The ManicaPost
Freedom Mutanda and Sifelani Tonje Post Correspondents
Last week’s installment brought feverish responses from a number of readers. One of them, Terence Mwedzi from Osborne Dam, writes, ‘‘maCdes aya ari kuratidza kuti vakarwa hondo because kutaura kwemunhu akarwira nyika ino neakaita zvokuudzwa zvinhu two zvakasiyana. Present and future generations will wish to identify themselves with the heroes’ ideals, values and actions.
Rambai muchitiudza henyu imi. Macdes, ko kudzidza kubva kune vakatirwira kunorambidzwa here? No, it is encouraging seeing our heroes and heroines give narratives of what it was during the times of the liberation struggle. Surely, these heroes were fearless and strong. Cde Gilbert Nyanhongo’s story must be remembered. Thank you.’’
We appreciate your response. We continue the last part of Cde Collins Batsirai intriguing tale.
Cde Batsirai said he saw white bigotry at an early age. At age 9, I met a white boy at Meikles Park who had been left there by his parent. My uncle had left me there with strict instructions not to get into the park reserved for whites.
I envied the toys that the young lad had. I asked him to play with me and he refused whereupon I took the toys by force; the white boy punched me in the face. I retaliated and bloodied him in the process; he cried bitterly. He was in that state when his father arrived. He didn’t say anything and took his son away as he bled from the nose.
At Grade 7 I used to sell Moto magazine and obtained tips from the whites in their offices. I masked my inherent hatred for them as I accepted their tips.
Later, I went to Ellis Gledhil Secondary School where I often got into conflict with my teachers; I told them that they would go to Buxton Vumba.
Downing of the Cessna 185 plane
In May 1975, a Cessna 185 plane was downed close to Perrems airstrip. It careened and force landed at Ellis Gledhill gate. Jonathan and I were the first to arrive. My friend closed the gate and told all the youngsters and elders alike to run away as the plane would blow up any minute from then. We went into the plane and saw six soldiers strapped to their seats dazed. We knocked them down and threw the ration out to Jonathan who passed it on to the people who refused to run away. We told them to run.
By the time the police and ambulance came accompanied by army vehicles, we had already put the dead men outside and explained we wanted to help. The soldiers believed me. I realised I couldn’t remain in Rhodesia; I had told my father about what Jonathan and I did. Everyone behaved as if it was normal for a school going lad to do what I did.
One day I overheard a conversation between my uncle and my father. They talked about how their younger brother at St Luke’s Chikomba in Honde Valley had been brutally beaten by Rhodesian soldiers. Bile went up my throat. How could they do that? Word has been going round about boys and girls who skipped the border. I decided to join the great trek to Mozambique.
One Sunday, I left home via Cecil Kopje and by five in the afternoon, I was in Mozambique. I stayed with FRELIMO border security details. Our numbers had swelled to six; among us, were two boys from Ellis Gledhill. On the third day, gunfire from the Rhodesian side awakened us rudely. FRELIMO quickly whisked us into the safety of mother Mozambique.
Aftermaths of the Nyadzonia attack
We went to that hell — hole they called Doroi where hunger reigned supreme like King Solomon; diseases were aplenty. Doroi environs exuded sacredness; kwaiera zvakapenga.
Doroi was the biggest recruit base ever to exist in Mozambique. I was lucky, however, because I spent less than a month in that setting as I went to Chimoio for training.
I combined military training and schooling. We were the first ‘A’ level class there; they called us Black Company. On 23 November we were attacked after we had deposited our guns in the armoury and were beginning to settle down with our dafuntari and lapizerosi. It was a violent attack and we ran helter-skelter. Later we assembled at Citade Chimoio. The chosen ones went to the front. After two days, we went to Gondola where a weird incident happened and up to now I cannot fathom it.
A Mozambican Mzee came to the camp one Wednesday. He told officials there that he was looking for his son. He said he didn’t know his name but knew the face. We were put on parade and he pointed at me as his son. Despite my protestations, he insisted that he fathered me with a Zezuru woman when he was in Zimbabwe.
The matter was reported to Cde Tongo who made a strange determination. He said I was the chosen one; he said the stranger was just an emissary sent to do what he had to do according to the instructions of the person who sent him. Thus, I had to spend most weekends at his place and return to the camp on Monday.
He gave me a carton of cigarettes and a crate of aguadanta which I shared with my friends. Ironically, on the day that I was with my ‘father,’ the camp was bombed. I had been chosen to be removed from harm’s way.
After that camp disaster, I was drafted into the education department as an education materials’ writer and researcher up to 1978. Some of my colleagues were sent to various destinations to further their education. Two vakaenda navaMudede kuCanada. Some went to Algeria, Yugoslavia, Sierra Leone and other Eastern Europe countries.
The education department was set up to encapsulate the ideals of ZANU and avoid a situation whereby after independence the new state found itself without manpower requisite skills as was the case with other African countries. Matenje was the big school where learners were moulded and some bases like Chibawawa and Osibisa among others sent their learners there. Cde Fay Chung helped the pre-school that catered for the Watoto among other duties she carried out there.
Close to 2000 learners benefited from the education department. Cdes Edgar Tekere, Robson Manyika and Janice Mclaughlin were among the chief lecturers. Distance education was availed to a number of learners there.
At Nyamhinga in 1979 I met Cde Nyika, Cde Tongogara’s personal bodyguard who was madly in love with Cde Maidei, a female cadre. I had failed to get sufficient documents to go to Switzerland where I would be trained as a medical doctor. Cde Tongo noted that since ZANLA was receiving sophisticated weaponry it was natural to need educated cadres who would operate them. Thus, I went to Inyamhinga. Ndipo pavakaenda kuLancaster.
Cde Nyika and Maidei tuned in to their transistor radio that belted the music of K C and Sunshine City Band. They loved the song, ‘‘Please don’t go,’’ which made me think what happened to Nyika was preordained.
Zvaiita sezvaiva nechirevo nekuti a few weeks later, Cde Tongo had returned from the Lancaster talks and he got into that accident. Cde Nyika and the General perished in that accident. It was difficult to console Maidei because akanga akutopenga.
General Josiah Magama Tongogara was the chosen one; he was simple and a loving commander. I remember his blue and white scarf, with his gigantic arms holding the tip of the AK — 47 waving it in the air and breaking into song, ‘‘ndiro gidi vakomana,’’ and we would sing along.
Cde Tongogara loved Zimbabwe and he gave it his all.
I returned home in 1981. I was supposed to go to Syria on a training mission but I went AWOL (Absent Without Official Leave). I was afraid that if I went away again, my mother would not survive it. She suffered from the loss of my younger brother ainditeera mumashure mangu who died four days after my return from Mozambique. Probably, he died due to excitement after seeing me back from the war where many had not survived and because he suffered from a heart condition, he collapsed and died.
For a while, I did temporary teaching at Muterere Secondary School, a new school which had been built to meet the demands of educational expansion initiated by the new majority government. I went for training at Mutare Teachers’ College where I qualified as a primary school teacher and taught at various schools in Manicaland.
From 2004-2007, I headed Mbaza Primary School.
I have heard some comrades say tisu takadziridza pfuti and I shake my head. We all fought the enemy in different ways. Some are still fighting while others have quit. We win battles; wars are never won because they will always be there. They change form; that’s all.
I urge everyone to remain focused as we face these never-ending challenges. It is when people are united that we can hope we can succeed against adversity..
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