Tawanda

Ten years ago, my wife, R, and I lived in Harare, Zimbabwe. During our two years there, the country faced considerable economic and political challenges. While we never suffered, we were not immune to the ongoing shortages of food, medical supplies, water and electricity. More significantly, we lived alongside Zimbabweans who faced these challenges without our privileged access to extra income or resources.

Tawanda was one of my favourite people in Zimbabwe. Although only four, he would often show up at our home to visit. He mostly spoke Shona, so spending time with him helped me to learn the language as we worked in the garden together or watched movies on my laptop. Tawanda means “we are many” in Shona, signifying that he was the fifth and youngest child in his family.

Soon after we arrived in Zimbabwe, Tawanda’s family invited us to their home for supper. While the offal (cow intestines) was a bit of a departure from our usual dinner fare, we appreciated the opportunity to spend time with the family. R kept scraping her offal onto my plate, which made her look like a doting wife instead of just a picky eater. Over the next two years, we developed a close relationship with this wonderful family.

When R was five months pregnant with K, our first child, we returned to Canada. It was not easy to leave our Zimbabwean friends, particularly as it was a difficult time in the country due to increasing political violence. During K’s birth, both he and his mother required emergency medical attention, so I’m grateful we were in Canada and had access to exceptional health care. K’s middle name is Tinashe, which means “God is with us” in Shona.

About a year after we’d moved back to Toronto, we received terrible news from Zimbabwe. Tawanda had woken up with stomach pains. Without easy and quick access to qualified medical professionals, Tawanda’s family could do little to help him. A few hours later, he passed away. Despite the shortness of his life, Tawanda had brought so much joy to his family and friends. For those of us who knew and loved him, we felt an immense emptiness in our hearts. A void not easily filled or understood.

While I cherish the many health benefits my family can access in Canada, I’m saddened that there are so many children in the world like Tawanda who die young, often for lack of access to basic medical attention or the resources to pay for it.

When B, our second child, was born six years ago, we gave him the middle name of Tawanda in honour of this gentle and joyful young Zimbabwean whom he will never meet but his parents will never forget.

Tawanda. We are many.

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