I want to go home!
I was minding my own business at work when I suddenly heard a familiar greeting: “Unjani?” Looking back I expected to meet the typical wekumusha or at least someone of colour. Nope, some white dude. If I had been in the UK, or the US for that matter, I wouldn’t have been startled.
But in Norway of all places at an oil refinery in the furthest part of the country. I managed to quickly get myself together again, and asked if he was South African and had assumed I was probably from there being the only person of colour in our company. Once again nope. I come from Redcliff, went to Thornhill High School, he goes on.
Are you kidding me, I was at Regina Mundi. I delightfully jump in. The glow on my face suddenly fades as I detect the sadness in his voice. I miss home Rejoice. Do you think mudhara will go. I want to go home. I tried once at the Beitbridge border post when I had an opportunity to work in Angola and Mozambique but was told by the immigration authorities I should go back to Britain.
Oh Britain, I say , you live in England now. Yes, he goes on but I miss home, the friendliness of the people, the laughter, the fresh air, and of course the sun. I want to go kumusha ekhaya my sister. As it turns out he was born and bred in Redcliff Zimbabwe and the only home he knows is Zimbabwe.
As this guy left my office, I could not help but ask myself who exactly is Zimbabwean. Should citizenship or belonging be standardized and limited to a certain group of people in this case the indigenous but again who is an indigenous?
If so, what about the first immigrant generation of Zimbabwean offsprings being born and bred all over the world?
Tino now 20, was born and raised in Norway. He has been to Zimbabwe twice only his whole life. On all accounts the only home he knows is Norway. On the few occasions he has travelled to Zim he looks forward to going back home to Norway. I shudder to think that someone will one day, at the least, tell him he is not Norwegian simply because he has an extra skin pigment, has no blue eyes and no blond hair.
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Thank you for this beautiful post. You raise an important issue about identity. Someone’s identity is not determined by the peace of metal or plastic you give them as an ID card. It is something noone can change about themselves and a matter of the heart rather than politics and national boundaries. Thank you for sharing gogo!
My mum shared with me a similar story about a white farmer who is now a cab driver in Scotland. Imagine meeting a white man who speaks fluent shona in some freezing part of Scotland! This farmer also shared the pain of leaving and missing his homeland. I believe as Martin Luther King Jr once said “The arm of the moral universe is long and it bends towards justice”. Your post also shows the beauty of our humanity that at the core we are all the same. In the end as Zimbabweans we are bound by our decency and respect for one another and the forces of hate may seem to prevail but in the long run it is justice that triumphs.
Wow… It’s amazing how people want to come back to Zimbabwe. Sometimes we think that going to the Diaspora is like going to a land of milk and honey and not even thinking twice about returning. Thanks for the article. It shows that there’s something special about Zimbabwe
The interesting thing is that even the people who are still in Zim want to go home. Home to the Zimbabwe where meat filled up the braai stands and milk poured out of Dairibord.
No matter who you are by colour or creed, home is where your first experience of the world is. Home is where you ultimately return- physically or otherwise.
Great article.
Indeed FJ someone recently said to me that they miss the Zim of old…The Zim we grew up in when you had milk at school and having breakfast was not literally breaking a fast as is now the norm. Indeed I doubt that the Zim of our formative years will ever come back. What I suspect however is that an even more beautiful Zim will rise like the phoenix from the ashes of the current crisis…..only time will tell.