experience
“ Pavanorasa marasha, vanozvirasawo — when they throw out the ashes, they throw themselves out too. ” Next time I’d remember to bring a dung bag to take home with me. The next day was even more incredible than the first. I thought I knew Chiredzi, but when I ventured out of the reserve to see what more Malilangwe had to offer, I encountered an entire world of conservation work being carried out by the Malilangwe Trust that I had no idea about. I visited Mwenje and Muteo Primary, two rural schools, and marvelled at their e-learning initiatives. I danced with the women at the Khomamani Garden , who showed off their crops and told me stories of the fish they sell. The programme coordinator, who was taking me around, pointed to the fish tanks. “They don’t let the fish get too big, you see,” he started. “It’s harder to share one big fish for a family of five. The father always ends up having most of it, so they sell five small fish instead to feed the whole family.” Brilliant, I thought. The following day, I went to the Kambako Living History Museum , run by a Shangani man called Julius. Respectfully, Mr Julius. I learned of a whole new way of living. How our ancestors did. He showed me how to start a fire without a lighter, how to divine salt, I shot a handmade bow and arrow, and I found water using a forked stick.
“These are the ways of our ancestors, and what I do here is preserve those skills, so we never lose the ways of our people.” That was it. That was what the land was trying to tell me. You see, I’ve been living what I suppose you could call a very modern life. Constantly busy, always online, and learning to measure days in meetings, messages, and deadlines. My value and quality of life are measured in performance and productivity; I feel at home when I achieve. Then, I came here. I allowed Pamushana to show me and to remind me what I had forgotten. I had forgotten what being Zimbabwean meant, what being African meant. The unhurried nature of our people, the soul in the ‘unnecessary’ chit- chat, the history etched in our language and traditions. The non-performance. Each day at sunset, we drove back in silence. These were also amongst my favourite moments from the trip. An exhale and slowing down after a series of life-changing experiences. Being here, I found a home I never knew. Or rather, I remembered a home that has always been. I had missed Chiredzi. I had missed home. I’d missed myself. On my final evening, I sat on the balcony overlooking the dam, with nowhere to be and nothing to do but watch the light move across the water. For the first time in a long time, I let myself simply be still. The land had told me the same story decades ago. This time, I was old enough to listen.
Right In the wild, everything unfolds at its own pace, unhurried by the passage of time.
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