I arrive in Bulawayo both exhausted and excited. The concerts have been going well, but I know I will need to get some rest soon. As I am going through immigration and customs I see my cousin, my uncle, and the Michael Bullivant patiently waiting, waving all the while. It’s hugs all around.

Zimbabwe Academy of Music

I haven’t seen Michael Bullivant since 2001, when he organized the last Bulawayo Music Festival. He is an aficionado with real passion for the cultivation of music and the arts. He steers Performing Arts Bulawayo (PAB), an organization which not only encourages high-level performances in both Bulawayo and Harare but also provides scholarships for study at the Zimbabwe Academy of Music. In addition to all that, he is a real hoot to be around. We jump in the car and rush back to town, as there is a rehearsal tonight with the orchestra. By the time I arrive at my uncle’s place there is only time to take a shower, play a scale, and go. We drive down the streets of Bulawayo towards the Zimbabwe Academy of Music, and I feel at home. Bulawayo is so different than Harare. They’re both great cities, but Bulawayo is somewhere in the past, not at all in the 21st century. It’s slower, calmer, more old-fashioned. I really like that.

Even though I’m exhausted I’m thrilled to be back at the Zimbabwe Academy of Music. It boasts one of the finest recital halls I have ever played in: Robert Sibson Hall. If I have the story straight, Robert Sibson was a civil engineer and flautist who designed this hall for the Zimbabwe Academy of Music, the music conservatory in Bulawayo. I wish every city across the world had an arts facility this great. Not only is the hall fabulous, the rest of the school is welcoming.

The rehearsal goes well, though all of us are exhausted. We arrive for another dress the next morning, rest in the afternoon, and perform that evening. It’s a hot and sticky night, but in spite of the weather it is a good and well-received performance.

The following morning I wake up at 5:45am with the hint of a sore throat. Not good. I have to get ready to go, because it’s the only day I’ll have transportation out to Mberengwa to visit my grandmother’s grave. My cousin picks me up after doing some shopping for the family, we grab some snacks and bread for ourselves at a gas station, and begin the 2 hour drive to my father’s birthplace - the family homestead.

The journey goes from paved road to dirt road to no road crossing over the occasional footpath. When we arrive the kids come out to greet us. My cousin starts unloading the many groceries we’ve brought, and various family members ‘come and get it.’ My uncle slowly walks over with a cane, welcomes me, and invites all of us to sit down. This is my father’s youngest brother, and the fact that he reminds me of my father doesn’t bode well for him in my mind. I hear someone killing a chicken for lunch as we visit under a tree. Last night Vivaldi, this morning chicken screaming. Life is strange.

I walk out to the family plot a hundred yards away and pay respect to my grandmother by placing a stone upon her grave.

I walk back and lunch is served: fried tough country chicken with a tomato spice sauce and sadza (chwala). Sadza is the staple food made out of cornmeal, and it’s reminiscent of polenta. Everything is pretty good, except I can’t bite into the meat.

My cousin jokes with me, stating, “The wing is the best part.”

After gnawing for minutes I reply, “If it’s the best part you can have it.” Needless to say I don’t eat much meat during lunch, preferring to see others embark on the challenge of sinking their teeth into it. My aunt sits with a sad look upon her face, eating and visiting while worlds away. Overall the mood is bittersweet with emphasis on the bitter. How can things be sweet when people are mourning and sick themselves?

After lunch my uncle asks, “Where is your instrument?” I’m a little surprised, because the last time I played for my family they seemed to think it was amusing in an almost silly way.

I truthfully respond, “I don’t have my instrument with me. I didn’t know you wanted to hear me play.”

“Oh,” my uncle says. That’s it. I think the idea I’m not attached to my instrument 24/7 clashes with their conception of me. I don’t really know. Is it as simple as “push the button, hear the music”? All I know is that, in spite of the vast amounts of performing I’ve been doing the last few days, I feel bad about not playing here.

Mid-afternoon approaches, and we still have to visit my cousin’s mother. I bid farewell to what remains of my family and depart.

We arrive back in Bulawayo around 11pm after making what feels like heroic rounds. Bulawayo, Mberengwa, Zvishavane, Bulawayo is quite the itinerary in a single day! I definitely need a day to recover.

I go to rehearsal Tuesday morning after Jeanette Micklem arrives from Harare. We rehearse in the great Sibson Hall, rest in the afternoon, and perform the recital in the evening. My uncle, cousin, his mother, mother-in-law, her daughter, another close cousin (clothing designer extraordinaire) and her husband all attend. It’s a great turnout for a weekday.

I give a masterclass for some of the kids who study at the Zimbabwe Academy of Music on Friday afternoon. The conservatory has fallen on tough financial times, but it continues to be a jewel of the entire community, offering courses of instruction in both traditional and western music.

The concerts are over, and now I can recover from what has turned out to be a real whirlwind tour of Zimbabwe and South Africa. Rest and recreation are on the agenda now. I look forward to spending time with my talented cousin in Zvishavane, visiting her clothing shop, trying on her amazing designs, and gossiping about the family.

Upcoming:
Part 3: Photo journal of sightseeing in Zimbabwe.
Part 4: Anchorage, Alaska November 17-20, 2004

Interesting links:
More about Bulawayo: www.places.co.za/html/bulawayo.html

Contribute to Performing Arts Bulawayo and Zimbabwe Academy of Music (home of one of the world’s great recital halls)! Contact Michael Bullivant: music@gatorzw.com

Want haute couture Zimbabwean style? Check out K. B. Fashions. It features a sophisticated blend of traditional and European styles. E-mail me about it (nn@ngwenyama.com), or if you’re in the area visit my cousin at her shop:
K.B. Fashions
Mrs. S. Tele
Shop No. 2
Keats Building
Zvishavane
ZIMBABWE
Tel: +263.(0)51.4026