By Munyaradzi Hwengwere
Six years have passed since Dr Oliver Mtukudzi left us, but his legacy remains as vivid and alive as ever. On this special day, I find myself reflecting on the moments I had with Tuku—moments that transformed him from a musician I admired to a man I came to deeply respect and cherish.
My first encounter with Oliver Mtukudzi was in the dusty heart of Mandava, Zvishavane. I could tell even then that he was talented, but at that point, I couldn’t have known that this man, who was just another musician on the rise, would one day be a living legend. Like many, I too thought his career had plateaued after some lean years. Little did we know, the best was yet to come.
Tafara Mbaya once reminded me of the tough times Tuku faced in Kwekwe, when he was so down on his luck that he had to hitchhike. He shared a ride with Sekuru Tiva, who took him on his way to Amaveni.
It was a humbling reminder of the challenges that even the greatest had to face. But everything changed in 1990, when Roy Stevawo, a friend of ours, took Tafara, Nobert Mbanga, and me to one of Tuku’s afternoon shows in Chitungwiza.
That’s when we truly discovered the magic of Oliver Mtukudzi.
At that time, Thomas Mapfumo’s shows were commanding hefty ticket prices—Z$15 a ticket. Tuku, on the other hand, was charging a mere Z$2, but what a performance he gave us! We were hooked instantly. From then on, we followed him wherever he went—across Zimbabwe, to South Africa, even to Zambia.
At every stop, Tafara and I made it a point to visit him during his musical breaks, and each time he greeted us with warmth and genuine interest. He didn’t just see us as fans—he saw us as friends. And for him, there was always room for a little youthful company.
I’ll never forget a particular flight to South Africa. We were on a British Airways plane, and Tuku was seated with his guitar. An elderly white lady, who seemed curious, asked him if he was a gospel artist. He didn’t take offense.
With a warm smile, he simply said, “My name is Oliver Mtukudzi, and I play local Zimbabwean music.” His humility was striking.
When we arrived in South Africa, the scene was a stark contrast. Crowds mobbed Tuku, their faces filled with adoration.
The same white lady, who had once been confused, stood there in awe as the crowd sang Todii in unison, their voices raised in appreciation.
Tuku stood among them, graciously acknowledging the love he was receiving. He wasn’t just a star—he was their star, and he made sure they knew he saw them.
Behind the public persona of the humble musician was a man of remarkable strength and conviction.
Tuku’s humility wasn’t weakness—it was a powerful choice, one that allowed him to navigate the complexities of fame, politics, and life with grace. Everyone wanted a piece of him in the political arena, but Tuku stayed true to his values, maintaining a neutrality that spoke volumes in a time of intense division.
As we remember this icon, this national hero, I find myself thinking that Tuku was more than just human.
He was something of a superhuman—flawed at times, yes, but never broken. Popular yet humble.
Strong-willed yet approachable. A man who stumbled but never fell, who gave his all but remained grounded.
For those in leadership today, there is much to learn from Dr. Oliver Mtukudzi. Study his life, his choices, his approach to people. Chances are, if you do, you won’t go wrong.
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