The passing away, in Greenwood, South Carolina of Douglas Mufuka, MD, marks the end of one chapter in the lives of those Zimbabweans who came out of the colonial era.
In those days the tribe would choose one bright child.
They would sell their goats and cattle in order to send that one child to school, in the hope that if that child succeeded, he would look after his siblings as well as the extended family.
Mama used to say: “Douglas, leave Ken to play. You are going to medical school, Go inside and study.”
At that time, in 1955, there wasn’t a single African medical doctor in Zimbabwe. It was, therefore, a tall dream indeed.
Because he was anointed in one direction, he lacked social skills. On the other hand, I was left to roam the streets as I pleased, and to chart my own course in life.
As fate would have it, he brought massive amounts of books from school and after he was finished with them, I too loved to read, a habit which served me well in later life.
Throughout our lives, his life was overshadowed by his more social brother. Whether in Africa, or in St. Andrews, Scotland, or in Greenwood, South Carolina, his family would constantly have to answer this question. “Are you related to Ken Mufuka?”
I was the one who sat on the United Methodist Bishop’s Commission, I was the one who wrote Letter from America, I was the one who wrote the Tourist Guide to Zimbabwe National Museums.
While his two boys rose to answer that question with pride, especially when they were in Zimbabwe, the name giving them an unquestionable identity, it annoyed his wife, Ms. Jean to no end.
“After all, wasn’t Douglas the anointed one?” And so goes family rivalries. It was a cross Douglas did not mind bearing.
Back to the anointing. Again, as fate would have it, there was an Englishman and educator in Zimbabwe by the name of David Knottenbelt.
Knottenbelt did not suffer much foolishness, but the one foolishness he could not bear with any amount of tolerance was the idea that black students were inferior to white students.
To prove his point, he chose four black boys, tutored them in 1960 and 1961 and then presented them before the Cambridge University Advanced Level University Entrance Board.
These boys did so well that they came out as the top five students in the Federation of Rhodesia and Nayasaland (three countries).
In those days, there was a man by the name of John F. Kennedy, also a dreamer of dreams. The US State Department hired a plane to take all the African students, who had excelled and brought them to the US (1962). In Africa, it was called the Kennedy Scholarship.
Douglas was one of them. These students would be witnesses to the greatness and generosity of the United States in their countries.
I have left out the contribution of the Salvation Army. Our father, Miles Mufuka, was a brigadier in the Salvation Army-a missionary organisation whose motto was to do the most good. Our mother, Elsie was from the Rainbird tribe, the smallest but wisest among the Bantu tribe.
From our father we learned that religion is what gives man dignity and a place in the universe, otherwise, he, like a foolish man, thinks he is God.
Education came second. From our mother, who suffered very little nonsense, we learned that mothers do the best for their children. Eat your food, whatever is placed before you, and be thankful.
God blesses one through his neighbours, otherwise one is foolish enough to believe that “he did it all by himself.” But here is the lesson, which I feel was unique in Brigadier Mufuka’s family.
“Were there not 10 lepers?” Jesus asked. Only one of the lepers had returned to say thanks. To cut a long story short, Douglas and I were drilled that: “When God has blessed you, you must return, first to the children of Abraham (the tribe) and then to the extended family and say: Thank You.”
The extended family includes the Salvation Army. At the funeral, I counted 22 Salvation Army students who had passed through Lander University on Mufuka Family Scholarship. Over a period of 20 years, the scholarship had expended well over USD2.3 million.
There is a moral in this story. I want to shame all those bigwigs who credit their success to their own wits and spunk. I return now to that saint, the white man, Knottenbelt.
Of the four boys in his class, left to right, their achievements are listed as follows.
Douglas Mufuka, MD (epidemiologist, Chicago, US) Gibson Mandishona, PhD (mathematician, Director, Zimbabwe Statistics) Christopher Magadza, PhD (biologist, professor, Nobel prize) Phineas Makhurane, PhD (Physics, professor and vice-chancellor, Nust).
The passing of Douglas marks the passing of a generation that dreamed dreams, loved their country Zimbabwe, and showed their gratitude to God by sharing their blessings. The last word belongs to Douglas.
He called Howard and I to his bed, now 83 years old, speaking in Shona, he mentioned the names of tribesmen, inquiring about their wellbeing; “Mainini Makina, how is she? Mbuya Bulle, how is she? …I am at peace.”
Verily I say, Douglas passing reflects on that way of life called Ubuntu, a purposeful life.
*Ken Mufuka is a Zimbabwean patriot. He writes from the US, He can be reached at mufukaken@gmail.com