I AM aware that a sizeable number of people may not have known Solomon Chinhara.
Montrose was a small station and even much smaller now, and it is a fact that colleagues in Bulawayo would not have been acquainted to counterparts at Pockets and Mbare and vice-versa.
I was a bit lucky in that I moved around stations, including provinces and met the bulk of staff members during my national service with ZBC — 1985 to 2002.
Well, I started off at Montrose, where among the people I found deep-rooted was Big Solo, as we used to call him.
If I am not wrong, he should be among those who joined before 1980.
I knew him first as a floor manager in the TV section, then studio sound engineer and later videographer.
He moved to news and current affairs in the 1990s and that is when I started working closely with him.
Before that, he would come to news fieldwork as a relief cameraman assigned by the late comic character Boss Rueben Munjeri.
- Go well Big Solo
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The ENG camera unit had Charles Kanogoiwa aka Dino Madhanzi, Joel Matiba, Patrick Beptswa (Bambo), Trust Mashoro aka Damuscus Maburi and the late Captain Makate.
When Solo joined us, he swiftly realised that he needed to be more creative in the field as opposed to the studio, where the director would be bellowing instructions.
And he would adopt the tactics with perfection.
If it meant rolling on the ground with a camera to get the best shot, he would do it and religiously too.
Solo always wanted people around him to be happy.
He would share intriguing fiction-like stories of some of his numerous escapades.
He had a big scar on his leg and we had gotten used to the frequently told story of how he survived an attack by a lion while filming in a game park.
The story never ceased to amaze as it would come with fresh angles.
It was among the many stories we enjoyed while enjoying lunch in the specious garden, which was part of the canteen that Chris Somo built.
Solo would never share sad stories, and the impression he gave was that all was well with his life and family.
He preferred to discuss issues rather than argue and would not entertain trivial ethnic squabbles.
Given an opportunity, he would have pursued his education further — he had unexploited traits of an academic.
Just to give you a glimpse of the now depressing situation — on that round table at the canteen, we would usually have the following guys Marcus Samungure, Jeff Gore, Getrude Mugarisanwa, Wilson Dakwa, John Karimazondo, Joseph Chagadama, Rueben Munjeri, Rita Hudson and Godfrey Mukadzivashe aka Boom-Boom (all late), among others.
Selina Chitsiga aka Amai Mashiri sometimes enjoyed spicing up the male-dominated table.
Solo, with his imposing stature, was one guy who dreamt big.
He wanted everything that he did as part of his job to be regarded as very important.
He had no apologies about that — no, not at all.
When he was doing sound, he made sure everyone noticed how skilled he was in it, same as when he lined up the lights in studio for a recording — and he would give instructions just to prove a point.
He was meticulous with detail.
I like how he used to do sound check on the microphones on a public event — and the public would be amused and admire his dedication to duty.
He was never casual about it and his body language would sum it up.
He so much loved his job to the extent that each time TV transmission had a problem in his local bar in his presence, he would make a spirited attempt to explain to patrons the cause of the problem and how it was being solved.
My unforgettable moments with him were during my last days with the ZBC when I had been ordered to produce the programme Toringepi with neither a concept nor thesis.
Solo became my partner during Toringepi fieldwork in Matabeleland and he played a dual role.
My spoken Ndebele has never been that good and when he found me struggling with the language, he would quickly step in and fire questions from behind the camera while I held the microphone.
It really worked and I don’t forget the interview with Chief Mtshane Khumalo at his home in Bubi.
Solo addressed him throughout as Ndlamadoda and initially, I did not understand what that meant, but that made the chief comfortable.
I ended up giving Solo the nickname Ndlamadoda.
One day in 2002, I was driving with Solo for a shoot to the Matopos area when I received a call from Christine Taruvinga, who had just been appointed manager news and current affairs.
Those days, staff members were being moved around like toys.
I stopped the vehicle to pick the call.
Christine requested me to join her as the head current affairs.
I told Kiki that Minister Moyo would not allow it and she said she had been given the liberty to rebuild the department as she wished.
I disappointed Christine (MHSRIP) when I told her that the minister was not genuine and I was not prepared for an embarrassment.
Solo listened to the discussion and he could not understand me.
“But Chucks, why are you doing this?”
That was Solo.
But I had to leave, the system had rejected me with hundreds others and I had personally clashed with the minister on numerous occasions.
In the first week of October last year, Solo looked for me in Bulawayo.
He invited me to his golden wedding anniversary, where I was to speak representing former ZBC workmates.
It’s rather unAfrican to have those kind of commemorations, and we rarely do those, but that was Solo for you.
He wanted to be different and big.
He was disappointed when I told him that I had an engagement in Harare on October 16, the day of the event — little did I know that I was supposed to deliver a farewell speech to Ndlamadoda?
After a discussion, I accompanied him to a shop to buy a drug to treat his cow, which had been bitten by a Black Mamba at his plot some 25km along the Bulawayo-Plumtree hghway, where he had settled.
That was to be my last meeting with the man whom even the youngest employee at Montrose called by his first name, Solo, notwithstanding his age.
Go well Big Solo.
If it’s true that we meet in death, then we shall meet.
You were among the once respected and dedicated workers of the national broadcaster, who were, unfortunately, not appreciated after all the toil.
We carry on with the struggle.
