Roger, over and out: Chinx and the rhythms of unity
It was 1980. The war was over, freedom was in the air.
Within days, a new country, Zimbabwe, would be born. There had been songs to win the war. But now, new songs were needed. Songs of celebration, to capture the mood.
Cde Chinx had just returned from the Dzapasi/Foxtrot Assembly point in Buhera. They asked him to write a song to be performed by a choir at Rufaro Stadium, where the Union Jack was to be lowered, replaced by the new Zimbabwean flag.
Prince Charles was in town, to take back the Union Jack to Britain.
So, as Prince Charles settled into his chair that night at Rufaro Stadium, the song Mukoma Charleh was heard for the first time. One part mockery of Britain, another part celebration.
ââŚMukoma Charleh, takura shoko unopa Mambokadzi ⌠You better carry our message to our Honourable Mother, Her Majesty, the Queen, tell her Zimbabwean people were the happiest on that day, 18 April, Nineteen Eyiteh, when Zimbabwe became real independent country. Saying real. Itâs real. Very, very real. Takura shoko unopa Mambokadzi, Mukomah Charleh..â
Charleh got his flag and left.
Chinx had staked his claim as one of the many voices that came to mark the tough transition from war. Itâs a role he was to play even more in the early Independence years.
After Independence, war vets were given jobs in government institutions to help them settle. Chinx found himself at ZBC. But the job of transmission controller never caged his passion.
His old choir mates were still around, and Chinx tried to get them to record. But the big, white-owned record companies then, such as Gallo, were so over the war choir stuff. They wanted new, urban stuff to reflect the vibe of the time.
Chinx spoke to a friend, Maria Gazis. Did she know anyone in the music business, he asked? He was in luck. Gazis knew two people in the business; Jane Bartlett and Benny Miller.
Miller had been part of the Otis Waygood Blues Band, a punk rock outfit that had rocked Rhodesia since the 60s. Heâd also been front man for a hard rock band called Klunk.
Soon, Chinx was spending nights at the Millersâ, making music well into the night so he could still make it back to work at ZBC in the morning.
So, here you had it: On one side is a war vet, fresh out of the bush where he had been leading choir songs mocking white people - âkumusha kunonhuwa nhamo, mhino dzakarebaâ â a man whose grandfather Chingaira, after whom he was named, was beheaded by white settlers. On the other is Miller, guitarist for an all-white rock band. Different backgrounds, making great music together.
This, right here, was the new Zimbabwe.
Chinx played no instruments, so he would verbalise the instrumentation he wanted. âPlay it like this⌠bham bham bham bhaaam bhaaamâ.
Then another reconciliation thing happened. There was a genius white kid, a keyboardist, that Miller knew. Keith Farquharson was his name. He could play anything on his synthesizer. He soon joined up.
That was how the first new independent music label in Zim was born. They called it One World Records, fittingly. Their first recording, Marching Together, was a reflection of themselves, and their time. A black war vet fresh from the war front, a white punk rock artiste, and a teenage keyboard wiz recording together in a country still struggling to reconcile after 90 years of racial bitterness and war.
âI dearly want to believe, that the people ought to uniteâŚMarching together, it binds us together,â Chinx sings, to the accompaniment of Keithâs screeching synth.
It was under this One World label that two other new talents came to the fore; Don Gumbo and Andy Brown. Chinx and Keith were recording as the Barrel of Peace at the time. Ilanga, with Don Gumbo and others, was just taking shape. Their arrival meant Keith didnât have to play everything on his synthesizer any more. There was now a proper bassist, Don, and a guitarist, Andy.
This is how they ended up recording and performing together.
But it appears their relationship with Chinx was never that warm early on. Chinx never felt the Ilanga boys supported him enough. When he needed to record Ngorimba, they didnât show up.
To put down a first cut of the song, he had to scramble together a few old comrades, a mbira crew called the Revolutionary Recreation Group. He still needed vocals. Doreen and Busi Ncube, two talented sisters, came to his aid. The other vocals were provided by a certain guy, Oliver Mtukudzi. Yes. That guy.
