RECENTLY, as we drove to work, after what seemed like eternity of uncharacteristic silence, my wife asked me a question that resulted in a most unusual discussion.
I grew up in the village and my wife was brought up in a mining compound.
The conversation went like this, wife (W), me (M);
W: Can you swim?
M: Yes and no?
W: What do you mean?
M: I can swim in a river, but I struggle in the still waters of a swimming pool, I discovered the hard way when I tried to cross the width of the swimming pool at Chinhoyi High many years later.
W: Where and when did you learn to swim?
M: In the village in Unyetu, must have been in Grade Five then, but had started floating lessons much earlier.
W: Were girls part of this learning?
M: As infants we played in shallow pools with girls and had our first floating lessons then, but when I graduated to proper swimming, mutyaira and manhede (crawl and breast stroke), that was at Chomuchenje deep and sacred pools, girls were not part of that class. Since we wore no swimwear, it would not have been proper for girls to parade themselves naked.
As far as I can recall, girls never went beyond the infant floating lessons.
W: Shame
M: Why?
W: Because under the traditional set up, boys were equipped with lifesaving skills like swimming, climbing trees and fending off wild animals while girls got confined to husband welfare chores.
For a good minute I went silent following the attack.
I tried to explain that some girls were accepted as boys and partook in boys play during cattle herding, like clay moulding, mock fighting and tree climbing.
She dismissed my attempts as kuhwanda nemunwe (hiding behind a finger).
I temporarily conceded defeat before taking up the matter again in the evening.
I had done a bit of reflection on our child’s play as we grew up in the village.
It was seasonal and also divided between day and night.
It was age based and also depending on working days and village holidays.
The latter consisted of Chisi, Sunday, funeral days and key national public holidays.
I started by further conceding that in flood situations, boys were better equipped with survival skills.
We spoke of how pools like Chomuchenje could be used for swimming lessons in rural areas, where there are no swimming pools.
Affordable swimwear could be improvised.
This would fit in well with the Ministry and Civil Protection Unit efforts on disaster risk reduction in schools.
I then moved on to enlighten her on some of the unisex edutainment games we played as children.
These included the following;
Question chorus; “Dowo..do! Gara uyo mutiyi?” (What tree is that?)
Answer; “Muzhanje. Dowo..do Gara uyo mutiyi?
Mutsvanzva. Dowo..do!
Gara uyo mutiyi?
Mutsvoritsvoto.”
It would go on and on until all names of trees were exhausted.
This was meant to test our knowledge of tree diversity.
As boys we practised this while herding cattle.
Girls practised the same while fetching firewood and picking mushrooms.
We would meet in the evenings for fierce competition.
“Du, du, muduri.
Katswe;
Bhowasi muduri.
Katswe.
Ngoni muduri.
Katswe.
Maraini muduri.
Katswe.”
This one tested one’s knowledge of names of people in the village.
A related chorus, Churu chomutohwe, tested our knowledge of totems.
Request; “Churu chomutohwe turura turura.”
Reply; “Moyo wangu paka paka, ndada Unendoro.
Churu chomutohwe turura turura.
Moyo wangu paka, paka, ndada Mdyira.
Churu chomutohwe turura.
Moyo wangu paka paka, ndada Mhofu.”
Knowledge of totems allowed both boys and girls to avoid incestuous relationships as well as interact respectfully with fellow members of society.
Other play choruses like ‘Sarurawako’ and ‘Karinga Waringa’ prepared us for courtship.
The former went like this; “Saruwako, kadeya deya ane ndoro chena. Wangu mutsvuku.
Kadeya deya ane ndoro chena.
Wangu murefu.
Kadeya deya ane ndoro chena.”
The one doing Saruwako (choose your love) was a girl and kadeya deya ane ndoro chena was a boy.
The girl would go on and on until she had described the qualities of her preferred boy clearly for all to pick the boy.
In Karinga Waringa it went like this; Chorus; “Karinga Waringa, Punha. Punha; She we!
Karinga waringa, unodanwa.
Nani wangu? K
aringa waringa, namai vako.
Vanorevei?
Karinga waringa, hanzi idya sadza.
Ndoridya nani?
Karinga waringa, reva zviripamoyo.
Taurai imi baba.
Karinga waringa, ndiNyorovai.
Handidi hangu.
Karinga waringa, ndiMapfumo.
Handidi hangu.
Karinga waringa, ndiChirere.
Dede nemukanwa.”
The chorus would end with the choice so made, accompanied by clapping and cheering.
The games were numerous, but all these, my wife confessed, were not known at the Empress Mine compound.
Instead they had Raka raka, Tachi, Chihwande hwande, Zai rakaora, Fish fish, Seven game, Pada, which versions we also had in abundance in the village.
Whether it was in Unyetu or at Empress Mine, these were critical learning materials, some of which had been developed over centuries, to prepare us for survival in the challenging terrain of adulthood.
There was a lot of dancing and singing.
The audience and the actors were one and the same.
This was participatory learning.
We enjoyed this type of learning.
It is quite different from my home work sessions with my grade two kamuramu when I have to teach her to read a list of English words. There is no love lost between the two of us in these sessions.
She hates me and the stubborn English words.
My passion and perseverance in teaching her to read has remained intact.
Until now.