Harare, Zimbabwe – Back in 2023, Brighton “BV” Vazhure’s selfless act persuaded me that humanity, or ubuntu still exists. That year, he said...
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Harare, Zimbabwe – Back in 2023, Brighton “BV” Vazhure’s selfless act persuaded me that humanity, or ubuntu still exists.
That year, he said to me, “Dedza (short for Derick), we need to go visit our two former classmates, who are not feeling well,” he suggested. “They are our own, we need to see how they are doing, and show our moral support.”By @Comic24Derick
A few days later, as planned, we travelled to Seke, in Chitungwiza to check on the duo. Previously, as former students, we pooled finances to assist bereaved members, or attended funerals. This particular visit was part of our ongoing tradition, since 2015.
On arrival, BV could not hide his sincere excitement, instantly diving into our school days, as students at Sandringham High in Norton.
“Hi all. I come to you again with sad news. We lost one of our own today, I've just been informed that Brighton Vazhure passed around 14:00 this afternoon,” Edward, the group founder posted. “Just said he has a headache and was taken to hospital where he later passed away. Will keep you all posted on any arrangements I receive. MHSRIP famba zvakanaka Sawhira.”
Before, I have lost people close to me, but this one hit me harder. I was lost. “This is a joke,” I thought.
Soon after, I phoned Edward, who confirmed that indeed, BV was gone. “It happened on 29 December, 2024,” he added. Just two days before 2025. In no time, I was taken back to Sandringham.
“Tiri magede, takavinga makoko…”
In 1992, our stream, as madzuda (new comers) arrived at Sandringham High. Then, bullying, or manyunyu, was widespread.
For many, this was a confusing, solitary environment. Far away from parents, only limited to irregular letter-writing, strong networks were a must.
To survive, our lives revolved around sharing (kupemha). Without a loyal friend, you could not make it. We shared everything, from drinks (kuru, or dye), uniforms, even toiletries – and that culture still exists.
Before his death, two former classmates based in Europe were assisting him to relocate. “When he died, we were in the process of assisting him to relocate here and find some work,” one of the friends revealed over the phone.
When I heard that, I was convinced that our time at Sandringham High was not in vain. Instead, our encounters yielded lasting attachments. Boarding life prepared us to be resilient and care for one another.
However, we all had different personalities. BV was known for speaking out his mind. “Haa, maya (that’s not right),” he would scream, whenever he disagreed with something.
His frank persona remained the same, until death.
From BV to Boss Kedha
Often, when l called BV, while he was at the farm in Chinhoyi, he would say, "Dedza, l am at the shops, I am drinking with some friends from the community"
Three days after his death, on my way to his burial, I passed through the shops (Madzima), to capture BV’s final earthly journey. This was the first death of a member, since I joined the group in 2017.
At the burial site, mourners chanted, “Hatiende kusvika taviga kedha.” Boss Kedha was a moniker for his light complexion. His father, Edward Vazhure, 78, now based at the farm, was at a loss of words.
"My eldest two children have now died. When l die, l will be buried next to my father," he told me, pointing to the family graveyard.
BV, 45, is survived by his wife – and two children.
“Kana dare rarira...”
Back at Sandringham, when the improvised bell, an old ploughing disc suspended from a tree, sounded at 9pm, it signaled bed time.
Just after nine, the teacher-in-charge patrolled the dormitory area, chanting animatedly, “Kana dare rarira…” Any misbehavior attracted a punishment, usually cleaning the filthy, clogged toilets.
When BV passed on, I was reminded of that bell, again. When our time to depart comes, it is sudden, unknown and ‘untimely’ – only God knows. But to avoid punishment, we must be prepared to sleep, or die at any moment.
A free willed person, BV will be greatly missed. “Yes indeed, he did not mince his words,” mentioned a friend.
“Cash talk inenge rough so,” another friend added.
As you exit the farm, to the left, there is a school sign post – Matoranjera Primary. For decades, the school has educated many. That day, on his burial, I rediscovered that: usahwira hunokunda hukama.
A few days later, as planned, we travelled to Seke, in Chitungwiza to check on the duo. Previously, as former students, we pooled finances to assist bereaved members, or attended funerals. This particular visit was part of our ongoing tradition, since 2015.
On arrival, BV could not hide his sincere excitement, instantly diving into our school days, as students at Sandringham High in Norton.
