Zimbabwe News and Internet Radio

Let’s talk about Mudiwa Hood!

I normally wouldn’t. But I must. This is Mudiwa Hood. For some reason people attack him every other day, often for no reason at all. I don’t understand. I didn’t always know Mudiwa. My first encounter with him was at Harare International Airport in 2018, on Sunday at 23:00.

My wife Boipelo was flying into Zimbabwe on the last flight. I had been out with friends. We got to the airport and parked on the short stay bay as I went to welcome her home. But when I parked the car I mistakenly locked the keys to my old C200 in the boot. We was stuck.

Mudiwa was at the airport to attend to his own business. It was a late flight and it was late. As my wife and I stood contemplating, he approached us and asked if we was OK. I explained what I had done. He ceased his business, called his pals and starting making plans to help.

I had never met him before and while I recognised him he had no clue who I was. I had been staying in Hong Kong so knew nobody in Harare to help. I had also been dumb enough to leave my phone in the car. My wife and I would have been stuck. Mudiwa came through for strangers.

The next day around 10:00am he called to find out if the locksmiths had come through and if we had gotten to the hotel safe. We were strangers. Once he knew we were fine, he hung up after wishing us the best. I wanted to tell him of our Prophets Shepherd Bushiri and Uebert Angel connection, but didn’t.

Interestingly we continued talking. I would ask for advice and all. Back then nobody knew my role at ECG or my relationship with the prophets. It wasn’t public knowledge.

In one of our chats I mentioned that I came from Zvishavane. Months later, Mudiwa texted. He was in Zvishavane. I said ah Mum is there. He said I am going there. I was a stranger by the way. A guy he had helped at the airport.

That afternoon he went to see my mother and my son. He gave my mother $200 USD and my son $50 I think. He made them laugh too.

He took pics and sent me. My mom called me later and said “your best friend came to see me. You have a brother there my son”.

I was touched. I tried to thank him and Mudiwa laughed it off and said “ndi Mai vedu tose shaa”. Till today my mother calls Mudiwa “my son”.

It was only in 2019, after a stampede at church when my father the prophet was arrested shortly after in South Africa that the world knew of me in some prominence and Mudiwa was among the first to say to me, you did well for your Dad and why didn’t you tell me we were one.

In the time since, Mudiwa has become more than a brother. When I have lost family members he is the first to text. He is there. I know today if I hit rock bottom he would be first dial. But that isn’t the point. The point was, well before he even knew me, he had helped.

How many people today would spend $500-$700 on a stranger’s car keys, car computer box and his mother?

How many people would interrupt their plans to help a stranger?

I put it to you, that very few if any.

In the years since we became really close, I have seen countless people get help from Mudiwa.

For nothing in return. Away from this, how many people can actually say “Mudiwa akandi tadzira?”

Again, precious little.

Gentlemen are a rare commodity. Mudiwa is a genuine good guy and legitimately a nice person. He has never hurt a fly and all I ever hear from him positive vibes and a desire for everyone to make it.

So why is he hated?
No reason. Just nje!
And that is truly sad.

My hope is that, those that habitually attack him never need him. It’s odd that people hate a stranger they have never met and who has never done anything to them.

But I know the universe will hold tweeps to account. In this life, nobody walks away scott free!

Maynard Manyowa is a journalist and documentary filmmaker/photographer currently based in the UK.

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