adminYoliswa Dube Features Reporter
THE country’s liberation struggle was not for the faint hearted. It was a do or die state of affairs that demanded mental and physical fortitude. For Light Machine Gun (LMG) choir member Happiness Sibanda, memories of the country’s road to independence remain fresh in her mind. She joined the struggle when she was only 14-years-old and fought for her country’s freedom despite her age. Her love for Zimbabwe surpasses her love for anything else, even her husband.
“You can come and take my husband and I’ll still love you but if you take my country, I’ll fight you. Snatch my husband, you’ll be my friend but snatch my country, I’ll kill you,” said Sibanda with a stern look on her face.
She recalls the discomforts she had to endure: “There was no sanitary ware but also because of the exercises we were doing, we stopped menstruating. All the girls stopped menstruating because of the type of exercises we were doing in the morning. We all ceased being “normal women”.
Sibanda joined the liberation struggle in February 1977.
“I stayed in Botswana for a month, before crossing over to Zambia. When you left the country, you were first taken to Selibe Phikwe in Botswana. There was a big aeroplane which we called Dakota. That aeroplane would ferry us to Zambia. Our first camp in Zambia was Victory Camp which was a transit camp,” she said.
The exercise regime was taxing and took a toll on Sibanda and the other comrades in the struggle.
“Early in the morning, all of us were taken for exercises. We would toyi toyi among other exercises. After the initial training, we went to Mkushi Camp. The training was the same for both sexes; it didn’t matter whether you were a man or a woman. If your company, platoon or section was exercising, you were part of it. There was no distinction of being a man or a woman. That’s why I’m saying we stopped menstruating because of the toughness of the exercises so no one would request for sanitary ware,” said Sibanda.
She looks back and thinks of the psychological trauma she suffered.
“What affected us the most were the bombardments. You would be talking to someone and the next thing their intestines are out, the head separated from the body and the hand in another direction. This really affected my psyche,” said Sibanda.
The ex-combatant adds: “Remember, we didn’t have proper houses. We slept in tents or trenches stretching about 500m so that when the enemy came, you could hide. There was a small aeroplane, we called it a spotter. It would come for about an hour, take pictures of us, the moment it did that, we knew we had to brace for some bombing.”
After such attacks, Sibanda and other cadres would assemble for a head count.
“We would go there to identify each other. We knew each other by our struggle names and because we were divided into companies, it was easy to tell after some days who was missing,” she said.
Using your real name during the liberation struggle was risky.
“We wouldn’t use our real names. I was known as Kunzim’ekhaya. The moment you entered into a camp, you were given a name. This was because the Selous Scouts, the spies, would also join the struggle but when they came back from the struggle, they’d kill your parents. So the moment you got into the camp, you’d change your name so that you were not easily identified. If you told a spy your name was Kunzim’ekhaya, they wouldn’t know whose child you were,” said Sibanda.
She couldn’t help referring back to the exercises: “The first days were really tough. We’d all go to a river where we were given about 15 minutes to bath. The training started with a big log which you’d skirmish with. After that, you’d move over to the light machine gun and then the AK47. We were trained in guerilla warfare and it would take about six months.”
Sibanda said they would wake up early in the morning to exercise.
“We woke up at 4AM every day and did toyi toyi for about 5km carrying logs. I’ll never forget the uniform, because I was so young, everything was too big for me. Sometimes you’d find a red slipper and a blue slipper; you really wouldn’t care, as long as they fit your left and right foot. Not all of us had amajombo, they weren’t enough for all of us,” she said.
Sibanda adds: “The most difficult exercise was the number nine where you would hop like a frog. This was usually given as punishment — maybe you’d have stolen some guavas and are caught, when you’re caught, you’d be punished because you’d be eating before the other soldiers have eaten.”
The liberation struggle was not all physical. There was time to sit down and learn what the struggle entailed.
“We also had time to learn about the history of the liberation struggle and things like that. There was a man we called the commissar who used to bring information to us. We used to liaise with the Rhodesians and they would give us information through the commissar,” said Sibanda.
It was on several occasions she had to put her training into practice.
“I remember having to use judo at one point when we were under attack. Because I knew Judo, it wasn’t easy to kill me,” said Sibanda.
“It was on the morning of 1978 that our camp was bombed. We could see people moving around during the night and as a signal, you’d shout “hold!”. If the person didn’t stop, you knew they were sellouts because they didn’t know our language.”
She recollects memories of the bombardment.
“These guys (Selous Scouts) would come during the night. The day we were bombed, we had been called to assemble. A whistle was blown as usual and we ran to the gathering point, little did we know that it was a trap. And when they bombed us in such a scenario, you’d be lucky to be alive. They held our commander Jane hostage in their aeroplane. Jane shouted “phumanini” but we didn’t know that when she was telling us to come out, she was under duress. When you hear your commander’s voice, what do you do, you’ve to come out, so we did that. We thought it was a genuine “phumanini”. People came out and many of them were killed.
Sibanda, who is originally from Beitbridge decided to join the liberation struggle one afternoon as she herded cattle.
“I come from Beitbridge, in the Shashe area. I used to herd cattle and would bump into people who needed to be shown directions to Botswana. This one day, a group of about 60 people passed through and I decided I wasn’t remaining behind. Also, there was a guy called John Mbedzi who would always encourage people to join the struggle through the radio. The way the whites were mistreating people also pushed me to join the war,” she said.
Her mother tried to follow her but could not keep up.
“My father also joined the struggle, he was trained in Angola. After the war, we came back home with Joshua Nkomo. But after the Lancaster House Agreement, we were not really sure that the whites had really surrendered the country to us so not everyone came back home immediately. I was lucky to have come home then,” she said.
With a smile on her face and beaming with pride, she adds: “When we came back to the country, we went to Rufaro Stadium in Harare. I was there when Bob Marley performed. It was an awesome feeling seeing the Union Jack being lowered and the Zimbabwean flag being lifted. We were happy and cried tears of joy. It was also the first time our parents were allowed to join and greet us.”
Sibanda later travelled to Bulawayo although they were not allowed to speak to members of the public.
“We weren’t allowed to talk to other people because they were afraid that we would sell out those that had remained in Zambia. They only came back home six months after independence. We were then demobilised. That is when you surrendered your gun and we later started uniting with the whites. We were integrated with the same people that were killing us. Unity didn’t start in 1987, unity started with the ex-combatants in 1980,” she said.
Sibanda pulls up her skirt to show a gunshot wound on her right thigh.
“When the bullet goes in, it creates a small hole but when it comes out it creates a big hole. I believe we survived because it was God’s grace. No one survived because they were good soldiers,” said Sibanda.
After demobilisation, she headed back to school to salvage what was left of her future.
“We went back to school and were given money to help rebuild our lives. I worked my way through school. I did my Form One when I was 25-years-old at Fatima Secondary School. President Mugabe had declared free education for all. I had to supplement my ‘O’ Levels and trained to become a teacher,” said Sibanda.
The choir she is part of, LMG was named after the gun used during the struggle, the light machine gun.
“I fell in love with LMG and joined the choir in 1978. LMG was the radio of the struggle. During that time, we had the likes of Solomon Skuza, Albert Nyathi and Black Umfolosi among other entertainers. The choir came home in 1980,” said Sibanda.
Before she bursts into song, she says: “This is why we composed the song yithi laba esasingekho we were informing the parents, yithi laba esasingamagandanga, yithi laba okwakuthwa singamatororo, namhla bayothini.
She continues singing, Kubuhlungu emoyeni and explains, “It’s so painful when I recall some of our experiences. We slept with animals and endured tough conditions but I fought and I made it.”
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