For Jack

    In Zimbabwe there is a large minority of people who speak the  Ndebele language, pronounced "end a belly."  When I visited Zimbabwe in 1995, Ndebele soldiers with assault rifles stopped our vans on the road to the eastern part of the country.  Fortunately Jeremy, who organized and led the tour, could speak to the soldiers and persuade them to let us proceed.

Healers in training

   I've since learned that not all Ndebele people in Zimbabwe are fierce and warlike.  There is a large clan of healers, called the Ndebele-ache family.  They are experts in easing stomach ailments.  They know herbs and food exercises to help, as well as prayers and songs.   Most of their medicine, though  is conveyed  through dance, laughter, and stories.  The elders of the clan carefully teach the young all of their wisdom. Then the Ndebele-aches  send the older teenagers all around the world to help people who have digestive troubles.  The young people travel  two by two, sort of like Mormon missionaries.
    Some of the young Ndebele-ache men have lots of adventures when they come to the United States. Nkomo and Nkala Ndebele-ache, for instance, had a terrible time at the airport.  The security agent stopped them and asked what their musical instruments were for.   Nkomo and Nkala didn't speak enough English to answer the questions, so they decided to demonstrate.  They began to dance around the agent and sing. "Ndebele-ache, Ndebele-ache, my, my my!"  The woman laughed.  For some reason, she was wearing  high heels with her uniform.  She said, "My belly doesn't hurt, but my feet sure do.  I've been standing in these shoes for 7 hours.  Do you have anything to help my feet?"  Nkomo and Nkala just laughed, and presented her with a pair of their own sneakers.

Hill at Penny Park

     When Nkomo and Nkala finally arrived at Evanston, their destination, they checked their Ndebele-ache handbook.  "Surprise with cheer," it directed them.  (The handbook had been translated by Cecil Rhodes from Ndebele into English, and the language was a little stilted.)  Nkomo and Nkala decided to try surprise first.  They hid under the front porches along Florence Avenue and Grove Street, and popped out at the kids walking to school .  "Surprise!"  they shouted.  But all the children had been told not to talk to strangers,  and they ran away.  Nobody said anything to Nkomo and Nkala.  The Ndebele-ache boys were puzzled.  In  Zimbabwe, everybody talked to them and laughed at their jokes.

No bellyaches

     They decided to try cheers.   They stood on the top of the hill at Penny Park and danced and chanted, "Two, four, six, eight, we don't want no belly ache!"  A crowd began to gather. "Two, four, six, eight, we don't want no bellyache!" they all sang.
    The principal of the local school was in the crowd.   Fortunately, he knew some African history, and he had heard about the Ndebele-ache clan of healers.  He invited Nkomo and Nkala to perform at a special school assembly. Nkomo and Nkala got the whole auditorium singing and dancing and laughing. Lots of students at the school been sick with the norovirus, and some of them had stomach ailments for weeks afterward.    After the Ndebele-ache brothers visited the school, a strange thing happened.  Everybody felt better.   There were no more sore bellies in Evanston.