Family, bereavement, culture and traditions

In our culture when we lose a loved one, as we did, we come together. You can call it a wake in English. For us it is instinctive. At this point all grudges and family feuds are put aside to come together to mourn our loved one.

Our culture is about community. Hunhu or humanity means I am because you are. No man is an island. Covid showed us that isolation can kill.

Our traditions that uphold community should remain sacrosant.

When our brother died we came together to mourn him. It was cathartic. We laughed, we cried, we told stories and it was amazing just to be in the same space.

We communed.

We are the products of the Mbofana family. Our grandmother Gertrude Soneni looked after all her grandchildren as did our grandfather Philip aka PWG.

In our ceremonies, if you attended, you will note that in the memorial service held in South Africa, our Amainini Soneni spoke on behalf of our mothers. Amainini Soni, as we affectionately call her, is the daughter of our mothers’ brother Dzinesu Emmanuel. As I have explained in earlier posts our culture is rich because no matter what age everyone plays several roles. As a woman I am Tete - paternal aunt so I represent my brothers at any ceremony and my gender is irrelevant; Amaiguru (older mother) as the eldest so I represent my sisters at any ceremony, Amainini (younger mother), muroora/makhoti (daughter or sister in law) to all my sisters’ husbands’ families and Mwanasikana (girl child) to my family. My male cousins are Sekuru - maternal uncle who represents me at any ceremony as mother to our children (no gender) and Babamukuru/Babamunini (older or younger uncle), Mukwasha (son or brother in law) and Mwanakomana (boy child). So Sekuru Dzi, my mother’s brother is and represents my mother at all ceremonies. His male children and their children into perpetuity are always Sekuru. His female children are seen as maternal aunts into perpetuity. So my Amainini Soneni is my maternal aunt aka my mother’s niece and sister and her children are my brothers and sisters.

It sounds complicated and yet logical. It means that in whatever part of the world or at any ceremony at any age one can be represented by a member of the family. It also means that my role is sancrosant. No matter what that role remains and I have to respect the role as the family also has to grant me the respect to play my role.

I find that our culture has grounded me in my own professional life. The fact that from when I was cognizant I was already called Amai - mother. I explained that my maternal Uncle’s daughter is my young mother. Logically my Tete’s (paternal aunt’s) children are my sons and daughters as I am the child of my Tete’s brother. Hence like Amainini Soneni who is much younger than me, I was already a mother to several of my paternal aunts’ children who are older than me and they respect my role as a mother. Thus the female children of my brothers become the mothers to my children.

This role playing means that one understands responsibility and ceremony very early as a Shona child. One wears several hats throughout their lifetime and as Amainini Soni had to step up to speak on behalf of her sisters as they had all collectively lost a son, so too must everyone in the family play their role.

The step up moment always comes.

Many people said to me ‘how is Batsi your brother. Is he not your cousin?’ Apart from the fact that Batsi was 14 years my junior and lived with my grandparents for his infant life, I was in his life all the time. I bottle fed him, changed his nappies, sang him lullabies, put him on my back to soothe him - kubhabhura and did homework with him. Batsi would randomly call me for advice or to run an idea by me. His catch phrase was ‘Eyes on the Money!’ He was Sekuru (maternal Uncle or mother) to my children and he was there at Muni’s graduation in his role as mother/maternal uncle.

The people you see in the pictures below Kumbi Mbofana (Sekuru to my children) and Rumbi Pfende (Amainini - younger mother/aunt) are both mothers to our children regardless of gender. They are my brother and sister not my cousins. Our makhoti/muroora Idah is called Ambuya by our children and Sekuru Kumbi’s daughters are mothers to our children. So Gamu Mbofana who used to do the podcast African Conversations with self is my niece, calls me Tete, however I also call her Amainini as mother of Munyoro and Ruvarashe. At a young age she can and does represent any of us as mother to our children.

There is no role that a Shona girl child does not play. Our roles are not designated by gender. When Gamu is in my presence I represent her Dad. By calling me Tete I am her father.

I was able to discharge my duties at work, a week after we met kubatana mawoko (to mourn and commune together), because we had come together and cried together as a family. I was not alone. It was healthy. What we did was therapeutic and saved hundreds of dollars in therapy bills. We downloaded, communed, cried and emerged healthier mentally because of shared memories and shared reality.

I will blow your mind even more when I tell you that this does not extend only to the nuclear family. You always see Ally Mtwalo calling me her sister. It’s not just a sisterhood thing. Her Mum is my Mum’s sister. In English you would say cousin and in Shona that word does not exist.

Our family is a rich tapestry of beautiful cultural practices and traditions. As we modernize we keep the healthy traditions as they are important to our mental health and our standing in community. I feel that a lot of the strength I demonstrate is because my family support structures have allowed me to play my many roles.

Culturally even our language, the words we use, are about the community.

Kubata mawoko direct translation to hold hands. When a loved one dies this is a prerequisite and everyone will call or message.

Everyone you will notice writes Nematambudziko directly translated as we acknowledge the troubles that have befallen the family. The response

Awonekwa - ndeedu tese directly translated we have seen them - they have befallen us all.

Nothing happens to an individual alone. Everything is about the collective.

I forgot to describe the importance of our Makhoti/Muroora Idah. At this wake that we held she was the bereaved. Muroora Idah was the one we were comforting as she lost a husband. We (the brother and sisters) were also bereaved however she is considered next of kin as the the bereaved wife and to whom we directed condolences.

Ndini Mambokadzi Wadzanai