Fred Changundega, who composed a song with very similar sections, so we mixed up the lyrics and struggled through the whole session. “Okay, iwewe Wadza, imba tione , since you want to act like you already have it all set.” Sekuru Joe gave Wadza, a tyrannical look as he put her on the spot to sing. As we fought yawns, and the shutting of our eye- lids, Wadza, my older cousin sister, got up, fixed her skirt and stood in front of us giggling like a baby hyena. Buju, my older cousin brother, and childhood partner in crime, who sat next to me, bumped my shoulder to draw my attention to Wadzas ner- vousness. Of course, this made us all laugh like water faucets that couldn’t shut. Through our shenanigans, with her chest up and head help up high, Wadza sang the “Kubvira, kubva Zambezi kusvika Limpopo…” part first, instead of the “Neropa, neropa zhinji ramagamba…” Before we could utter ours, Wadza led the choir by laughing like a lost wild goat. Sekuru Joe’s chronicles of teach- ing us dance were always comedic. One day, while practicing Dinhe, my cousin, Moses/Mhozi, struggled to coordinate his arms and legs. After he’d had enough, Sekuru
Mhamha Henry, my aunt, the oldest child in my mother’s family. One of the greatest mbira players and dancers in Zimbabwe. Mhamha Henry always had a way of getting you to reach a part of yourself, you did not know you had, until she shook you a couple of times. Some days, she would show you a dance move or song once, and you better make sure you do some- thing as close to that, if not better, when it’s your turn. For the most part, this has been how I learned music and dance. In my family, we learned our traditional dances by watching older family members during Bira ceremo- nies or while hanging out at home. “Zvinhu zvese zvatiinazvo…zvinoda kupembererwa baba…” , different high and low pitches of people who were singing and celebrating in one of the new thatched houses at our fam- ily home in Hatfield would wake the dead. Whether it was the sharp down and the heart of the beat, hosho being played or maoko arikuomberwa , or the drum or a long line of mbira
players running their fingers on that instrument like it doesn’t hold about 28 keys on it, every intricate sound made in that room created one beau- tiful mbira song that highlighted how people felt in that moment. Around 2002-3, Asekuru Chigamba and Gogo Achihoro, my maternal grandparents, hosted an all night Bira ceremony to bless our new home in Hatfield. Think of a house warming party, but instead of people bringing gifts such as plants or wall art, peo- ple brought all-night prayers and a search for guidance and protection of the new home from the ancestors through music and dance. Family and friends from afar danced, sang, ate, and drank hwahwa, masese eseven days. At eight years old, I struggled to stay awake. Yet, in the early hours of the morning, my uncle, Sekuru Joe, decided it was the best moment to have my cousins and I sit in front of him to sing the Zimbabwe national anthem and create choreography to it. Thanks to Solomon Mutswairo &
Joe’s tall frame rose up from his chair asking us if we do not know how to walk nor- mal. “When you walk nor- mal, your arms and legs natu- rally go opposite. I have never seen a person that steps with their right leg and their right hand follows.” Again, uncon- trollable laughter ensued. We had created complexity from a part of our everyday life activities. “Ndave kuenda ini…” Ambuya would calmly sing and pause from her favorite sofa in the living room, the
“Zvinhu zvese zvatiinazvo…zvinoda kupember- erwa baba…” , different high and low pitches of people who were singing and celebrating in one of the new thatched houses at our family home in Hatfield would wake the dead.
Pictured: Clockwise L- R: Ambuya with her son, Henry Chigamba and 13 of her grandchildren; Ambuya; Asekuru; Irene Chigamba; painted thatched houses at the Chigamba Family compound; Chigamba Family home in Hatfield.
one with the best view of the TV. Once we heard her sing this line, we knew
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In Dance | May 2014 | dancersgroup.org
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