What a day. I was not at home. I was at boarding school doing form one. There was an announcement in the dining hall just before dinner that I had to go to the headmaster’s office. Went there and met my uncle Bamunini BaChenge. Apparently, he had come to pick me up so that we go home. I could tell something was wrong.

He kept on mumbling something to himself. Anyways he just said Baba is not feeling well. We have to go to Bulawayo. We slept in Zvishavane. Went to Bulawayo the next morning. Bamunini was quiet most of the way. He was not his usual chatty self.  We arrived in Bulawayo at around 10am.

When we turned the corner towards home it hit me. I saw the red flag by our gate. I broke down. I cried. I was in pain. Couldn’t be consoled. My dad was gone. My uncle had kept me going by saying that Dad was sick and wanted to see me. It wasn’t so. He was gone. I think I grew up by ten years on that day.

I have fond memories of my Father. A good man. His family (my uncles and aunts) say he was a unifier. I can’t remember much but we were never the same from that day. I had joined the rank of orphans. It was tough growing up without a father. My mother played her part. But I always wonder what kind of man I would have been had I been raised in a home with a father. All I know is that the loss of a father enabled me to develop what others have called ‘grit’- that tenacity to hold on. I will not go to childhood stories of hardships. I have plenty.
Upon further reflection 2 Corinthians 12:9-11 probably better explains God’s grace. His grace was/is sufficient for all my needs. One of my mother’s lasting testimonies was- she never faced a medical challenge with the kids. It can only have been God.
The 31st of October has never been an easy day.