MY friend Mabo and I are leaving for Zambia next week. As you may already know, Mabo is an old school friend. We grew up together in Kitwe, worked in Ndola together and we both moved to Bulawayo same period in the eighties.
Concoctions by Boyd Maliki
We are excited about this trip which, in a way, is a family reunion as we intend to connect with all friends we grew up with.
But, even as we pack our bags, preparing for our departure, I have a word of warning for a certain local businessman who recently eloped with Mabo’s fiancée, for what Mabo intends to import from Zambia upon our return, won’t be good news.
Popularly known as “senior bachelor” Mabo had finally found the woman of his dreams and had spent the last six months making preparations for what he had dubbed the “The wedding of the century”. But, as this event drew closer, some dealer who is well known for changing 4×4 cars like underwear, came between the two lovers and, without fanfare, the 4×4 guy and Mabo’s woman took off.
“I have made enquiries about that man, Mukumbi Chizeya, and I hear he’s still alive and resides somewhere in the Kabompo area of Zambia,” Mabo told me as he zipped up his suitcase. “I’ll set a bit of time aside to look for him during our holiday and, when I come back, this businessman will regret ever touching my woman!”
I first got to know about Chizeya in 1981 when both Mabo and I were working in Ndola. A Luvale tribesman from north-western Zambia, Chizeya who was a general hand at a local government hospital, was the envy of most people who knew him – he had married Sibongile, a Zimbabwean many considered to be one of the prettiest women in Lusaka.
Chizeya was a pint-sized shabby fellow and the fact that he also doubled as a traditional healer made many believe he had cast a spell on this attractive woman.
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She was an up-market lady, employed by a large parastatal as the general manager’s secretary, so what on earth did she find exciting about living with this office orderly? . . .
With the above question in mind, Lovemore, a well known socialite in town, decided to approach Sibongile and tell her to get serious with her life and start living – did this so-called husband of hers know what a Menu-ala-carte was or had he ever been near famous Lusaka night spots like Studio 22, perched on the 22nd floor of Findeco house, the city’s tallest building then? This Chizeya fellow was wasting Sibongile’s time and, if she was indeed under some sort of spell, Lovemore resolved he would make her snap out of it!
Making enquiries about Sibongile’s background, her favourite eating places, and what friends she hang around with, Lovemore managed to catch up with her at a popular Cairo road restaurant and took the seat opposite where she sat.
“Sorry my brother, this is a table for two,” said Sibongile. “The person sitting on that chair has just gone to the powder room.”
“Oh, bantu beNkosi,” Lovemore sighed, “and to think I considered myself to be a very lucky man when I walked in here and saw you sitting here all on your own . . .” Bantu beNkosi? Sibongile gave him a searching look.
“You speak Ndebele?” Sibongile asked.
“That’s my mother tongue,” said Lovemore. “I was born and bred in Bulawayo.” “I’m Ndebele too,” said Sibongile. “Look, grab that vacant chair over there and join me and my friend. You’re no longer a crowd!”
Two weeks later Chizeya was a depressed man. The wily Lovemore had managed to convince Sibongile to dump her husband and she moved in with him. Twice, Sibongile and her new guy had driven past Chizeya as he walked to work and, realising he could never find another woman like her, Chizeya decided to teach this woman snatcher a lesson…
Lovemore got a phone call and the caller was Chizeya, “Comrade, I’m giving you two weeks to bring back my Sibongile or else you’ll never like the action I intend to take against you!”
“Ha, ha, what do you plan to do, cretin?” laughed Lovemore. “Obviously you won’t sue – the two of you were merely co habiting, not married!”
“What I’ll do to you, will be worse punishment than any court in this country can met out to you. You have two weeks to release my woman,” barked Chizeya.
“Don’t you dare threaten me, fool,” bawled Lovemore. “Do you think you can scare an all-rounder athlete like me? If you phone me again I’ll come there and demonstrate my martial art skills on you.”
“Two weeks, bwana,” snapped Chizeya and he slammed down the receiver.
Lovemore didn’t even bother to mention this incident to Sibongile. Who would want to lose sleep over cheap threats by simple people like Chizeya?
One morning, Sibongile and Lovemore woke up to a putrid smell engulfing the bedroom. Was it leftover food that had gone off? Sibongile rushed to the kitchen to check the fridge and all food containers . . . there was no smell there and neither did any other rooms smell. This foul air was confined to the bedroom only and it soon turned out Lovemore was its source – his right arm had developed a kind of non-itchy rash, which was oozing a colourless smelly discharge!
By mid day, despite thorough bathing and dousing himself with strong cologne, the smell had gotten worse. A dermatologist was consulted and, after several tests, he could find no clinical explanation for Lovemore’s skin condition . . . all results were negative!
Dismissing the dermatologist as “useless”, Lovemore found himself shunting from one specialist to another, but more tests, including further biopsy of skin from the affected area, indicated there was nothing terribly wrong with his skin. The smell, the doctors assured him, would eventually fade away . . .
The medication that was prescribed for his rash seemed to work as the rash disappeared, but the revolting odour from his body, which was now like that of rotting flesh got worse and worse, making it unbearable for even Sibongile to sleep in the same room with him.
Fearing he might lose his woman, Lovemore, in desperation, consulted an inyanga whose throwing of his bones all pointed to Chizeya as the mischief-maker behind Lovemore’s misery.
“Can you reverse this effect?” asked Lovemore anxiously.
“I’m afraid, that’s beyond me. But I’ll give you the address of another traditional healer who can help you. He lives in the Mununga area and you must travel there now before it’s too late.” He was told.
Mununga! It was always Mununga this or Mununga that, when anybody in Zambia threatened you with witchcraft those days . . . and poor Lovemore had no choice, but to travel there to find a cure to his strange condition.
“Oh, another victim?” reacted the Mununga healer as Lovemore was ushered into his hut. “I could smell you a mile away, you young men should keep away from other people’s women. Sit down here.”
There was no need for Lovemore to explain anything, for this inyanga seemed to know all what had taken place and immediately got to work, preparing the herbal concoctions his patient would need to effect the cure.
One week later, Lovemore, smelly as ever, was back in Lusaka with the anti-dote, packaged in the form of a small charm. In order for the treatment to work, Lovemore was advised to take Sibongile back to Chizeya’s house at night and use her to lure him outside.
Lovemore, clutching the charm in a fist, would then punch Chizeya and run back all the way to his home without looking back. Of course, looking back wasn’t going to turn him into a mass of salt, but render the treatment ineffective . . .
Lovemore, following the above instructions, did likewise. He got onto his motorbike and Sibongile riding pillion behind him, had her hands clasped tightly around his waist as the bike roared towards Chizeya’s house.
Outside his front door, Chizeya heard a female voice that sounded like Sibongile’s. Had his wife decided to come back to him? He rushed to the door and opened it and, bang, came a punch that exploded in his face!
Lovemore took off like a bat out of hell after punching Chizeya and raced towards the motorbike he had parked about a hundred metres away. He was cured almost immediately, his regret though being that Sibongile and Chizeya were back together again . . .
to get her back would mean a recurrence of his condition so he steered clear off her! If you’re the businessman who has disappeared with Mabo’s fiancée, pray hard the guy doesn’t locate Chizeya…
