It’s not uncommon for people in Zim to get a nickname and “Judge” is the name my family often use to refer to Micheal. It’s a name of honour. For me, a Judge is someone with authority, of high standing, someone you look up to, someone you respect and trust, someone to seek advice from and someone who treats you fairly regardless of who you are and where you come from. He was all these qualities and more. Something about his grand stature. He was tall and his presence filled the room. He was loud and could command an audience when he spoke, his words carefully and intelligently chosen. As a teen I would tremble when he had questions for us. He could be intimidating. But I respected him. I used to think there was nothing he didn’t know. He was generous, kind, wise, interesting and a funny man. He was my best friend’s dad.

Some of the memories I have… listening to classical music blaring loud in the combi van on the way to Chisi. Judge behind the wheel singing. He could sing like Pavarotti. An incredible voice that we got to enjoy at various Christmas carol evenings. His love of bonsais. His knack for making the best crepe Suzette and pancakes out in the garden at 2 Woodlane. Many trips out to the farm to visit my family. The trip to the Low Veld. The night he made Bobbie change because her chosen outfit was too short for the night club outing we had planned. That exciting day we all shared when Richard and I got engaged and he got his first job in the UK! We all went out for a celebration dinner. Everyone was so happy that night. If only we could wind back the clock and enjoy those happy moments again. I will miss him greatly and remember him fondly. 

Love Sheila