Online Reporter
In the last instalment, CDE TOBIAS KANYONGO, whose nom de guerre was Cde Bomber Chimukwende, chronicled the tough training regime he went through at Nachingweya Camp in Tanzania. This week, he recounts to our Politics, Foreign Affairs and Opinions Editor KUDA BWITITI the fierce battles he fought. His first-hand testimony sheds light on the sacrifices that shaped Zimbabwe’s hard-won freedom.
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Q: After the rigorous training at Nachingweya, where were you deployed?
A: I was deployed to the Tangwena sector in Manicaland province. My commander was Cde Stan. The provincial commander was General Constantino Chiwenga, who is now our Vice President. The Tangwena sector was a segment of the Manicaland province. I was part of the Chiduku detachment. We operated in areas around Rusape, Buhera and Nyanga, among other parts of Manicaland.
Q: When it came to deployments, was there a specific system in place? How did they decide where fighters would be sent?
A: Yes, there was a strict protocol, one designed to protect both the fighters and communities supporting us. You were seldom deployed to your home area. The leadership understood the risks too well.
In my case, I was from Murewa, but they sent me deep into the Tangwena territory, in Manicaland, far from my home.
The logic to it was that if the enemy captured you, the first thing they would do was demand details of your home, your family and your village. And if you broke by giving them details of your home, they wouldn’t just kill you, but they would go after your family as well.
Q: So, it was a safeguard against betrayal under torture?
A: Exactly! War is not just fought with guns — it is fought with fear, pain and psychological terror. The enemy knew that crushing a man’s spirit often started with destroying what he cherished most. We heard stories about fighters from their own regions being forced to watch as their families were either burnt in their homes or beaten. By sending us far from home, the commanders cut that link. If captured, you could stare your interrogators in the eye and truthfully say, “I don’t know these lands. I have no family here.”
It wasn’t just strategy, it was mercy. Still, it was lonely. Fighting in a place where no one knew your childhood, your history, you would sometimes miss home. But that loneliness was the price of survival for us and for those we left behind back home.
Q: Tell us about some of the battles you were involved in.
A: There were too many; some memories have been blurred by time. We lived by the gun, moving like shadows between the trees. Guerrilla warfare was our language, and we spoke it fluently. We conducted many ambushes at dusk, raids before dawn, vanishing before the enemy could even scream for reinforcements. In 1979, the battles heated up. You couldn’t spend three days without the crack of gunfire or the smell of burning outposts. Some battles lasted minutes; for example, a lightning strike on a convoy. Others dragged for hours, like hell itself had opened its doors. The long battles included nights spent pinned down in the mountains, counting bullets, waiting for death or daylight. War was not a list of battles; it was the constant drum of survival, the unbroken hymn of resistance.
Q: When you think of the fiercest battles you fought, which ones come to mind immediately?
A: One that stands out is the Battle of Chitura, which was the name of the area. It was a defining moment — swift, brutal and decisive.
The victory was made possible due to the efforts of our network of informants, the mujibhas and chimbwidos, who moved like shadows among the enemy, unseen but all-knowing. That day, they brought us the urgent news that enemy forces were advancing towards our base, unaware that we were waiting. Their footsteps were already marked for death. We took our positions silently, hearts pounding but hands steady. The forest was thick, the air heavy with tension. Then, through the brush, we saw them, moving in formation, confident, but oblivious.
Q: How many enemy fighters were there? Did you have equal strength?
A: There were 15 heavily armed men from the Rhodesian Security Forces. On our side, there were 14 of us, but we had something they didn’t have: the element of surprise. We had prepared an ambush, leading them into what we called the killing bag. This was a perfect trap for us. Once they stepped inside, there was no way out. The moment they entered the kill zone, we opened fire. Bullets tore through the air, the echoes drowning their shouts. We held the high ground and they never even saw us until we started firing at them. One by one, they fell. It was swift and merciless. We massacred them, one by one, and their return fire amounted to nothing because of the position we had taken.
Q: What made this victory so decisive? How did your positioning ensure success?
A: We were above them, hidden among the rocks and trees in typical guerrilla fashion. From there, we could pick our shots, striking with precision. They scrambled for cover, but it was too late as we owned the battlefield because we had strategically positioned ourselves in the Chitura Mountain.
War has a strange beauty in moments like these, when every piece falls into place — intelligence, positioning and timing.
We were gratified because we knew that the victory didn’t just come as a result of luck.
It was crafted through strategy and precision, with our mujibhas and chimbwidos playing a crucial role. This victory was all the more significant because that day, we didn’t just win; we annihilated the enemy without losing a single fighter. When the gunfire stopped, the silence was louder than the battle itself.
For a moment, we couldn’t believe what we had done.
Then, we moved among the fallen enemy soldiers, securing their weapons, their supplies.
Then, we celebrated, not with arrogance, but with the fierce joy of men who had achieved a memorable victory.
Next week, Cde Tobias “Bomber Chimukwende” Kanyongo recounts other defining battles that tested his resolve, including the fateful clash that claimed his hand, yet never broke his spirit.
