adminFreedom Mutanda
Before starting this week’s instalment, I feel that Terence Mwedzi’s words in form of feedback have to be shared with other readers. He writes from Osborne Dam. These are his exact words, ‘’well, well, I am speechless sir about the tale of CdeBumhira, the unsung hero…umm ndakadzidzazvakawandaapa. Thank you a million times my man. I am glad because the column is good and educative. Keep it up. Terence Mwedzi.’’
Indeed, there are many out there who did their utmost to deliver us from the evil colonisation and their tales would be re-told one day because we want to let the people tell their history. It is people who make history and not animals.
There were readers who felt that I have deviated from my writing style but I believe there is ample need to be dynamic in our writing. Comrades tell their stories in their own words, undiluted as it were.
At times, the writer’s voice may come up but mostly it is the unsung hero who does the story telling.
The unsung hero series is meant to give voice to the voiceless, who are former combatants, mujubhas, chimbwidos, detainees, restrictees and many men and women who played a part in the liberation struggle for this country. According to Retired Major PhibeonMachuwaire, ‘’the war was won because of the povo, the comrades and their political leadership. #
At the same time, neighbouring countries and those in far flung countries such as Yugoslavia, Russia and China among others did a lot in support of a people’s war.’’
This week, we have a story of a young man who could not stomach torture at the hands of the Smith regime’s soldiers and decided to cross the border in-order to bring the war right at the door of the ‘’… never in a thousand years…’’ man whose name Ian Douglas Smith is synonymous with the Unilateral Declaration of Independence.
Take a close read of this:
I was born Costa Sithole and my Chimurenga name is Tafirenyika Blue Guy Muhondo. Going to war was no longer an option after enduring incarceration and torture notwithstanding my young age. Mwoyomuchena Village in Chief Garahwa area is where I was born. As a 15 year old boy, I found myself always at odds with the Rhodesian soldiers who stayed at Mutandahwe Camp.
They beat me together with other boys of my age. At the camp, soldiers tortured us incessantly so much that we thought we could not survive up to adulthood.
At times, electrodes would be applied to our thighs and electricity would be turned on; we would scream until we could not continue doing so.
Occasionally, they would immerse us in buckets of water for some minutes until we struggled to breathe normally.
They would ask us where the comrades were and if we professed our ignorance, they would continue the immersion process till we said we knew where they were.
The electrode was particularly painful; moreover, there were countless stories that one may be unable to give birth to a child if one was tortured too much by the soldiers or police.
In 1976, we were placed in the Nazi style concentration camps ironically called protected villages.Mwoyemuchena Village was immediately converted into a ‘’keep’’. In light of the torture we suffered at the hands of the soldiers, we wondered if they really were intent on protecting us.
In the meantime, my peers and I continued to suffer from torture.
It boggled the mind that native Zimbabweans had to live in perpetual fear in a country of their birth and the white man had to take care of the ‘’terrorists’’ in a manner he wanted and disobey rules of engagement as the soldiers became villains in the villages and compounds.
Mwoyomuchena Village had been my home for close to two decades but I wanted nothing else but to leave the area and liberate Zimbabwe as many of my contemporaries had done before me.
Come November the same year, 1976, my friends and I could not take it anymore. My brother, Joseph and an uncle, Nelson Sithole and I secretly crossed the border to Chinzini, a village in Mozambique.
It was a journey of six hours; there, we met Frelimo soldiers who went on to accompany us to Chikwekwete, a base in Mozambique that acted as a launch pad for combatants to get into Zimbabwe and fight the enemy.
We spent three days at Chikwekwete and I remember the commander as CdeSiyaso.
We thought by arriving at Chikwekwete, we were going to be trained but it was not to be.
The journey was still on as we crossed Umzilizwe River on our way to Espungabeira.
At the place commonly known as Chipungumbira by the local Ndau people as a direct translation from the Portuguese name, we met CdesMachingura, Zuwa, Taurai among others.
For a week, we stayed there and there were deteriorating standards which impelled the commanders to make us continue with our journey.
At one time, we ate rotten maize meal but there was nothing to do as food provisions against the swelling number of people could not meet the demand.
The maize was taken from the granary and we saw that the maize had been affected by pests.
As a result, the maize meal was disgusting to eat.
Musangoumu manga makaipa comrade.
A boy of my age died after taking an overdose of malaria pills. I don’t know whether it was a suicide bid or it was plain ignorance on his part.
We did not let his death stop us from dreaming about the time we would be caressing a gun in our hands.
An ideal world to us would be when we would go back and hit the soldiers at Mutandahwe to avenge the torture that visited our bodies.
We got to Rio Buzi and at that stage, the very young were transported by a Land Rover as they had swollen feet due to the long distance they had travelled. I was looked upon as a man although I was barely 18.
At Chibawawa where there were many refugees, we arrived after a tortuous journey and we were beginning to be desperate for expectations were almost at fever pitch.
Cde Santos was one of the commanders while Cde Vincent was the camp commander.
On the Frelimo side, we had Cde Amos and CdeChidhika.
It was at Chibawawa that we stayed for a year and I became very impatient.
There were many people who wanted to go and be trained but there were limitations to one being a child or one has other physical disabilities.
In that regard, some children were sent to school while others would do other chores which were important in the prosecution of the war.
That grading took some time and for the impatient among us, it appeared as if it was taking forever to participate in the war.
Some men and women jumped into the Scania trucks that carried recruits to training camps.
Once they got into the lorry they would be inconspicuous until they arrived at the training camp.
Waiting for permission to be granted would make you a refugee while other men and women hit the regime forces and that made me anxious to be part of the war effort.
I could not wait to be on the periphery of the war much longer.
I breathed a sigh of relief when at the end of 1978, I was chosen to go and be trained at Inyamhunga-Samakweza training camp.
Our instructor, CdePedzisai, told us that it was never going to be easy in terms of training. We had a four months training stint at Samakweza camp. I excelled in training because back home, we remained fit due to hunting expeditions and the constant running after domestic animals in our jobs as herdsmen.
Through-out the Internal Settlement, we remained in Mozambique as our leaders felt that victory was almost certain. We interacted with Cde Sheba Gava, the late Defence forces supremo, General VitalisZvinavashe, CdeHamunyari and CdeMuseve.
As the leaders went to Lancaster for talks, our commanders stopped us from going to the front as a tactical move.
A ceasefire would be followed by our fellow comrades in the front going to assembly points for political manoeuvres to be done without hindrance.
It is normal in war situations to be always on the look-out for betrayal; thus, our Plan B was there; there would be a reserve force that would come fighting to the Zimbabwe side once acts of betrayal by the regime had been noticed.
To that end, I was one of the close to 5 000 cadres ready to fight their way to salvage a ceasefire that had gone awry. During the war, I came across occasions when death stared me in the face but I did not say, ‘’here is your gun. I can’t make it!’’
At times, we were attacked by enemy forces but I could not run away since it was clear that the motto no retreat-no-surrender was the best under the circumstance.
Yes, there were no cell phones to tell people that we weren’t enjoying much in Mozambique.
DON’T miss next episode.
Cde Blue guy will come back and walk you, dear readers, on the journey towards independence and how, in a small way, he was part of the group that endeared itself to the community that he was told there would be a contact.
If you have any comments to make on issues raised in this column, please sms or Whatsapp on this number- 0777582734 or email me the responses to [email protected] <mailto:[email protected]>
‘‘Some men and women jumped into the Scania trucks that carried recruits to training camps. Once they got into the lorry they would be inconspicuous until they arrived at the training camp.I could not wait to be on the periphery of the war much longer’’.
Online Reporter