A letter to Uncle…
Dear Bamkuru,
It’s October 2025. The sky is overcast and the weather is unusually gloomy for the hottest month of the year. Today marks exactly a year since you breathed your last. It was at this time that phone calls were flying all over, spreading the shocking news of your passing. Shocking, yes, because you were on the mend, you were on your way out of the hospital to go home for recuperation surrounded by family. We had held a meeting on Sunday night making plans about your return home and had already placed orders for various things you would need as part of the recovery process.
On that fateful day, the news that you had gone was really hard to accept. In October, the breast cancer awareness month, the month I had dedicated 31 days of cancer posts, using your strength and story as an example, not mine. I remember how difficult it became to make a post on that day – but I had to be honest, I wrote how difficult it was to keep being a voice of hope when you actually lose those closest to you to the very same disease for which I was preaching strength.
The funeral proceedings still remain a blur because in that moment we had to take the reins and work on a befitting send off. The coordination process while in mourning is something that I can never forget. Reporting to the ZPCS headquarters was not easy – seeing all the men and women in familiar uniform brought back memories of your time in service, always having the boys shining your shoes till they reflected their faces before you headed out to work. The reminder of how your subordinates would immediately stand at attention and salute you while we smiled in admiration, keen to be acknowledged as the boss’s kids.
I will not talk much about the emotions that engulfed those that were tasked with the selection of your coffin and clothes, while others picked flowers and had your best photos enlarged to place at home and stick on the funeral convoy vehicles. It’s how much Maiguru said she felt so lonely, having to travel from Bulawayo to Gutu with the hearse and only the funeral services driver to talk to.
The wails that received us as we arrived at the homestead still pierce me till today. No matter how much we had cried from Harare to Bulawayo, Gutu was equally waiting for its own shedding of tears. The family patriarch had indeed gone, and not only at a nucleus level but at a community and village level. They came from far and wide, crying and with solemn faces as they immediately felt the void of the man who had led the clan for decades.
Of course, as with many an African funeral, we sang and danced all night, with a lot of the relatives mimicking your voice and your dance moves, as you spent one last night in your house before the final resting place.
On the day of your burial, again the delegates from ZPCS came and took over the proceedings as they laid the national flag on your coffin, a very high symbol of honor, respect, and gratitude for your service and sacrifice. They surrounded you and saluted, and that brought fresh tears to everyone’s eyes… it was the gun salute that followed that startled and jerked us up. While we had seen and heard the preparation for the salute, the muzzle blast was louder than we anticipated. Everyone ululated and whistled, marvelling at it all and saying “we have not seen anything like this in this village,” breaking into the song “tipeiwo nguva yekuchema gamba redu!”🎵
The past year has not been easy at all for the family. To say we miss you is but an understatement. Sometimes we post your pictures and videos on the family group. We visit your grave each time we are kumusha. Your photos keep your memory alive. We feel your presence everywhere, yet we miss your voice, your laughter and your physical being.
We hope you know that your grankids are doing well – that your namesake, Sebastian, is in school in Bulawayo, and is as tall as you. Christopher is loving boarding school in Nyanga – his voice broke and he is equally tall! Matthew was made prefect in Grade 4 and is growing into a fine young gentleman. Guess what, we now have twins in the family, born a few months ago in June. The boy is a carbon copy of Chris and the girl looks like Matthew. The girls are thriving in primary school, with Sue being the responsible big sister, Alexis being such an all rounder and overachiever, and Megan beng little Miss Independent. Zayd is as naughty as ever and would have given you a torrid time. Owami is walking now and approaching 18 months.
Your children, well, we are taking a day a time. We have a new addition to the family as Tanaka recently got married in September. But Bamkuru ka, you really did a number on Sabina. She was closest to you and she still expects to see you arriving home so that she can quickly serve you some water and supper. Your brother, the professor, sometimes stares blankly into space. In you he lost more than an only brother but lost a parent, a guide and confidant. Maiguru still holds the family together, with a brave face, but one can never understand how she still gets up and shows up after spending more than half her life with you. But, you would have wanted her to carry on, and indeed she is doing just that.
There is a song, Kuno, that is quite the oxymoron to me – it makes me cry, yet also gives me some comfort. Sang by Jah Prayzah, here are some of the lyrics, which I attribute to you speaking down to each one of us…
“Ndini ndokupinza muforo
Ndini ndinoita madiro
Ndini ndinovhika museve
Ndini ndinobvisa musungo
Ndini ndinozarura masuwo
Ndini ndinokupa muono
Ndini ndinotumira ruzivo
Ndini ndinotura mutoro…
Asi ndakafamba zvakanaka
Ndakasvikotambira menduru
Zvikanzi ichocho chigaro ndicho chemajita
Kuno kune ndarama, masango nemaguta
Mambo vari kuno vanokuziva nezita..
Vanombonditenderawo kuti ndimbodzika
Hondo dzinokuvinga ndimhanye kunovhika
Pamwe ungabatewo mupendero wejira
Unozongosara wofamba munzira yandenge ndavhura
Ndinenge ndasakura minzwa
Ndinenge ndavhara makomba
Hoko dzavanenge vakarovera, unosvika pamusha ndakadzura
Usazoramba wozvidya moyo
Kuchema kwako kwese ndinokunzwa
Chamakaisa muvhu inyama yangu
Hamuchina mweya wangu muguva
Kuno tinopembera nerugare
Hakuna chikonzero chekusuwa…
Hakuna mariro kuno kwandigere
Mafuro manyoro akanyorovera…”
Today we remember you in a special way, marking a year since you left us. We think of you everyday, holding on to your teachings and wisdom, knowing you are in a better place, watching over us.
We pray for your continued peaceful rest.
Tionane Mwari achida….
With love…
Your “American Girl”