Garikai Mazara
Ben Mucheche has gone to be with the Most High.
As much as death is a truism of existence, its happening, no matter how often it happens to a family, is always painful and heart-rending. Hence the idiom, rufu harujairike.
Part of the pioneering class of black businesspeople, indigenous you might say, Mucheche was in the same league as Tawengwa, Matambanadzo, Chidziva, Makomva, Machipisa and Samuriwo, who used their financial muscle in helping the nationalists to wage the war of liberation.
But as their suns set severally and at different times, what is disconcerting is how local, read Zimbabwean, businesspeople are coy with putting their life histories to book. And most of their stories, especially the colonial-era entrepreneurs, are inspiring as they made, at least on the face of it, clean money.
Theirs were real rags-to-riches stories, unlike the tenderpreneurs of today. Theirs was cash made of sweat and proper planning. They made money without MBAs, without much schooling. They were schooled in money making.
But, sadly enough, that class of pioneering businesspeople has gone to rest, just like most of their pioneering nationalist counterparts, without writing even a paragraph of how they became to be what they became.
Probably it is left to scholars and researchers to put together that history, but such works, if written from a scholarly or research perspective, lack the livery and breath of real life situations.
Maybe, only maybe, the new breed of emerging businesspeople will find the time and energy to correct the mistakes of their predecessors. But then again, some, if not most, have their cupboards wringing with skeletons. Skeletons which they would rather be buried with.
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