“Aaah, aah” one of the guys screamed, “Vazhure, is that you muface? We last met many years ago, I think it was 28 years ago. Boys, maita basa, thank you for visiting me.”
The 'Last Supper'
That day, we spent hours chatting. For us, this was a special occasion to sit, become young again – and laugh at our childhood. Later, we left, with promises to reconnect. Soon after, BV relocated, and we spoke occasionally via the phone.
Then, on 21 December, 2024, accompanied by Simbarashe, another former student, we visited our two friends in Seke. While there, I phoned BV, but the call didn’t go through. “I will call him another day,” I convinced myself.
The 'Last Supper'
That day, we spent hours chatting. For us, this was a special occasion to sit, become young again – and laugh at our childhood. Later, we left, with promises to reconnect. Soon after, BV relocated, and we spoke occasionally via the phone.
Then, on 21 December, 2024, accompanied by Simbarashe, another former student, we visited our two friends in Seke. While there, I phoned BV, but the call didn’t go through. “I will call him another day,” I convinced myself.
I never did.
Nine days later, a message popped up in our ex-student WhatsApp group.
Nine days later, a message popped up in our ex-student WhatsApp group.
 |
| Brighton “BV” Vazhure: A Man who Spoke his Mind |
“Hi all. I come to you again with sad news. We lost one of our own today, I've just been informed that Brighton Vazhure passed around 14:00 this afternoon,” Edward, the group founder posted. “Just said he has a headache and was taken to hospital where he later passed away. Will keep you all posted on any arrangements I receive. MHSRIP famba zvakanaka Sawhira.”
Before, I have lost people close to me, but this one hit me harder. I was lost. “This is a joke,” I thought.
Soon after, I phoned Edward, who confirmed that indeed, BV was gone. “It happened on 29 December, 2024,” he added. Just two days before 2025. In no time, I was taken back to Sandringham.
“Tiri magede, takavinga makoko…”
In 1992, our stream, as madzuda (new comers) arrived at Sandringham High. Then, bullying, or manyunyu, was widespread.
For many, this was a confusing, solitary environment. Far away from parents, only limited to irregular letter-writing, strong networks were a must.
To survive, our lives revolved around sharing (kupemha). Without a loyal friend, you could not make it. We shared everything, from drinks (kuru, or dye), uniforms, even toiletries – and that culture still exists.
Before his death, two former classmates based in Europe were assisting him to relocate. “When he died, we were in the process of assisting him to relocate here and find some work,” one of the friends revealed over the phone.
When I heard that, I was convinced that our time at Sandringham High was not in vain. Instead, our encounters yielded lasting attachments. Boarding life prepared us to be resilient and care for one another.
However, we all had different personalities. BV was known for speaking out his mind. “Haa, maya (that’s not right),” he would scream, whenever he disagreed with something.
His frank persona remained the same, until death.
From BV to Boss Kedha
Often, when l called BV, while he was at the farm in Chinhoyi, he would say, "Dedza, l am at the shops, I am drinking with some friends from the community"
Three days after his death, on my way to his burial, I passed through the shops (Madzima), to capture BV’s final earthly journey. This was the first death of a member, since I joined the group in 2017.
At the burial site, mourners chanted, “Hatiende kusvika taviga kedha.” Boss Kedha was a moniker for his light complexion. His father, Edward Vazhure, 78, now based at the farm, was at a loss of words.
"My eldest two children have now died. When l die, l will be buried next to my father," he told me, pointing to the family graveyard.
BV, 45, is survived by his wife – and two children.
“Kana dare rarira...”
Back at Sandringham, when the improvised bell, an old ploughing disc suspended from a tree, sounded at 9pm, it signaled bed time.
Just after nine, the teacher-in-charge patrolled the dormitory area, chanting animatedly, “Kana dare rarira…” Any misbehavior attracted a punishment, usually cleaning the filthy, clogged toilets.
When BV passed on, I was reminded of that bell, again. When our time to depart comes, it is sudden, unknown and ‘untimely’ – only God knows. But to avoid punishment, we must be prepared to sleep, or die at any moment.
A free willed person, BV will be greatly missed. “Yes indeed, he did not mince his words,” mentioned a friend.
“Cash talk inenge rough so,” another friend added.
As you exit the farm, to the left, there is a school sign post – Matoranjera Primary. For decades, the school has educated many. That day, on his burial, I rediscovered that: usahwira hunokunda hukama.
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