised. And to the south Chimanimani road snakes stealthly from the east, past Moffat Hall where in waltz copied from the white men's verranda at Cecils Hotel, many a romance bloomed, past Musika weHuku, the chicken market where no chicken has dared intrude in recent memory , suddenly veering southward at the western mountain ridge, like a lover scorned. Perhaps angry at the inhabitants of Sakubva for spurning his overtures. Promises of escape, escape to the south, to faraway lands, Johanesburg, the ocean, freedom...

Though she looks hemmed in, Sakubva is free, there is freedom,liberty to dream, to be. She assumes nothing, expects nothing yet offers everybody, something. From Osibisa to Mkoma Zebbee and company strumming their guitars in a Hendrix cover in Beit Hall, that monumental emblem, to saturday afternoon football at the sports oval. The hyminals from Hilltop to the churning churchbells at St Josephs. Tales of ghosts behind the rows of shelves in the Library, to the myth of the mermaids in the quarry pools behind John Fisher's. The blarring music in the council pub juke box to the stolen sundowners at Sisi Emily's in Chisamba singles. Children's froliced hails drowned by the plane flying overhead from Perems' aerodromme, to the car reversing from the postulated progress that is New Dangare. Sakubva offers everyone something, yet she herself demands nothing, needs nothing.

Nothing but to see her children dance once more. At Beit hall, glistening in a new coat of paint, a sign of renewal. To have them feast on knowledge at Zamba primary school, explore the minds of ancient sages within the isles of Sakubva library. Try a racquet at the tennis court, or exercise in the adjacent gym. She longs for old women secure in well lit and paved Musa road. She will not say it, but her sighs in the dead of night, her groans at a rembered delight, betray a longing to embrace her children, scattered in the dispersion.

Oh hear your mother calls! The eternal maiden beckons, ''Come.'' she whispers, never shouting, as a mother hen, hear her coo. And whereever you are, remember home, Remember Sakubva and perhaps, just perhaps, her children may find their way back. To fulfill her joy, as they tell their tales of far away lands, were fountains sprout and marching bands play. Her aged eyes will light up, her dry lips part as a smile lights up her sullen countanence. What joy to see her children gathered all around her.She will remember the chicken runs at the old Musika weHuku, long bereft of chickens, as she watches her children finally back, like chicks come home, to roost.
By Jabulani Mangezi

After spending over 26 years in this town,my heart bleeds to see how dilapidated the bathrooms and roads have become.The bathroom were meant to serve about 16 families of less than three or four people.Now they serve over 150 people + walk ins.The facets are no longer working.The toilets do not flush,the doors have all been vandalised and as such there is no more privacy in these bathrooms.The two pictures below show the present state of the bathrooms.How do we sit behind big desks and talk about health for all if we allow some people to use these bathrooms at this day and age?These toilets are also only 5 metres away from the houses and when they burst, the raw sewer rush past or into people's houses.The city council then comes to "fix" it and add the dangerous DDT chemical.Before they even drive away children are already playing on the DDT without a clue of the danger they are placing themselves in.What are we waiting for before we can act on this?An earthquake?

My Sakubva My Concern

This week l will post statements from some of our facebook group members.Although there were many l chose these three because they bring out the issues we are trying to address as ReSa.

Jokes aside good people, we all must work to eliminate the evil drink ZED from our streets and tuck shops. Zed is a cane spirit quite similar to Mainstay but they differ in the level of purity. Cheap cane spirits are often made from industrial grade ethanol, which is not sufficiently distilled to remove other toxic alcohols such as methanol. It is often referred to as fusel oil or bad oil because of the presence of unacceptably high levels of methanol in it .Now Methanol is a light neurotoxin and continual consumption may lead to blindness and uncontrollable convulsions of the hands and fingers. heap cane spirits also have an unacceptably high alcohol content (known as degrees proof in chemistry) and this overloads the liver,eventually leading to liver cirhosis. PLEASE LET US DESIST FROM POISONING OURSELVES WIH THESE CHEAP BREWS. KANA MARI YEDORO YASHAIKWA DRINK WATER PERIOD. 4

Woeshik Mangezi ‎Lucia Mbofana, please always feel free to use my contributions in any way that you deem fit. The problems are poverty and the symptoms it begets, unemployent and drunkeness. there also seems to be a high drop out rate from school and the abscence of many role models (there are some but not enough) and social and professional mentors for the young ones are short. Although many people are doing "chrismatic church", there nonetheless is a high level of moral degradation.

There doesn't seem to be much strong parliamentarians to represent Mutare as a whole.At the same time lack of education is killing our place.You give them public toilets with tiles,they steal them tiles,clean toilets,they mess them up.A lot of people are still living in squalid conditions eg Muchena,Mundembe,Maonde etc.Public toilets in this 21st century should be a thing of the past.Let me end here today.I can write a book.I was born in Sakubva.I know it more than I can imagine.Taiemba juru juru woye paBhaiti if you think I'm fake(We used to sing jurujuru woye at Beit Hall if you think l am fake)

My town my History

I was born in 1972 through home delivery in Sakubva township in Mazhambe.My parents lived in Mazhambe then although this was my father's parents' house.Life in the 70s was not so fast and people lived as social community members.My parents then moved to 88 Maonde.This neighbourhood had blocks of two roomed attachments.Each block has (up to now) four such attachments of two roomed houses.This means that four families live on a block.The two rooms were meant to be a kitchen and a bedroom but lately people use them as kutchen ,bedroom and living areas.There was and still is very limited privacy as the neighbours can actually hear the goings-on in the next room.Among 4-5 blocks is a common bathroom with two separate toilets for men and women.In the toilets are four cubicles each for individual business.Back in the days the cubicles had doors and a working flash system that allowed each toilet business to be done and completed.Toilet paper consisted of old newspapers stuck up behind the cistern.No one really was in charge of putting these papers there but somehow someone always felt that they needed them there.And for sure we did.And if by any chance you would not fing the papers then the wall would do too.
Every morning you would wake up to the swish swash noise of a hard broom and some loud shouting and sometimes singing.City council or the local authorities provided a cleaner who would come early in the morning to clean the bathrooms and toilet.The same process would be repeated at sundown before knock off time which was usually 5pm.This kept the toilets clean somehow.Inside the toilets was a tap where you were expected to wash your hands after business.The toilets were also numbered.I remember ours was number 13.Pretty cool hey.
Back then every man went to work.Decent work where you get a salary at the end of the month.Somehow families survived and we all managed to go to school.What was most impressive is that community members used to take care of each other and even the saying,everyone's child is my child too,made alot of sense.I remembered each time we came from school.We always knew that we could go and eat from our neighbours Mbuya Assan,Mbuya Vito or Mai Mazaiwana.It seemed that they liked to feed us because even when you didn't go to their houses they would always come and check on you,whether you have food or whether you are ok generally.There was no talk of food poisoning then and we were safe.It was only in the 90s that we started to hear about rape,incest,food poisoning and streetkids.To be honest even the issue of child headed households started to make sense to me in the 90s.Those community members who were willing to take care of us had vanished.Boof into thin air.
During that time common prostitution was not rife.We had a handful of prostitutes and we knew them by name.Those who lived in Sakubva then know them.Oh yes those ones.I loved them though, with their tight trousers,sagging bellies due to too much illicit drinks,clownish makeup and hoarse voices.And to think of it our mothers never worried if our fathers were seen talking to these women.It was ok and we used to call them Sisi So and so.
Check this page for more momeries from Sakubva.This will be updated weekly.You too can send your memories and we can share.

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