We were robbed on our way to Botswana

THIS week, we profile Cde Stanford Peace Moyo (SPM), one of the ZIPRA cadres, who claims he was present when Rogers Alfred Nikita Mangena, the late ZIPRA commander, died after the vehicle he was travelling in hit a landmine in Zambia on June 28, 1978. He narrates to The Sunday Mail (SM) how he left Bulawayo and travelled to Botswana, South Africa and Mozambique before ending up in Zambia, where he later on trained as a freedom fighter.

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SM: Cde, kindly introduce yourself to our readers and take us through the journey that you took to become a freedom fighter.

SPM: My name is Stanford Peace Moyo. I was born in Kezi, Matopo district, in 1955. However, on my identity documents, my date of birth was written as 1956. After the liberation war ended, I discovered that my name had been registered as Stanford Moyo, with Peace — my middle name —not appearing on my identity card.

I grew up in Kezi and I did my Sub A up to Grade Seven in this area.

After Grade Seven, I went to Bulawayo, where I did my secondary education at Mzilikazi Secondary School, Form One and Two. After that, I did a two-week agriculture course at a college called Hlekweni. On finishing the course, I went back to Kezi. From there, I went to Bulawayo, before I went to Botswana in November 1973.

SM: What were you after in Botswana?

SPM: I left for Botswana with my cousin and we had two different intentions. I had an uncle who was in Northern Rhodesia (Zambia) and I wanted to go there.

My cousin wanted to go to Egoli (South Africa). When we got to Botswana, we worked for four months to raise money to continue with our different journeys. My cousin left for South Africa without me as I was trying to find a way to go to Northern Rhodesia.

I was later advised by someone, whom I later gathered was a Rhodesian intelligence officer, that trying to go to Northern Rhodesia was very risky. I was forced to follow my cousin to South Africa, where I spent four months in Rustenburg, in the Transvaal.

I then travelled to Johannesburg, where I spent another nine months. I met my cousin and other people who were willing to go to Mozambique and become freedom fighters.

One day, we decided to go to Mozambique to join the war. We were a group of seven. Our group went as far as Matola in Mozambique. During that time, the Portuguese were waging a war against FRELIMO.

As we were walking, we stumbled upon three dead and heavily mutilated white people. Since we were civilians, we panicked after the shocking discovery and we decided to go back to South Africa. When we left South Africa and crossed into Mozambique, we had told our workmates that we were going to train as guerrillas and would one day come back to South Africa with AK-47 guns.

So, when I went back to where I was working at Fantana, Carlton Centre, everyone was waiting to see the AK-47 that I had promised them.

I had to lie that I had travelled back to Southern Rhodesia and had not gone to Mozambique. When he saw me, one of my bosses, an Austrian man who could not speak English, shouted FRELIMO!

I realised that I was in grave danger. If the bosses knew that I had tried to go to Mozambique to become a freedom fighter, I was going to be arrested and sent to prison.

It was no longer safe to be at the workplace. We were given our outstanding salaries and we sneaked out of the workplace and went to Soweto, where I bought a pistol.

From Soweto, we moved to the train station, where we boarded a train that was headed for Botswana.

As we were in the train, an operation by the South African army and police to weed out those who were illegally possessing guns commenced.

During that time, if one was found in possession of a gun, one would be shot there and then. As I was seated, I saw the soldiers pull a trolley. On top of the trolley was a dead black man, who had been shot after he was found with a pistol.

I thought of the pistol that I had. Quickly, I moved out of the compartment, went into a toilet and threw the gun out. I went back and sat down as if nothing had happened.

One of the soldiers had been observing me and was suspicious that I was up to something bad.

He came to me, pointed a gun at me before searching me. Three soldiers picked me up, hoisted me into the air and then brought me down with a thud. My back was injured, and to this day, I still feel the pain from that injury. When we arrived at Mafikeng, which is near the Botswana border, we had to find an illegal way to get into Botswana.

We met a group of men who promised to help us illegally cross the border into Botswana. Unbeknown to us, the men were criminals who went on to rob us.

Luckily for me, I had some money that I had hidden in my stockings. For some days, we were wandering in Mafikeng before we went straight to the Botswana authorities and presented ourselves to them.

We were subsequently arrested and taken to a maximum prison just across the border, where we were locked up. In prison, I met people from home and among them were university students, who had abandoned their studies to go to war.

In prison, we did not register ourselves as members of ZANU or ZAPU because we knew that the leaders of the two parties had been arrested and were still in prison.

Instead, we registered as members of Bishop Abel Muzorewa’s ANC.

We were kept in the prison for some months up until 1975, when we were transferred to Francistown.

It was during the détente period and the war had briefly stalled. In Francistown, we were under the care of the United Nations. I remember we had a man whom we called Saunyama, who hailed from Mutare.

This man was the ANC representative in Botswana and he was our link with the United Nations and the Botswana government. In October 1975, we were taken to Zambia. When we landed at the Lusaka International Airport, we were welcomed by representatives from both ZANU and ZAPU.

Again, we refused to be recognised as ZANU or ZAPU members. We insisted that we were under Muzorewa’s ANC. The Zambian army then took us to the Nampundwe area in the central part of that country.

Do not miss next week’s edition, as Cde Moyo continues narrating his experiences.