gone,but not forgotten

Today is January 28, 2015.  It marks 2 years since my Dad passed, he was 92 years old.  I am inspired by his story.  It is no wonder I have chosen to share his story with all of you.  Sometimes we focus on little hardships in our lives and we forget to count our blessings.  May my father’s story remind you that you are stronger than you seem, braver than you believe and smarter that you think.

Let me take you back about 10 years before his passing.  While leaving a wedding ceremony Dad was ran over by a car.  A drunk driver who was also leaving the wedding went over the curb and drove over his foot.  The driver did not stop.  He went off on his drunken way.  Dad was lying there, who knows for how long until a young man came by and helped him up.  Dad got up and proceeded to go home despite having a foot that had just been flat ironed by a car.  He was not feeling any pain, I guess he was numbed by the pain.

By the time he arrived home, the foot had started to swell.  Later that night, I picked up the phone and called my parents as I often did on the weekends.  When Mom told me what had happened, I was in shock.   My sister Clare and her husband Alexio took Dad to the hospital the next morning.  Xrays showed that he had broken bones, he had to have a cast right away.

It is this same leg that later developed necrotizing fasciitis and brought him to the hospital where he died on January 28, 2013 around 6:15pm.  It is his death which has inspired me to share his life story with all of you.

My father, Cyril Mupfuuri Masenda was born in 1921.  His mom was the first of 2 wives.  My grandfather’s 2nd wife was jealous of my Grandmother so she poisoned her.  Grandma died when my dad was about 5 years old.  My Grandpa died shortly after that.  My grandparents left 3 children, 2 boys and 1 girl.  The kids were split up and my Dad was made to stay with his wicked step mother, the one who had killed his Mom.  The nightmare then began.

Dad was treated like a slave in this family.  He was made to work in the fields and herd cattle all day long.  He spent his days out on the fields or the pasture with no food or water.  At a tender age of 6, he was living on wild fruits, corn stalk, raw ground nuts, leaves or whatever else was in season.  He was only allowed to return home after the cattle had been put in the enclosures at dusk.  At that time, the family would have had dinner and washed the dishes.  There would be no sign of food or crumbs.  Hungry as he was, he would cry himself to sleep, every single night.  Occasionally, neighbors in the village would notice his ill health and offer him food.

Despite his own rough life, he was constantly thinking of his little brother and sister.  Were they being fed? Were they lonely? Were they thinking of him?

Dad was not allowed to go to school.  Imagine an 8 or 9 year old spending all day in the fields or pasture.  The animals were his friends.  For entertainment, he made toys from grass, rocks, branches, bark etc.  I remember his infectious laugh when he would tell stories of how creative he was.  At about age 10, Dad left this abusers and went to live and work at nearby farms.  He located his brother and sister and he would often walk half a day taking his earnings and food to his siblings.

At age 13, he had saved up enough money to go to school.  He enrolled himself at Kutama, one of the prestigious Catholic schools at that time.  He was so smart he completed standard 1 through 4 in 2 years instead of 4.  Coincidentally, the current President of Zimbabwe Robert Mugabe, was his class mate in standard 4.  After standard 4, Dad decided he was now equipped with the little knowledge he needed to survive in the working world so he left Kutama.

Back in Hwedza Dad and his friend Ndoro decided to go to South Africa in search of jobs in the mines.  They walked from Hwedza to Harare 166 kilometers (roughly 32 hour walk on normal roads).  Well, there were no roads then.  They were going through the jungle, dodging snakes, lions, leopards etc.  It took them 3 days.  They were only travelling during the day, sleeping in trees, gathering food as they went along.  God was certainly looking over them as the forest was a dangerous place to be.  They arrived in Harare safely and proceeded to South Africa.

He stayed in South Africa for many years.  He earned the nick name MuJoni (a name that was given to Zimbabweans who went to Johannesburg and didn’t return home.  While working in the mines, he picked up reading.  He loved languages so he collected bibles in different languages and taught himself Xhosa, Ndebele and Swahili by reading his English bible side by side with another language bible.  Besides his mother tongue Shona, he mastered and was fluent in English, Ndebele, Xhosa and Swahili.  He was also a student of history.  He would read magazines and newspapers from all over the world.  He had the Shakespeare collection and read all of Shakespeare’s work over and over. This made him a walking encyclopedia.  What I loved was that he was willing to share his knowledge with anyone who would listen.

Dad fell in love with a South African woman, they had a daughter.  His girlfriend’s parents forbade her from marrying Dad as he was not South African.  She then moved to another city and never gave Dad any contact information.  I have a sister out there and I do not know her.  Does she know she has siblings?  I hope to meet her someday.

