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I t was and I had just started primary school. That summer was the first time I witnessed what later became known as iskokotsha , a craze that would, in the euphoria of a newly independent Zimbabwe, trigger the focus of motion in popular dance to snake decisively, seductively, up the body, from the feet to the hips — a sex pantomime of outrageously suggestive moves that enthralled our young nation for the decade to come. Being onomatopoeic, iskokotsha is derived partly from the beat of the snare-drum rim and the appropriate twirling of the body to that rhythm.
The dance takes on a fuller character when understood by its other name, kongonya , which alludes to the carefree, if not contemptuously deliberate, rhythm in the gait of a large stubborn animal. The day I first saw the dance was the day we had expected to end with the execution of my maternal grandfather. Where they once asked villagers for food, they now made demands; where they had sought to operate by consent, they now issued ultimatums.
Soon entire villages were living in terror of both the army and the guerrillas. Their orders and demands were beyond questioning by then — at least that was how everyone understood it. Everyone except my grandfather. A little less than an hour after my grandfather sent back the mujibhas the young villagers who acted as scouts and messengers , half a dozen combatants accompanied by an equal number of mujibhas appeared on the brow of the hill that lay in front of the homestead.
My uncle Elliot, also visiting with his wife at the time, got up to meet them amid a cacophony of dogs barking. On the veranda with us, my grandmother must have been regretting having let my grandfather have his way. The old man was ordered to get up and head for the kraal, where they were going to make an example of him. He obliged and stood up, picking up his Tonga stool. He would not need it, he was told. But by now, having already switched to honest-to-goodness stubbornness, he refused to relinquish his seat.
