Nungu: In Memory of a Remarkable Character

By Alex Magaisa

I was deeply saddened by the shocking news announcing the death of William Bango in a car accident. 

Affectionately known by his clan name, Nungu, he was a remarkable character who left an impression on many who interacted with him both in and outside the circles of his trade. The term “veteran journalist” is often bandied about nowadays but this man was truly one of THE veteran journalists.

I got to know him fairly well over the past twelve months when we were together in the trenches. There are too many things that Nungu excelled in or stuff that made him stand out in a crowd (despite his diminutive stature). In honour of his memory, I must record a few of them.

The most outstanding thing about Nungu was that he was clinically, and some might say brutally, honest in his opinions. He was not a man to beat about the bush, Nungu. He spoke his mind with the liberty of a man who was confident and sure of his cause.

Where others would shy away and withdraw into their shells only to whisper in each other’s ear after meetings, Nungu would raise his hand and speak his mind regardless of the seniority of the men and women before him. He was a straight-talker and I admired his candour and honesty.

Nungu was blessed with an excellent sense of humour and wit. I guess what made his honest opinions easier to bear was that he was always able to deliver them seasoned with humour and sarcasm among other varieties of the spices of language.

It helped too that he had wonderful command of the spoken word.Remarkably, he had the voice of a man three times his size and he employed it to great effect. When he spoke people listened. And laughed along the way!

He was good company, Nungu was. I am not sure you could get angry with him, even if you were the target of his criticism. He always delivered the criticism in a manner that left you disarmed and often laughing as if he had been telling you something so beautiful.

On one occasion in my early days in office, he approached me and began, “Errr Save (he often called me by my clan name)” then a brief pause “Er … Dziva you need to settle down and not let these people toss you around. You see, I have watched what’s happening around here.

They are throwing this and that in different directions and now you are running around like a headless chicken!” Like a headless chicken! Technically, I was supposed be his boss! But of course, had a point.

“You need to sit down and think Dziva” he said “That’s why you are here. Don’t let them side-track you from your core business of thinking.” I looked at him and we both laughed. Of course, he had a point, and he had just delivered it very honestly.

I took seriously and months later I would thank him greatly. That was Nungu for you. A witty character indeed; Nungu packed a powerful punch with words. If he saw a spade he called it a spade, not a spoon. He was not in the business of pleasing people.

And of course he was a rich reservoir of knowledge and experience. I was privileged to drink from that calabash. We sat down a number of times and spoke although I was usually in the role of listener. When he started, he would not stop talking, Nungu.

It helped that our umbilical cords although buried many years apart, shared the same land, kuChikomba. For that is where we both came from – a point that was picked on by a few mischievous ones to suggest that there was a Chikomba Mafia in the making! It was just pure chance that we happened to be there at the same time.

His home in Marlborough is a Garden of Eden – you will find all manner of plants and trees from around the world in his compound. That collection of plants was in many ways a physical representation of the knowledge and experience that he had gained from his many travels across the world. I do hope he has used his supreme command of language to record his knowledge and experience for posterity.

Finally, although proud of his achievements (he would ceaselessly remind us of all the journalists who had passed through his hands) I found Nungu to be a man of humble character. It didn’t matter that he was older, more experienced and in many cases more knowledgeable than most of the people who held higher authority in the work-related command structures.

I was many years younger than him and much less experienced than he was but Nungu was always the consummate professional and this made it very easy for me to work with him. Even as the great writer that he was, he dutifully submitted his written speeches for approval and accepted corrections and suggestions without fuss. There was mutual respect.

In the beginning, on account of his seniority in age I found it hard to call him by his first name and I would address him as “Mr Bango”. I didn’t realise I was calling all the others by their first names – Rose, Jacob, Addellis, etc.

So in one of the meetings he took me to task but thankfully on that occasion I had a response because he was referring to me as “Dr Magaisa”. It was a funny moment in the meeting. So from then on I was careful to make sure I addressed him as Nungu. In return he called me by my clan names Save or Dziva. Or Musaigwa.

I have fond memories of Nungu. It was a pleasure to work with and to know the man. He was there, every step of the way – in the deep rural venues and in boardrooms. He was comfortable in every setting. Now faced with his demise, I am reminded of Okonkwo’s words in Chinua Achebe’s Things Fall Apart when speaking to his friend Obierika he asks, “Where are the young suckers that will grow when the old banana tree dies?”

Because when you look around, you realise Nungu was in a different grade.

It would be a travesty if I did not mention one thing. To edit it out of this tribute would be an exercise in sugar-coating – something that Nungu would absolutely not approve. It is that Nungu loved his drink, especially his beloved Castle which he would substitute on occasions with red wine. (He said he had a heart problem, a medical condition upon which he would justify his partaking of red wine. On one occasion during one of our many road trips across Zimbabwe i said to him at Orange Grove Motel as he ordered a red wine during lunch that this condition was very convenient to which he merely laughed!)

Naturally, where there is drink, there is an anecdote. On one occasion on a trip to Johannesburg we were arriving quite late at the lodge which suited our budget and realising that there would be no access to his beloved drink, I discovered that Nungu had made a private arrangement with our driver, to be taken to the townships to buy a few.

Later, he said with bewitching sarcasm, “We couldn’t let the boss come to those rough places, could we? They seem to like you in the papers these days and imagine the field day they would have if they caught you on camera in Alexandria (apparently a rough Joburg suburb)” We laughed. He was having his meal and beside his plate was a can of Castle. And it was breakfast!

My thoughts in these difficult moments are with his wife, Mbuya Chikonamombe – for that is her clan name, his children and his grandchildren who lived with him at his Marlborough home that was a plant version of a multicultural, peaceful and democratic society in which species from various parts of the world lived side by side in almost perfect harmony.

Fambai mushe, Nungu …

WaMagaisa