So Miriam asked me, ‘What was Daddy saying to you?’.
‘He wanted a hammer.’ I told her.
But she was angry. I could not understand why she was angry. She just said ok, but that day I suffered her wrath.
Did she know that Daddy had touched my breast, I wondered.
I became scared of my Daddy. I tried to move on, but it was not easy.
Then after a few weeks, I read an article in a magazine about speaking out about abuse. So instead of living in fear of being raped, I decided to tell Miriam before anything bad happened.
‘Mum Dad touched my breast.’ I told her. She was not shocked, she stayed calm.
‘You did well telling me,’ She said, ‘ It’s a spirit on him. I will phone his brother Baba Obrian. You can’t stay here anymore, you are not safe with him. I will take you to Kwekwe so you can stay there whilst the issue is being resolved pachivanhu.
So Miriam called the relatives of Chief Mutota to report that he had touched Jean’s breast. I was told I could not stay at home and that I needed some time away.
I left Karoi and went to Kwekwe and stayed at my Uncle’s for a few weeks, the uncle who was the n’anga (sangoma) of the family. The uncle who is the closest to Tete Daisy.
No one said anything to me, all I knew was family meetings were being conducted. That is what I was told.
After a few weeks, Chief Mutota followed to Kwekwe. I remember I was standing outside by the fence of my uncle’s house. I saw him, Chief Mutota coming. He was wearing a brown suit. He greeted me and spoke with such shame. He said he was very remorseful of what happened and it would never happen again.
Something in me saw the pain and shame in his eyes, and I couldn’t say anything back. I just looked at him. More confused.
I was called by Baba Obrian and he told me that Chief Mutota had repented, and it was never going to happen again.
I was assured by all relatives that I was safe, and it was a moment of weakness from Chief Mutota.
I went back home and tried to move on, though I was still nervous and afraid. Sometimes I would have to go and sleep at my aunt’s house. Miriam would say I was now exaggerating the fear, so I started sleeping back home.
Miriam then told me that Chief Mutota had a spirit of incest on him. She said it wasn’t his fault because he tried to do it before with 3 of his sisters, one who was Tete Daisy, the one married to the Zimbabwean music legend. She said that’s why there was hatred between the Zimbabwean music legend and Chief Mutota.
She said the Gasho family kept this as a secret, and they tried to ‘fix’ him ‘pachibhoyi’ but the spirit comes and goes. She said it is caused by an ancestral spirit on him, the spirit of a great Zimbabwean ancestor called Mbuya Nehanda.
Miriam told me that she had travelled with Chief Mutota to n’anga to try and sort this problem between the two of them, and the sangoma told them that for him to make money, he had to either sleep with his daughters-in-law or his own daughters or sisters. So she told me to watch my back.
So I became more nervous.
Then one day I started crying. Miriam was there in the kitchen. She never used to allow me to cry. But I thought this time I may be allowed because I was really scared. I wanted her to comfort me.
‘Why are you crying?’ She asked me.
‘I’m still scared mum,’ I told her.
‘Ah ah ah, tinyararire apa, (be quiet). Why would you cry, it’s not like you are a young child. You are almost 17 years old. You are not a victim in this house. I already told you that God showed me that you were having an affair with your father. You two are lovers, I know you sleep with Daddy.’
I could not believe what I was hearing. My mother had just accused me of having an affair with my own father when I was 16 years old, well knowing that she was lying.
This was a woman whom I used to see touching herself, the fact that I was there never stopped her. This was a woman who told me that her husband did not satisfy her in bed and said she often went without. She also said she always preferred condoms but her husband did not allow her to use them. I found this information very troubling as a child for I did not know what to do with it. She told me her husband Chief Mutota was gay. She said she regretted marrying him because she had far better handsome guys who wanted to marry her but was stopped by jealous relatives from marrying the love of her life. She said Chief Mutota was ugly and she should have never been with him.
She would turn around and shout at me for ‘looking like’ Chief Mutota.
Now she was taking all her anger on me, and falsely accusing me of sleeping with her own husband. She didn’t stop there, she went to every relative and told them that I was having a full-blown affair with my Father. She claimed each time she left the house, I would sneak into her bedroom and defile her bed.
By God’s grace, within a year I had moved to the UK.
But she brought her malicious lies to the UK too, even telling my ex-husband that Chief Mutota raped me.
The final straw was when she started shouting on top of her voice in front of my children, especially my daughter that I slept with her husband and that I stole her man from her.
Well, my daughter advised me to cut her off from my life because of how toxic and deranged she is. My daughter is a British girl, she knows no barbaric Zimbabwean culture which protects toxic mothers at the expense of daughters. I told her about the stupid Zimabwaen culture of Kutanda Botso (TO BE CURSED IF YOU EXPOSE YOUR MOTHER). But my baby girl laughed it off. I took my baby’s girl advice very seriously and cut Miriam off my life.
I am so glad I did, Chief Mutota is no saint. He’s a wretched soul, but he is a million times more righteous than Miriam. At least he repented. At least he never groomed me. But Miriam is so sick and twisted, she wanted me to be raped by my own father. And her greatest hatred towards me is that it did not happen. She was supposed to be my mother. My first love. My role model. My protector. But she did every evil thing under the sun to be, for that I denounce her. She is a witch. She did not birth me. I don’t care that she is protected by Zimbabwe culture. I DENOUNCE HER.
The Genesis Of The Revalation