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Africa probably has the most complex and varied language situation in the world and public bodies must give citizens an opportunity to engage with them in their language of choice

Ignatius Mabasa Shelling The Nuts
THIS is a story about language, being lost and abused in your very own country.
It is about how a language is more than what you think.It is a story about a boy who became a foreigner in his own land.

It is a story that says language is life. There are things that happen in this very country that sound stranger than fiction.
I heard this story a few years ago by a social worker called Mudenda, and it has remained deeply etched in my mind.

Tomu lived in Binga with his grandmother because his parents had died when he was still very young.
Tomu had never been to any other part of Zimbabwe.
His life and days were in Binga — catching fish and birds.
Tomu loved life in his village. After school, or during the school holidays, Tomu borrowed and rowed a dug-out canoe with his friends.
When it became hot, they went to safe and designated places along the mighty Zambezi River for a swim.
For a nine-year-old boy, Tomu was very clever.

He knew the names of different fish, trees and animals.
He knew where the crocodiles loved to hunt or bask in the sun.
He knew the things that could make hippos mad, and what not to do for them to mind their own business.
When Tomu and his friends borrowed a boat, they would have fun learning to catch fish using nets.
Sometimes, Tomu would be asked by the fishermen to help them as their assistant and when they got a good catch, they would also give him a generous share.
Tomu’s grandmother made a living from buying and selling fish from the fishermen. Tom helped his grandmother prepare the fish.

Preparing the fish was hard work. It involved gutting, descaling, washing, salting and smoking the fish.
The fish that didn’t involve much labour were the small kapenta.
These were usually caught at night and in bulk.

When the women from far away places came to buy the fish, they paid good money, which enabled Tomu’s grandmother to send him to school and buy him clothes.
Tomu’s grandmother said some of the women who came to buy their fish were from Karoi, Chinhoyi, Harare, Gweru and Bulawayo.
One woman from Harare used to buy a lot of fish from Tomu’s grandmother. Tomu loved this woman because he thought she was very beautiful. Although Tomu was only nine years old, he used to say to himself, “When I grow up, I will marry this beautiful woman from Harare.”

This woman was called Mai T. On most occasions when Mai T came to Binga to buy fish, she would sleep at Tomu’s grandmother’s house. She would then catch the early morning bus back to Harare with sacks of kapenta and other dried fish. Whenever Mai T came to buy fish, she would bring sweets, biscuits, bread, sugar and candles to sell.
She used to give Tomu’s grandmother some sweets and biscuits for Tomu.
Tomu just loved the cream on the biscuits.

One day Mai T came, and as usual Tomu was pleased to see her.
Mai T did not speak much Tonga.
The little Tonga that she spoke made Tomu laugh because it sounded like Tonga spoken by babies.
After buying and packing her fish, she retired to her room. Early the following day, she asked Tomu’s grandmother if Tomu could accompany him to the bus stop since she needed help to carry her fish. Tomu’s grandmother did not object. As they were walking along the footpath to the bus stop, Tomu started asking Mai T about where the sweets and biscuits were found in Harare. Mai T told Tomu that there were so many biscuits and sweets in Harare such that people actually walked on them. She then said to Tomu, if you want, you can come with me and see for yourself. “You mean you can take me to Harare with you? Really, really, really?” Tomu asked. Mai T said, “Yes, I can take you to Harare, and if you want, we can board the same bus now.” Tomu could not believe his ears. He had always wanted to board a bus and finally the chance had come. That is how Tomu got on the bus to Harare. He did not have shoes on his feet and he had not even taken a bath. He had not even told his grandmother.

The journey to Harare was exciting. Tomu marvelled at the trees that were speeding in the opposite direction. He saw many cars on the big black road that had no dust or stones. There were just too many things to see and Tomu did not even notice how they got into Harare. The houses were beautiful and there were even more cars and people. When the bus got to Mbare Musika, Mai T and Tomu got off. They carried their sacks that were full of kapenta. Mai T then got into a small car and told Tomu to wait for him by an old bus shelter. That was the last time Tomu saw Mai T. After waiting for about three hours, it started getting dark. By this time, Tomu had noticed something, nobody spoke his language in this place. For the first time, Tomu realised he had made a terrible mistake of leaving home without telling his grandmother.

Although the lights of shops and cars were a spectacle, Tomu was hungry and thirsty. He also needed to use the toilet. He asked a woman with a child strapped to her back, but the look on her face told him she could not even understand a word of Tonga. Tomu asked a man and a woman who were carrying bags, they looked at each other and burst out laughing. Tomu spent the night warming himself on a fire with three boys who had initially pushed and shouted at him trying to make him leave their fire. When they realised that they could not get him to go away, they had allowed him to stay. Eventually, the boys understood that Tomu was different. Whenever Tomu tried to explain to them that he had a home in Binga, they would laugh at his strange language.

It was one of the boys who got Tomu a job as a firewood chopper at some old woman who cooked sadza at Mbare.
For his pay, Tomu got a plate of sadza and soup in the morning, afternoon and evening. The old woman loved Tomu because he was cheap labour and he did not complain and had nowhere to go. Fortunately for Tomu, the woman also allowed him to sleep behind the door of the creaky wood cabin that she rented to keep her pots and plates. For five months, Tomu slaved and suffered.
One day, Tomu heard a woman who was speaking Tonga.

Tomu could not even put the axe he was holding down.
He ran to the Tonga speaking woman with the axe in his hands shouting, “Mother, mother, mother.”
The Tonga woman screamed and tried to run away but fell to the ground, but quickly got up and sat.

Tomu hugged her and started crying. Soon, a big group of people surrounded them. The woman recovered from her shock and said to Tomu in Tonga, “Who are you boy? And what do you think you are doing?”

Tomu said to her in Tonga, “I want to go home to my grandmother in Binga. You’re speaking my language and I am not letting you go. I have been here for five months and nobody understands me when I speak.”

The Tonga woman eventually got up and Tomu could not let go her hand. She walked with Tomu to the police post. She explained to the police what Tomu had told her. The police contacted Save the Children. Fortunately, Save the Children had an officer from Binga called Mr Mudenda. He is the one they sent to investigate and get to the bottom of the story.
Mr Mudenda got to the police station and greeted Tomu in Tonga and told him that he was going to help him go back home.
Tomu wept as he held Mr Mudenda’s leg as if he was going to break it.

Tomu would not have suffered in his motherland if Tonga and other local languages were given reasonable quotas in the media.
Tomu’s language would not have been strange if police stations and other public bodies gave citizens an opportunity to engage with them in their language of choice.