Obit: Farewell to VK: A Tribute to a Comrade and a Friend

Obituary by Thomas Chidamba

Friendship isn’t about whom you have known the longest. It’s about who came and never left your side.

One sunny October morning, while relaxing at the farm, I got an unexpected call from Nigel Pfunde, a long-time media colleague. “Maninja, wagwaan mi King?” I greeted him.
His voice was shaky. “Ah, eredha muri Irie?” he asked.
I reassured him, but he quickly mentioned rumors about my supposed death. I dismissed them, as i was as fit as a fiddle. Nigel then told me he had read my obituary, written by VK, on Facebook.

It was shocking, but not entirely surprising, given our pact with VK.
I wasn’t surprised that my long-time buddy, VK, whom I had met almost two decades ago at New Ziana’s Harare Post, had fulfilled the pledge to write my obituary if I passed before him. But this time, I was alive.
During our youthful days, we agreed that either of us would write the other’s obituary.

For almost two decades, death didn’t visit either of us.
One day, I met Cde VK in town on my way home. We chatted as usual. Before parting, I asked him to write my obituary so I could read it before I died. It took time, but VK finally penned it. Then, that fine morning when Maninja called to break the sad news, it seemed surreal.

After Nigel’s call, friends and relatives bombarded me with calls, all struggling to come to terms with the ‘news’ of my demise, supposedly succumbing to cancer, as VK wrote. VK was an excellent writer. He described my funeral at Shutu Village in Chiweshe so vividly it felt real.
We later met and laughed it off over lunch at a restaurant at the National Railways of Zimbabwe premises. The meeting wasn’t about the obituary, but about my plans to register a media house with the Zimbabwe Media Commission. I needed his help to craft some documents for the registration process. He agreed and delivered as promised. I’m happy that our publication, ZiMining, is now registered with the media commission.

On the morning of May 22, 2024, less than a month ago, I received a Facebook message from my trusted colleague, VK. It read: “Sahwira obituary iye chigadzirira.”That’s when he shared with me that he had received a diabetes diagnosis but was successfully managing it.” I wished him well, knowing how strong VK was. I was confident he would pull through.
Yesterday morning, while at the ZMC offices in Borrowdale, Nigel Pfunde called again. This time, he didn’t waste time. Before I even said hello, he quickly asked, “Ko ndeipi yatiri kunzwa yasahwira wenyu VK?” I knew it had turned bad. The message was no longer sweet on this fine morning; we had been turned into mourning. I only said, “Ma1.” I knew VK was gone. For a while, I thought, was VK serious when he said, “sahwira obituary riye chigadzirira?” I tried to be strong, but I couldn’t control the tears. VK was gone, and gone for sure.
I met Vimbai Kamoyo when I joined the Harare Post straight from journalism school. He was there already with the likes of Anna Chibamu, Josiah Mucharowana, Tafadzwa Chiremba, Kizito Sikuka, and the notorious Chakanza Paranji, now late.
VK guided me through news gathering and writing. My first assignment with him was an interview with Sekuru Friday Chisanyu at the Red Cross, which then housed ZINATHA offices.

To me, the interview seemed normal, but I was shocked when Sekuru Chisanyu handed VK money afterward.
I had just come out of college, young, innocent, and fresh, where we learned about media ethics and chequebook journalism. So, I feared palm greasing, but now I was face to face with it. I didn’t say a word to him, neither did he until we reached Copacabana. That’s when he said, “Tomidho ukaita zvekutamba unofa nenzara.” Those words were prophetic. I hadn’t eaten anything since morning, so I asked him to buy us sadza so we could gain energy to walk across town to Selous Ave. VK was generous.
He bought me sadza and gave me some money for transport. He even bought bread for colleagues we had left in the newsroom. This was a surprise because we were used to drinking tea without bread.
VK wrote his story, and the following Monday, we went with the paper to Sekuru Chisanyu. I had the shock of my life when Sekuru Chisanyu gave Vimbai a lot of money. I wondered what kind of n’anga had so much money. VK said, “Tomidho mari dzen’anga dzodyiwa.”

It seemed VK was popular at ZINATHA. He introduced me to almost everyone, from Professor Gordon Chavhunduka, Sekuru Tapera Dzviti, to secretary, Magi.
Having enjoyed that money, I started to create story ideas so that VK would accompany me to ZINATHA. My first was on witchcraft: a myth or reality. I interviewed Professor Chavhunduka and Sekuru Tapera Dzviti. Chavhunduka didn’t give us anything, but Sekuru Dzviti bought us some food and drinks.

It became a norm to chase after traditional healers. I left the Harare Post for Kwayedza newspaper. Now I had an edge over VK. Kwayedza was more popular than the Harare Post. Every traditional healer wanted to be published in Kwayedza, so together with VK, we formed a tag team and covered many n’angas.
One day, when we were coming from ZINATHA on a routine visit, we met Sekuru Makudo from Epworth, a tsikamutanda. VK had mastered the art of sweet-talking these traditional healers, so Sekuru Makudo invited us to Epworth for a bira. We spent the day enjoying wise waters. By the way, my friend VK liked his beer very much. After the bira, Sekuru Makudo gave us money and took us to a bar in his area. Because I had one too many, I decided to go home leaving VK behind still drowning in wise waters. I didn’t say good bye, i disappered from the bar because beer was raining like dogs and cats.
I boarded a Kombi and went home. I was surprised to wake up the next morning and find lots of cash on me. I thought it was mine, and VK had his.

On Monday, I met VK, frothing with anger, accusing me of running away with money. I apologized, and we mended bridges.
Our friendship grew stronger, and we could not spend a day without drinking beer. Sheraton, now Rainbow Towers, was our home ground, and we would flip-flop from Rainbow to Meikles and Holiday Inn. We formed a strong team, including VK, myself, Clemence Tashaya, Josiah Dimbo, Mucharowana, and Canaan Mupamhanga.
One evening, we gatecrashed into a Genesis Bank Christmas party at Holiday Inn. We drank like fish before being chucked out of the function. VK accused me of dancing too much resulting in us being checked out. VK and Dimbo were too drunk and refused to leave the hotel until management called a Mr. Fundira, who came driving a yellow Porsche car and pointed a gun at us, threatening to blow our heads off.
Even upto his demise, VK always blamed me for dancing too much, which was not synonymous with bankers.
When I quit alcohol, VK didn’t like, he took to Facebook to express his anger. He was like a biblical good Sheppard who wanted the lost sheep to be back among the flock. I will miss you Sahwira. Of course we differed on political grounds, but that didn’t affect our relationship, besides we were professional members and respected the differences.
I could write a book about my escapades with VK, but I just want to say I’m devastated by the news of your demise, VK. Death, despite being inevitable, is so difficult to fathom. I’m failing to stomach the pain of losing you, VK. As I promised, I have written this obituary in your honor and will go to bury you, KwaChiunye, Mt. Darwin.
Sleep easy, Tembo. Tears may dry, but memories will last forever.

Thomas Chidamba is a veteran journalist and founder of ZimMining magazine.He was part of the founding gatekeeper for H-Metro.