The Nationalist, Teacher, Devoted Wife and Mother Abstract template – Gertrude

Rubadiri’s Story
Author(s): Lindiwe Rubadiri-Mujugira and Victoria Rubadiri
Source: The Society of Malawi Journal , 2021, Vol. 74, No. 2, 75th ANNIVERSARY OF THE
NYASALAND MALAŴI SOCIETY 1946 - 2021 (2021), pp. 13-18
Published by: Society of Malawi - Historical and Scientific

Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.2307/27088919

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 Gertrude Rubadiri’s Story 13

The Nationalist, Teacher, Devoted Wife and Mother

Abstract template – Gertrude Rubadiri’s Story

Lindiwe Rubadiri-Mujugira and Victoria Rubadiri

Professor David and Gertrude Rubadiri

The Well.
This article focuses on the legacy that Gertrude Mabel Olive Rubadiri
left behind through the inspiring example of her life through the lens of her
daughter, Lindiwe Rubadiri-Mujugira and her eldest grand-daughter, Victoria
Rubadiri.
In the olden days, women went to the well not only to collect water but
also to connect with each other. Hard work though it was, they looked forward to
those encounters. They talked about the events of the day and the progress of their
families. They shared, they laughed and cried together.
Gertrude Rubadiri, or Mama G, as she was affectionately called, was
such a ‘well’ to many. Born on March 8th, 1927, in the beautiful hills of
Livingstonia, Malawi, to Margaret and Leonard Uzanda, she was the first born in
her family. She had a younger sister, Alice, and a brother Francis.
As a well she was a provider, a mother, a teacher, a mentor, and wore
several other hats. Her pathway to becoming a teacher to students across the world
started as she worked her way through her education in Zimbabwe and South
Africa. Hope Fountain and Marian Hill were the schools that provided the
foundation of learning that she received before she went to Fort Hare University
and completed her degree in home economics and her teaching certification.
Gertrude Uzanda became Gertrude Rubadiri when she met and married
Professor James David Rubadiri. Both were freedom fighters as they fought for
independence for Nyasaland (modern-day Malawi) and were imprisoned for their

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14 The Society of Malaŵi Journal

struggle. Both were eventually released and went into politics and education
across the world. Prof, as he was known by many, became the first ambassador
from Malawi to the USA and United Nations (UN) and during his appointment,
resigned due to his disagreement with the policies of life president, Kamuzu
Banda. He then returned to teaching. He had mum at his side as they went into
exile for 30 years across the African continent, before coming back home.
Gertrude loved her role as a mother to Kwame, Sekou, Tengo, Lunga and
Lindiwe. She was also a guardian mother to Desire, Natasha, Inga, Olinka and
David. The following stories are told by Lindiwe and Victoria.
Keywords: Rubadiri, teacher, well, mentor.
Mornings with Mum
Dawn would be the time that women in the community start their journey
to the well.
It is also our time at the well.
Most mornings, wherever I am in the world, I call my mother. She sits
by the phone waiting for it to ring. She might have guests in the house, or she may
be watching her favourite show, but she is waiting for my call. I’m sitting at my
desk and I’m looking at the time with my phone in hand, just about to make the
connection.
A morning call about the day that passed carries with it words on how
she is doing and on how the community around her is faring.
After Dad’s passing, Mum re-defined herself in what was a new season
of her life.
As a mother, she saw to our well-being: remembering whose birthday it
was, which Saint’s Day it was or who to celebrate that day.
We laugh as we recall my 6th birthday. We were living in Uganda as
political refugees from Dr Banda’s Malawi. At the time Idi Amin, the Ugandan
state president, was a fierce dictator. Food was scarce. On this day there were no
family plans for a birthday party for me – but then again, I did. Having written
invitations to all my classmates at Nakasero Primary School, I let the secret out to
my brother, Lungala, who made sure that mum was in on the plan. Mum stretched
every penny she possessed to get some popcorn and soda so that the twins, the
only guests to show up, had something to eat. Mum always came through for us!
She was a place of refuge as a well often is to those who need refreshing.
She loved and engaged whatever community she found herself in, and, over the
years, she and Dad took in people who desperately needed accommodation. Many,
as refugees, were fleeing from danger and needed shelter. She knew what it was
like to live far from home. In her early years she had spent most of her time at
boarding school in foreign countries. She had also lived with extended family
members for long periods of time.
On the phone, we talk about guests who arrived without notice and were
welcomed into our home. The Sunday lunch roast chicken often went a long way

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 Gertrude Rubadiri’s Story 15

towards ‘feeding a multitude’. Nourishment was something she always provided.

