Morgan Tsvangirai on losing Amai Edwin...

An excerpt from Morgan Tsvangirai's At The Deep End (page 532-533)

When I first met Mai Edwin in 1976 in Bindura, it never dawned on me that we would part in that unfortunate way – barely three weeks after I had assumed national office. I must acknowledge the generosity of President Jacob Zuma of South Africa in allowing us, as a family now minus Amai Ed, to go through a short “bereavement rest” in that country. It dawned on me then that I was now like a naked man.

To lose someone you have lived with for 31 years is never easy, especially when you are caught in complex political dynamics that demand shrewd judgement and subtle but decisive moves. I missed Amai Edwin’s counsel as the intransigent and highly destructive remnants of the Mugabe clique swirled around our national space.

I was now a single parent, totally unable to wash and iron my undergarments or pack my own clothes for a journey. I could not locate the toothpaste in the bathroom cupboard or even clean my shavers. I had not been shopping for years; I didn’t know the price of salt or milk or toilet cleaner. These were silly small things but they reinforced my sense of nakedness, being suddenly faced with the complete absence of polished advice, support and guidance. The loss I felt was intense.

For the first time I took a look at the vast size of our bed and our entire bedroom. I began to value and appreciate the intangible power of pillow-talk, or what the American scholar Warren Bennis refers to as “reflective talkback” in every marriage these soft, slow and sobering bedside conversations keep a check on reality. Even when the going gets tough and there are arguments, a couple’s life challenges may spread inside the house but remain tightly hidden under the roof. Before Amai Edwin’s untimely departure I took pillow talk for granted, but now there was silence.

Whenever I had found myself at an all-time low, utterly humiliated by a leadership squabble and stressed out by the vicissitudes of our democratic struggle, Amai Ed had listened to me, ploughed through my emotions and carefully interrogated my thoughts. In the end, this counselling created options, choices and opportunities.

Vimbai temporarily left a cushy job in Australia to help me with the conversion to single parenthood and the role of a widower with a family to take care of. Each time I fill in immigration forms at the airport or similar government documents, I am reminded of that personal status. Sometimes I leave the column blank. When a cheeky officer, a stickler for detail picks it up, I pretend to have missed the item and dutifully fill it in.

Our eldest son Edwin returned home from South Africa also to help and my wife’s two sisters played the role of governess and family caretakers. That was a great consolation, but I always felt the absence of my pillar and holistic stabiliser – Amai Edwin.