In the end, Ngorimba was recorded, and became one of Chinxâs biggest hits. The song, again, was about the unity he lived; the mix of traditional and modern instruments creates good melodies, he sings. Why canât we learn from musical instruments, he asks. Our diversity can produce good things.
The Barrel of Peace days gave us songs such as Zvikomborero, a massive hit recently sampled by Alexio Kawara, one of my fave artistes.
Then thereâs my personal favourite Chinx song, Nerudo. From the first strain of Keithâs bassline, I could hear Chinx instructing him, by mouth, how it should sound: âbham bham bham bhaaam bhaaamâ
Somewhere, midway through the track, the two have a convo;
âNhai Keith!â Chinx shouts.
âChinxâ Keith replies.
âHanzi nababa, rudo rwusingachepi chete ngerwani? Ngerweruzhinjiâ
He never stopped singing about unity, through the Mazana Movement days. Who can forget Roger Confirm, arguably his biggest hit?Â
Somewhere in those ungovernably indecipherable lyrics is the same call to unity that he loved.Â
âThe promising truth of our living, that of becoming one world, hwani people, one neeehshen, to the same destiny to the rightâŚ.to the good of allâŚâ
ââŚthe winning buzzword we love is that of reconciliation, to be one, enemies to become friendsâŚâ
Half the time, we hadnât the foggiest idea what he was on about in that song. But we understood. Somehow, we understood. We felt the song. We felt him.Â
And who can forget watching Chinx, in that video, dancing on the Africa map, singing Vanhu vose vemuno muAfrica?
As Alec Pongweni puts it in his book Songs that Won the Liberation War, this song was a âvivid description of the indomitability of the human spiritâ, and a call for cadres to be âunited in purposeâ. Years after it was composed in the camps by Zanla, Chinx brought it to life, and did it so well that some wanted it to be the national anthem.
âVanhu vose vemuno muAfrica, tamirira kuchipedzisa zvehutongi hwemarudzi ekunze, ayo akaunza rufu, kudai tachibatana tikurireâŚâ
Like many war vets, his relationship with his own government was never easy. An enduring image of Operation Murambatsvina in 2005 was that of a defeated Cde Chinx sitting on the roof of what was left of his destroyed home in Unit M, Chitungwiza.
This was despite Chinxâs role in the Hondo Yeminda series, songs in praise of land reform foisted upon us through the early 2000s. His critics want this part of his career to define him, but there really must be no shock about a fiercely Zanu PF man, one who went to war to fight for land, singing songs in praise of a Zanu PF governmentâs programmes.
He never changed. Even when he sang songs critical of his party, it was never from outside of it. Gedye Yaramba, is a cry against the economic crisis at the time. He even sang Musadzingane Mumusangano, which is all rather self- explanatory.
In life and in music, he was all about unity. In his death, with tributes from all corners, he defies division still.Â
I am happy that many have refused to allow debate about Chinx and his contribution to Zimbabwe to be bogged down in petty party politics. Or to even debate whether it matters if a Politburo of the likes of Chombo and Chipanga decides for us whether Chinx is a hero or not.Â
After all, these are the people that have for years let down war vets, Chinx included. They stand square against the values of hard work, honesty and unity that he sang of and lived.Â
Over his coffin, they would wave fists, make long speeches and chant the slogans that they have cheapened. The band would play Nzira Dzemasoja, a song urging respect for the masses and cautioning against greed; a song that they only use to bury their dead but never apply to their living.Â
No. Itâs not for them to determine Chinxâs place in the history of Zimbabwe, or his place in our hearts.
They are, frankly, not qualified.Â
Not even worthy to hold his bhareta.Â
Alexander Kanengoni, the late war vet, writes in his novel Echoing Silences: âWhat I fear most is that we will not leave anything to our children except lies and silenceâ.
Thankfully, Cde Chinx left us his music to tell us his truth, and that of many other comrades like him.
(Listen to the album âCde Chinxâs early hitsâ here)