During times of trouble in Uganda when she found something – beans, sugar,
anything - she would share it with someone. Our aunties – Margaret Musila and
Sarah Ntiro were often the beneficiaries her generosity in this circle of sharing, as
she was theirs. The well was somehow always a circle of provision.
We reminisce how our move from Uganda to Kenya in June 1976 had us
boarding the last train to cross the border from Kampala to Nairobi. She made
sure we were all on board when the train started to take off from the station. She
was the last one to board the train, barely making it. She always looked out for the
well-being of others!
We made it to Kenya. But she was to return to Uganda a few weeks later
to get my brothers out of boarding school, risking her life as she waded through
roadblocks to reach them and get them out of the country. She was fearless.
“Leaving the country as refugees?” the army personnel questioned at the
checkpoints she dared pass through. She challenged them about the “insanity” of
being a refugee in an African nation. She said no African was a refugee on their
own continent.
She had been a freedom fighter in her own right. In the nineteen fifties
and early sixties, she engaged in the struggle for Malawi’s independence from
Great Britain. She and Dad were imprisoned along with other renowned freedom
fighters like Vera and Orton Chirwa, among others. She always fought for justice.
Even when it meant putting her life on the line.
We talk about her time in prison and what that was like. She was
expecting my brother, Sekou, at the time. She describes the appalling living
conditions and food which often comprised a watery porridge in a dirty container.
From that setting to house arrest to the threat of being sent to Likoma Island where,
at the time the conditions would have been dire, to finally making it to Kasungu,
thanks to her father-in-law’s intervention. She courageously prevailed. She
couldn’t imagine life without any of us. Each one of us was a miracle in her life.
She was our miracle, too.
We often talked about her role as a teacher. Having taught so many
around the world: in Malawi, Uganda, Kenya, and Botswana, she has left her
handprints on these lives, affecting various age groups and different nationalities.
During those morning calls she would have been tutoring little Rutheran, our 9-
year-old friend, whose family, the Napwangas took care of both Mum and Dad
until they passed away. Her dedication to Rutheran’s progress in reading, writing
and math was relentless. She had the same spirit when she developed a curriculum
to teach women in the community how to read and write. Many thought they
would never reach that goal. They rejoiced in being able to read the newspaper
once they had been through her lessons after a few months.
She taught us, her children, how to learn. She often knocked her Biro
(ball point) pen over our heads when we were not pulling our weight or thinking

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16 The Society of Malaŵi Journal

straight. Her teaching methods were really creative. I recall our daughters, Lucy
and Lisa saying they finally understood how the international dateline worked as
she brought such simplicity to the concept. Granny knew how to make things
make sense. The most uninspired student who felt they could not learn, often
ended up embracing the process.
Mum started the first Sunday school program at St Francis Chapel at
Makerere University in Uganda, in the late sixties. She always made sure that the
little children had a meal of bread and juice. They were also fed with the word of
God.
In every county, and country, we lived in she was a well. Mum walked
several miles to make sure we her children enrolled in school when we had just
moved to Kenya. From those schools she tutored children and sometimes
counselled their mothers if they were going through challenges. With the earnings
she made she was able to get us better educational and other social opportunities
that broadened our horizons. Things like tennis, swimming, and piano lessons –
things that I know helped us get a broader education.
Another morning call and Mum can read in my voice if my day is going
well or not. It always felt like she could see right through me, even on the phone.
I could never keep anything from her. Was I having a tough day? Was I worried
about a child? Was I concerned about her?
I hear voices in the background. Our Aunts Faye, Elizabeth, Nima or
Catherine. Any one of them or others would be passing by to say hello and have
a breakfast or a cup of tea with her. How strong those bonds were!
When she was ill, I was always concerned about her. Dr. Chipolombwe
was always present for medical consultations and a laugh. He was like a son to
her. Always left what he was doing to be there for her on a whim. His family was
the same. He worked at the Mumbwe Clinic that was founded by our Uncle Austin
Mkandawire and Aunt Faye and has amazing staff that supported both mum and
dad during their time in Mzuzu. The doctors in Nairobi, Kenya and more recently
in South Africa were also very impactful on both parents’ journeys.
During those calls about an illness on her part, she always tried to sound
like she was fine. On this day she isn’t so well, and I hear it in her voice. She is
not improving from the ailment she has as she is more concerned about how Dad
is doing as he just spent a couple of weeks at the hospital after a fall. She is more
honest about the situation this time because she has not been able to eat and keep
things down for a while now.
After several tests – all the ones that are possible to do locally – I try to
convince her to take a trip to South Africa to see our gastroenterologist friend, Dr.
Moses Balabyeki and his wife, Princess, an intensive care nurse. She won’t budge
until my husband, Andrew, discusses the seriousness of her condition. This time
it was critical. I arrive from Seattle in the U.S., and we make the journey. My
sisters stay with Dad and take care of things at home.

