I love the people of Africa and their friendliness. I have never known an African person whom I did not find to be genuine and a pleasure to be with. But I still wonder whether I will ever set foot on the “Dark Continent”.

Africa is a continent of so many cultures. They say culture is dynamic, but that is not so in Africa, where they have a deep respect for cultural traditions, as the following true story from someone I know bears out.

Early in the morning, out in the countryside of Zimbabwe, the women sweep the yard then go to the well to fetch water, whilst the little girls prepare the firewood. The young boys are already at the kraal, preparing to milk the cow. Nothing tastes as good as the milk that comes from the vaShona cow (mombe).

At the riverbank, the grandmothers take the girls through the intricacies of moulding clay pots, while the young boys are taught craftsmanship, making hoes, axes, spears, cooking sticks and even the big yokes for the ploughing cattle and smaller ones for carrying water. I find that I learn so much more about other cultures when I am told about them by someone who knows them at first hand, rather than from reading books or via the Internet.

However, I shall not forget that day, almost exactly a year ago, when I phoned my friend to wish him a Happy New Year, but he sounded sad as he told me about the “Chewa culture”. It was like this - On New Year’s Day, he had finished his bath and was waiting for breakfast. A young girl came in to announce that there had been a death at the University campus where he worked, of somebody who worked as a technician in his department, and the funeral was about to start. He and his wife left straight away, but it was not long before they met their friend Kutapira by the roadside. “Where are you going?” he asked, to which they replied, “to the funeral of course.” However, Kutapira advised them to have second thoughts.

Kutapira then told them all about the Chewa culture, to which the dead man belonged. The Chewa people are a strange lot, he said, and they do not cry when their kith and kin die, at least not before they have performed their ritual. They take the body of their dear departed to a secret place, and with a sharp knife they slit the throat open. They then pour water through to clean the bowels of all filth by squeezing the stomach to let it all out through the rear, stopping only when the water is clean. “Now here comes the strange part”, said Kutapira with a teasing frown on his face. “Would you believe it”, he said, “they use this dirty water to cook the meal for all to eat.”

As I held on to my receiver I suddenly felt very nauseous, and not at all like eating the lunch I was about to have. But then that is the reality of life in that place, and so strange a culture. Who are we to judge other people’s cultural beliefs? After all, the Chewa believe that with empty clean bowels their dear departed will be warmly received up there in heaven. Yes, that is the Chewa culture for you!