In 1955 Dad received a telegram informing him that his brother had died.  He quickly returned to Zimbabwe and stayed a bit before returning to the mines.  While in Zimbabwe, he met Mom, it was love at first sight.  He went back to work in SA.  At this time, he had trained as a tailor and his specialty was designing and making men’s suits.  He stayed for a few more years before returning to Zimbabwe permanently and marrying Mom.

Together, Mom and Dad had 7 kids, all girls!  Society valued boys more than girls as they carry the family name.  My Dad was made a laughing stock for having girls only.  The belief was that when a couple had girls, it was the woman’s fault.  My poor Mom blamed herself for most her life until 10 years ago when I explained the XX and XY chromosomes to her.  I remember that day vividly, we were sitting in my living room in Oklahoma.  It was like a load had been lifted from her shoulders, she was so relieved and happy.

Despite pressure from society to not educate girls, Dad was a firm believer in equipping his girls with education.   He went against all odds and educated all of us.  5 of us have university degrees or higher, 1 has a certificate.

After retirement, to stay active, Dad opened a snack store at the local high school.  He sat on different committees, held positions in the political party, and mentored people, old and young.  He was a historian, and a story teller.  Cousin Richard tells stories about visiting dad in his later years and being told endless stories.  He would sneak out as it was hard to leave.  His stories varied from current affairs from Russia, Canada, Englad, seeding rain clouds, horse racing etc.

When I moved to the US for further education, my parents visited three times.  My husband and I took them on road trips to Washington DC (visiting the White House was on his bucket list), Los Angeles, San Diego, San Fransisco, Palm Springs, Las Vegas, San Antonio, Corpus Christi and all the places in between.  Being the student that he was, he kept a journal.  He would then use his notes to educate the grand kids back in Zimbabwe.

When I moved to Canada, he told me that he has always wanted to visit Canada.  He said he was waiting for his foot to heel and then he would come visit Canada.  This was a dream that was deferred.

For someone who enjoyed people, being in hospital all alone was killing him bit by bit.  He hated hospital food, my Mom and sisters, nephews and nieces had to deliver food daily.  He loved good food! After his childhood diet, he deserved good food.

A few days before he passed, I made my usual call.  I could tell he was getting weaker and weaker, mom said he was refusing to eat.  I decided I had to go see him, I asked Dad to be strong as I was going to be there besides him.  He said “Mai Lexi, musanetseke”  (My daughter, don’t worry about me).  He said it with such love and conviction.  These were his last words to me.

My father was a loving, giving, caring person who had no hate bone in him.  Many a time he would infuriate us kids because he would treat his enemies with so much love. He always used to say – “koini ndingatonge munhu ndini Mwari here?”  – “Who am I to judge another human being, I’m not God”.

At his funeral, people came from all over to say good bye.  It was a true celebration of life.  We sang, danced and shared stories.  On the day that he was buried, many people testified how he had impacted their lives.  His best friend stood up and said, “Mr Masenda told me that he was ready to move on, he said he lived a good life, he travelled near and far, his wife and kids took good care of him.”

On the last hospital visit, 30 minutes before Dad took his last breath, his hospital room was full, he said goodbye to most of them by holding their hands longer than usual.   I remember Uncle Frederick describing his good bye and how he knew that this was a true good bye.  After everyone left, my sister Stella and Mom decided to go back and pray with dad.  They prayed and said their final good byes.  When Mom was at the door, dad beckoned for her to come back, he took her hand and kissed it and waved good bye.  30 minutes later, the hospital called and informed them he had passed.

There wasn’t enough parking for all the vehicles.  Streets were lined with cars and buses.  Still some people could not attend the service at the church nor the grave site right after because all vehicles and buses were packed full.  In Church, I delivered my Dad’s eulogy in front of a packed full church.  People were commenting how they had not seen the church as full as it was that day. I could not help but smile.

My father was a people person and the people sent him off like a king.  If I could be half the person he was, I will be happy.  Smart, Loving, Caring, Mentor, Leader, Historian, Connector, Hard worker are some of the words that describe my Dad.

On this day, I remember you Dad.  May your soul rest in peace.  We will continue to celebrate your life. 

To Mom!  You lost your best friend, your confidant.  Thank you for being the rock our family.  I love you so much Mama.

To my sisters, (Lorna, Stella, Josephine, Anna, Clare, Kanu) you are my best friends, I love how we are each other’s rock, we are there for each other no matter what.  I lucked out in the sister department.

To my nephews and nieces, I have no words.  You all make me smile.  We raised you well.  Sekuru is proud of each and every one of you.

To my cousins, uncles and aunts, thank you for your unconditional love – Uncle Weredha, Uncle Solomon, Ngoni, Brian (There isn’t enough space to name all of you)  Thank you all for being there.

Tarisai Trish Masenda-Mandewo