Cde Rex Nhongo embodied the liberation struggle itself

or those with cotton-wool-heads have always said when a real big man dies the weather mourns and mourns pitifully for the great loss.
It is indeed a spectacle!
Driven by the same ancient rhythm of fulfilling its instinctive role in the inescapable cycle of life, on Tuesday, the weather told the story of the death of a great son, liberator, freedom fighter and nationalist par excellence, Solomon Tapfumaneyi Mujuru, Solomon Mutusva aka Rex Nhongo or just The General.
After several weeks of crystal clear skies, suddenly a dark cloud engulfed the sky on Tuesday, giving the sun no chance, even to pip. The sun is known for its proclivity to defy anything but on Tuesday, it never showed its face.
As the spine-chilling message of Rtd Gen Mujuru’s death spread, the weather became colder and more chilling right into the night.
A big man had departed!
Back in the village, Sipolilo now Guruve, which was the western tip of the North-Eastern War Front, through which Zanla forces penetrated Rhodesia from Mozambique, the war raged like a veldfire, in the late 1970s.
Routine listening to broadcasts from radio Maputo was part of the early night or evening event. Thereafter, there were night vigils that flowed into the dead of the night.
At the crux of the liberation struggle, revolutionary songs oiled the struggle and kept morale extremely high, despite the dangers, the threats and the imminent death from the enemy.
Seeing that losing the war was imminent, the Rhodesian Front, became ruthlessly evil, especially the Selous Scouts. They killed men, women and children – all in the process of trying to extract information on the whereabouts of the guerillas.
This villager, whose life on earth was almost hitting a decade, together with others of his age, joined the night vigils or pungwes as they were called those days.
Please note dear reader, this makes this villager neither a war veteran nor a war collaborator. Of course, if the war had raged on for a few more years, this villager would have definitely taken to the struggle, for they say, a bullock is a beast, failure to fend for itself is its own problem.
Those days, it was common to see freedom fighters with guns slung from their shoulders take to the dance floor and raising some dust – booted or barefooted – in the famous kongonya dance.
Clothing was not an issue, the issue was liberating Zimbabwe! Zimbabwe, Zimbabwe, this Zimbabwe!

Hona Mukoma Nhongo . . .
Bereka sub tiende, chauya chauya
Bereka sub tiende
Hona Mukoma Nhongo . . .
Bereka sub tiende, chauya chauya!
Hona Mukoma Nhongo . . .
Bereka sub tiende, Pasi neDzakutsaku

Hona Mukoma Nhongo . . .
Bereka sub tiende, chauya chauya
Bereka sub tiende
Hona Mukoma Nhongo
Bereka sub tiende, chauya chauya!
Bereka sub tiende, pasi naSmith!

In Rhodesia, the name Rex Nhongo, conjured a new life, a new country, a new Zimbabwe, where the black person would be allowed to vote, to live a humane life, to earn respect and determine his or her own destiny.
In the village the persona of Rex Nhongo was the struggle. It was inseparable from the struggle itself. It was life, yet his real image was somehow a mystery.
This villager is sure that if the goats and chicken that heard villagers singing and talking about his name and war antics could speak, they must have spoken about him too.
The mountains, that echoed with the songs of the struggle, must have wondered why this man and in their craggy magnificence, should have passed on the name to each other in the manner they pass on mist.
Just more than two decades after independence, this villager had to graduate from the school of journalism and coincidentally meet Rtd Gen Mujuru, first at a hotel in Bindura and later in various Government and social fora.
Being a non-drinker of the wisdom waters, this villager normally does not frequent public watering holes.
On this particular wintry evening, a fellow journalist, then ZBC Mashonaland Central Bureau Chief, Shadreck Tanyanyiwa, invited him to Reef Hotel for a game of pool.
At that time the country was crazy with pool and almost everyone played it.
We found The General playing against another man, whom he was beating left right and centre. One after another, the balls sank and he commented loudly.
It was a whitewash and this villager challenged the winner, of which The General jokingly remarked that he wanted to play “the young whose blood was still circulating hot.”
He beat the villager twice and remarked that although this villager was young his “blood was too cold to win a war.”
“You can win a battle against me, but not a war,” he jokingly remarked.
The man bought beers and drinks, too, right into mid-night and we cherished every moment as he also took on Tanyanyiwa on the pool table.
As beer got into the heads of both men, the jokes became more and more interesting. Their intervals increasing and voices rising in crescendo until he decided to retire to bed.
This villager will not talk about the dirty jokes, for, everyone says them at the right time, especially at a drinking place.
His intelligence, his simplicity and his jokes struck this villager.
This villager was later to meet The General in various fora but never at any stage forgot that this man had been the icon of the liberation struggle, who humbled himself in social circles.
At one stage, at the Great Zimbabwe Hotel, when this villager was then Bureau Chief for Masvingo, for this national flagship, he teamed up once again with Shadreck Tanyanyiwa and met The General.
Tanyanyiwa, like this villager, had also been posted to Masvingo as Bureau Chief and we cornered The General into explaining why he did not comment on newspaper stories.
“Journalists can write what they want. In most cases, they miss the whole and I am now used to this kind of life.
“Why chase after the wind. How many times have they said what has not happened? How many times, have I been under house arrest, while at the same time I am drinking at Meikles?
“So, I will not comment. Let us just drink and talk about your favourite other subjects. You know what I mean,” said The General, in a friendly but firm manner.
This villager later took a lot of time to read about Gen Mujuru’s war time contribution after meeting him several times.
“The Struggle for Zimbabwe”, for instance, gives an insight into the man and his liberation war credentials. And, how he handled delicate war situations.
What I have said is just the other side of the man who selflessly dedicated time and committed himself to the liberation of this country.
On several occasions, he put his life in danger for this country, for this Zimbabwe.
This villager also has it from sources within the Zanu-PF Politburo that The General, always spoke his mind. He stood for what he thought was right and never wavered his commitment to the total liberation of this country.
The village soothsayer, that ageless fountain of wisdom, says “too many people have different stories to tell about The Good General. Kwakukudzika vakuru. Gamba remagamba. Hapana anoramba, kunyangwe vatengesi chaivo vanobvuma!”

Hona Mukoma Nhongo . . .
Bereka sub tiende, chauya chauya!
Bereka sub tiende
Hona Mukoma Nhongo . . .
Bereka sub tiende, chauya chauya!
Bereka sub tiende
Hona Mukoma Nhongo…
Bereka sub tiende, Pasi nedzakutsaku
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