FROM SOLUSI TO STRINGS Part 2
Image by Trio.
Maleka Charles
[The saga continues]
Coming to South Africa in 1999, Tapiwa had struggle to survive in the world, where he knew no one, instead he had found himself roughing it up in the streets of Youville for virtually a year before he’d met Mandla, who offered him a place to stay.
“It was not easy here for me, because I knew no one in South Africa.” He said.
“However I was very lucky to meet a friend like Mandla, who offered me a place to stay.” Tapiwa added in retrospect.
To survive he said, had to sell drugs and marijuana in the street corners and schools as well, but was later on arrested as a result.
The young man was imprisoned for almost two years and a half in John Voster prison in Johannesburg, and was later on bailed out by Mandla.
The rumour has it that the arrest came as a result of a tip off by one frequent customer Tapiwa had refused to give drugs to on credit, when he was on his uppers. A moment Tapiwa recalled with tears of regret running down his face.
“Eish! Impilo yala eGoli.” He wiped off a tear that sluggishly rolled down his cheek with a finger. “That time I wished I was home with my family.” He added.
“But I’m glad you managed to recover from that my friend.” Mandla said, giving him a pad of solace on the shoulder.
In repentance, Tapiwa had found a job later on, he worked in a construction company but left it after three weeks of work. “I have a calling and I must fulfill it.” He said.
Sacrificing everything for the Zimbabwean born artist, who came to South Africa with only one purpose in mind, to follow the footsteps of his late grandfather, uMachonisa was not easy.
“I then joined Mandla every Friday whenever he went to poetry sessions, and later on performed some of my songs.”
“How was the reaction in your first performance?” I asked, taking notes of everything he had told me. “The reaction was positive.” He sighed.
“I remember one poetry session in Bramfontein, 2004, when i performed a song titled Tears of the Mupfure River, a new version of a song uMkhulu used to sing for me, whenever he taught me the strings.”He recalled.
“The audience that night, tjo! I burst into a frenzy of commotion immediately after I opened my mouth for a song.” His eyes bloomed into a lustre as if stars in empty skies, as he hummed the very song grandfather wont to sing for him.
He suddenly broke into laughter and said. “I know had uMkhulu been here, he’d be proud of me.”
“Tell me about your family.” I said, flashing at him a friendly look of journalism. “Oh! Yes,” He said.
“My father is Nkosi Machona and is a very respected farmer back in Zimbabwe, he has many livestock in Solusi and is married to another woman.” He concluded.
“So what happened to your mother?” “My mother is a South African; unfortunately i have never met her.” I cut in, “What do you mean you never met her?” “I’m told she left me when i was six.” He said.
His father a half Mushona and half Mundebele had met Tapiwa’s mother in Cape Town 1970, when he was a truck driver for a big company famous for transporting steel to build railways in the neighbouring countries such as Botswana, Lesotho, Zimbabwe and Mocambique.
In 1986 Tapiwa was born and mother and father separated in 1991 the fall of July, because of the political imbalances in South Africa those days.
“It’s a dream to meet my mother my friend.” He said. Sadness glistened in his face. He therefore reached out for his back pocket and produced his mother’s photo. A woman of beauty personified, lightish in complexion, but seemingly short in height.
“Her name is Ntombifuthi Nyathi and I’m told she stays in Soweto.”
Although he’d never seen his mother for almost twenty two years now, Tapiwa was determined to find his mother at last. “We’ll have to work hard to locate your mother’s whereabouts my guy.” Said Mandla.
“Ya-neh!” Agreed Tapiwa. “So where do we start?” His eyes beamed with great enthusiasm as he spoke. “Where music meets poetry.” Mandla said jokingly as he melted into a smile.
“When the sun kisses the tall buildings of the Joburg’s CBD, we’ll hit the road to Soweto.” Mandla reassured.
Where is uMangobe
The coal train form Nyamandlovu
The locomotive of the dry and barren lands
uMangobe the homeless child
Tell him the sons and daughters are crying for the milk of their mother’s breasts.
Where is uMangobe
The coal train from Nyamandlovu
Mbizeni! To come and fetch us from the concrete jungles of Johannesburg
Safangendlala eGoli, engabe ipeke khuphi iZimbabwe uma sila madoda.
