They Called You Dambudzo

by Flora Veit-Wild

This book is a memoir with a ‘double heartbeat’. At its centre is the author’s relationship with the late Zimbabwean writer, Dambudzo Marechera, whose award-winning book The House of Hunger marked him as a powerful, disruptive, perhaps prophetic voice in African literature. Flora Veit-Wild is internationally recognised for her significant contribution to preserving Marechera’s legacy. What is less known about Marechera and Veit-Wild, is that they had an intense, personal and sexual relationship. This memoir explores this: the couple’s first encounter in 1983, amidst the euphoria of the newly independent Zimbabwe; the tumultuous months when the homeless writer moved in with his lover and her family; the bouts of creativity once he had his own flat followed by feelings of abandonment; the increasing despair about a love affair that could not stand up against reality and the illness of the writer and his death of HIV related pneumonia in August 1987. What follows are the struggles Flora went through once Dambudzo had died. On the one hand she became the custodian of his life and work, on the other she had to live with her own HIV infection and the ensuing threats to her health.

279 pages, Paperback

Published November 2, 2020

Reviews

[Rodney Likaku · Rating 5 out of 5]

I have massive respect for Veit-Wild, her understanding of African literature, and the difficulty that comes with holding the professorial position in her native Germany where she must be intrinsically ambidextrous in the way that she delivers material given the close relationship that she had with Dambudzo Marechera. There is a bit of too much honesty in her narrative that could be off-putting for some people in terms of the authenticity of her scholarship about a man who wrote poetry specifically for her, and her role in being privy to his inner psyche and poetic process. But it is her acute awareness in acknowledging that the field of African literature and specific academic positions must respond and evolve to accommodate special circumstances, especially in a field that is in a perpetual state of anxiety. Moreover, she writes of Dambudzo as if he were not a person but a demi-god, or a diety so that even his irrational behaviour is excused as artistic prowess or eccentricity. In sections about their lives together, she foregrounds him to the narrative not only of her life but of life in general; and engages in a process that illustrates that they are simply different sides of the same coin.

A few quotes stand out for me, "Because for me, personally, it is not a problem. It is just another human relationship you can write about. I actually find love of people of the same race very much incest". Dambudzo is dramatic, but what the two of them see in a multiracial relationship is that it shouldn't matter; anyone who has ever dated or been romantically involved across the colour spectrum will tell you that this is easier said than done. People are ruthless in their questions, looks and jokes. Alamu anu amapanga chani? Ndinkaladi--such statements are rather infuriating. The added layer of such an acquaintance in academia is even more difficult and some, like Dambudzo, crumble under the psychological pressure of such expectations which almost requires military-grade mental clarity in a field that is not only difficult to navigate--given the numerous expectations one needs if only to speak authoritatively, but also enjoy the basic aspects of what simply could be in this case a relationship bar journalism, poetry, and scientific articles.

This leads to the next important point, she says of her lover, "who taught me that nothing is whole or holy, least of all African literature". The sanctity that African literature holds and the coveted space to make an industry a field that was set up towards decolonisation is not only alarming, but it is also distasteful. Their (the author and the poet in question) relationship is an exhibition of what African literature can be, which is a consensus ad idem, and usually personalities who come to this space with ego find themselves with difficult terrain to reconcile due to history in form, language, style, and academic practices as Veit-Wild acutely points out.

A few grace notes riddle the pages of fantasy and cosplay, the morality of doing what is right in the face of difficult circumstance--"should I own his unpublished manuscripts"? "return them to the gallery in Zimbabwe?" The only aspect where I would disagree with the writer, in general, is that she poeticises poverty and writes in a way where everyone but her is at fault: be it Victor (the husband who let her bring her lover into their home, and the one she gave Aids to), her brother for having died first even though as a doctor he diagnosed her with HIV, Musa (Musaemura Zimunya) whose disagreement to her work, in general, is dealt with perfunctorily, UZ (University of Zimbabwe) who only after a while has regarded her book on Patterns of Poetry as seminal after events where they discredited her. Lastly, her children are only written about where they bring light to Dambudzo--the thing about a certain kind of love is that it will define all the boundaries of your life so that really the only way to rid yourself of it is to complete it in one form of the next. So much to the extent that the title of this books should be, "I called you Dambudzo". Thoughtful. Expertly written. And really inspiring.

[Lorraine · Rating 4 out of 5]

"They Called You Dambudzo" by Flora Veit-Wild. After watching the virtual launch of this book organised by the publisher, @jacanamedia, I had to buy myself a copy and read about this great love of Flora's. Friends, who I later spoke to about the launch and my enthusiasm for the book, were aggrieved by Flora and how she is milking and subsequently benefitting from Dambudzo's memory and legacy. I don't know a lot about Dambudzo nor his relationship with Flora, but I am now energised to follow this book with The House Of Hunger.

Flora's use of "You" in Part 1 of the book, essay titled "Escape From the House of Hunger" is arresting in its inclusivity and universality. Addressing both the reader and Dambudzo directly creates intimacy for the reader. As if she is personally writing to them. It also evoked feelings of empathy from me as the reader. As if I am eavesdropping in a private conversation.

35 years of loving the memory of a man. Of loving and dedicating your life to the potential of a man. Is this a preservation of a legacy or a case of following the money? White privilege attracts so many beautiful things. Things which were out of reach for Dambudzo. Money. Spaces. Ears. Investment. Security. Privacy. Healthcare. Freedom to be. Freedom to have. Freedom to do.

I don't know. Read the book. Decide for yourself.

https://www.instagram.com/s/aGlnaGxpZ...

[Molebatsi · Rating 5 out of 5]

Dambudzo Marechera is an intriguing literary character who has attracted all sorts of attention from reviewers, academics, writers and readers alike.
All these interest groups wish he lived longer to write more, that is if interest in the little that he wrote in his short life is anything to go by.
Flora Veit-Wild’s book takes interest in Marechera to various levels, literary and personal. She had an intimate relationship with Marechera which made her, in a way, the executor of his literary estate. As as a consequence of her intimacy with Marechera, Veit-Wild casts herself as an authority on his literary oeuvre.
Her memoir which is also part Marechera biography has elicited all sorts of reactions from critics here and abroad. Others have welcomed the book as an addition to works on the enigmatic literary prince of Zimbabwe, Africa and the world. Others have accused Veit-Wild of exploitation.
As for me, warts and all, the book offers a window through which we can see some aspects of Marechera's short-lived literary life.