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 Gertrude Rubadiri’s Story 17

This time the conversations continue face-to-face and in the middle of

the night, we chat about all kinds of things. We talk about the miracles we see
happen on this visit. Her condition is diagnosed, treated and she lives to tell the
story. It was touch and go as we analyse the images that show the mass in her
stomach that was on the verge of causing a blockage into her intestines. Dr. Moses
was able to cut it away. He makes a statement at the end of that visit. Maybe the
reason that he met Andrew, in Makerere Medical School, was because of her.
Sometimes God brings people into our lives for someone else’s sake. We are often
led to a well of provision because our well is empty.
The last time I saw her in person was a coming together of family at
Christmas. I kept going back to hug her during our departure. I guess I always did
that. Not realizing that would be the last time, yet sensing each time that it was
possible, I kept that moment alive. It is still alive in my heart and soul.
Her life story is too long, too deep and wide to tell. These are a few
reflections on those mornings and moments with mum.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Memories with Granny
It was April 20th, 2019. Granny was on a visit to Nairobi for a routine
medical check-up. It was the first time she was making this trip solo. Babu had
passed on eight months prior. We were always used to seeing him towering next
to her petite frame. Granny was all of five feet tall, but her aura made you feel like
you were in the presence of a giant. You felt you were witnessing living, breathing
history. She had a sharp mind that was a repository for incredible memories.
But back to that Saturday after breakfast. What was supposed to be a
casual chat with Granny was a front-row seat to her life. I was for the first time
seeing my grandmother in her entirety. I saw a woman who was the sum of her
vast and diverse experiences that spanned continents.
`Despite her travels and countless interactions with different people and
cultures, it was evident Granny was proud of who she was and where she came
from. She relished the fact that she hailed from a family of good stock. She was
well aware of her value as a woman at a time when women were considered
second class citizens. I think it had a lot to do with her father who wanted nothing
but the best for his children and in particular ensured the girls got an education to
make something of themselves.
“I was quite good at Algebra and Geography,” she bragged, “and it really
wasn’t until Marion Hill in South Africa that I made up my mind to be a teacher.”
Little did she know that commitment would take her to four African
countries as she built a teaching career that stretched over five decades. To this
day I have people who stop and ask, “Are you related to Gertrude Rubadiri? I
always reply in the affirmative and they inevitably follow with a “Oh wow, you
know she taught me,” or at times, “she taught my sister.”

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18 The Society of Malaŵi Journal

Being an educator unlike many other careers is a calling. Granny was

well aware of this and touched generations of students who had the privilege of
passing through her classroom. Still long after she retired, the teacher in her never
did. Growing up I remember how she was particularly keen on our performance
in school during our visits to New York. In between our television show bingeing
or games of hide and seek in their sprawling estate, she’d always find time for us
to go through a few exercises or check how we were coming along with our
summer reading. Those moments instilled an appreciation for learning and spurred
a desire to gain more knowledge as we progressed in school.
Though education made up a big part of her life, another would be the
enigma that was Professor David Rubadiri. Long before academia, the
ambassadorial roles and literary accomplishments, they would meet at a bus stop
in 1955. It’s rather poetic, isn’t it? Babu was on holiday in Malawi and the two
were introduced by a mutual friend. Granny says they would correspond over the
school phone while their relationship blossomed. It was hardly the life she
imagined for herself. After all she wanted to be a nun. And so, before she took the
step to be in a committed relationship she prayed. God answered in a dream.
“In the dream I saw a church and it was in the shape of a cross. As soon
as I entered the church, your grandfather was the only one who stood in the church
for me,” she fondly recounted.
They eventually got married on the second Saturday of September in
1957, a date Babu had suggested. Granny says when they had settled on the date
that was September 14th, they were oblivious to the fact that it was the Day of the
Cross. “It just confirmed my dream and I said, ‘Wow!’” Granny exclaimed.
Over six decades of a marriage punctuated by some historic and
memorable moments that shaped the continent of Africa, but most importantly left
a legacy of children, grandchildren and great grandchildren that bear the Rubadiri
name with pride. Their love story would end however on September 15 th, 2018,
the day Babu breathed his last. And as it so happened it was a day after their 61st
wedding anniversary.
“It seemed like God said you will have 61 years of marriage and not an
extra day,” she chuckled at the thought of God’s divine timing.
It was no doubt a love story written by God. A beautiful 61 chapters of a
life well and fully lived by Gertrude Mabel Olive Rubadiri.

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