The ManicaPost
Freedom Mutanda and Sifelani Tonje Post correspondents
Writing is all about expressing the struggles of a people in terms of social, economic and political aspects. As writers, we wish to tell the outside world that people shape history and there are some people whose exploits are never known to the outside world until we chronicle their stories. We write to alert the generality of the people to know ‘’when the rain began to beat us,’’ as Chinua Achebe avers.
| There were several readers who interacted with us in the course of the week. |
Mupikati from Mutare says, ‘’thanks sir for your articles in The Manica Post. They are very educative to us born after the war. However, resources permitting, I will encourage you to cover the whole of Manicaland, especially my home area, Marange. I have noticed that you are heavily biased towards Chipinge and Chimanimani.’’
We understand and appreciate your concerns. You have said it succinctly that if funds permit we have to interview other cadres in the province and definitely, once things improve, I am sure we would move around the province and mine information from the gallant sons and daughters of the soil scattered through out the region and the country.
David Mukunda from Nyazura says, “Cdes Mutanda and Sifelani muri kurowa basa. We want more information, more pictures please. We need more from you Cdes but don’t forget that the province which you cover (Manicaland) is big.’’
Your words have sunk home comrades. It is a matter of time before our team gets the necessary resources to traverse the length and breadth of the province.
Tawanda Mhlanga, a regular reader from Dangamvura, Mutare says, “Mr Mutanda, how are you? You are doing a great job by bringing to us the story of our liberation. I read a lot of books about the war but your articles are outstanding. For example, Charity uthando’s story was so great and touching and you gave us the details blow by blow. Cde Ngadziore’s story left me in tears. Here is a man who returned from the war without a scratch. How is it possible when we lost thousands? Only God knows. The war was difficult guys! We should be happy with those who are alive to tell the story. Keep looking for more news brother!
We are overwhelmed by your message sekuru Mhlanga. My mother was a Maduve and all Mhlangas are my uncles. We will continue to capture the stories of the unsung heroes of our time.
Mao Ze Dong wrote about the analogy of the sea where fish and water have an enduring relationship. In the same vein, in the early years of nationalism in colonial Zimbabwe, the petit bourgeoisie comprising teachers, nurses, agriculture demonstrators (Madhomeni) and other white collar professionals led the charge against ill-treatment at the hands of the colonial government.
Our team that comprises Sifelani Tonje and I visited the former Mudhomeni, Tsutsumwa Nelson Chijokwe, a fiery nationalist who braved the evil conditions of detention including a stint at Whawha Prison in Gweru during the decisive phase of the armed struggle. Seeing him at 94, one is touched by the clarity of thought and verbal intelligence that he exhibited during the interview process. His cry for justice made him to be always on a collision course with the colonial authorities.
He might be 94 but his recollection of events is crystal clear as if they occurred the day before. The old adage, “when an old man dies, the whole village’s story dies with him,’’ is shown noticeably if we listen to Tsutsumwa Chijokwe’s story. He is a repository of the nationalist struggle’s story as lived by him. Tsutsumwa is Ndau for complaining. Aitsutsumwire kunetswa nevarungu. He griped over white exploitation.
Here is his story in his own words.
I shivered in the Mutema cell and wondered if I was going to come out of it alive. We were three in that cell. We had carried out sabotage activities after the local leadership gave us a dynamite fuse to use as a tool to carry out disruption activities. We went to Musani with the fuse intending to blow the bridge. My companions were Naison Masunungure and Freddy Mukoko. After failing to blow the bridge, we got arrested and our counterparts blocked Madzadza Bridge by putting some logs on the road. That was in 1964.
We went to Chipinge and the CID officers continued investigating; Freddy Mukoko, the ZANU branch chairperson, who was my immediate superior, went with me to Chipinge.
We met other prisoners of conscience such as Dambiye from Madzadza group. We had split into groups in our struggle against the settler regime. We got beaten from Monday to Friday and what irked us the most was that fellow blacks beat us. Someone had acted as an informer when he gave the whites a list of local ZANU leaders involved in sabotage activities within the Mutema area.
After some thorough beatings, Freddy Mukoko, who was an elderly man, said it was better for us to confess. Even after confessing, evidence had to be produced. We had hid the remainder of the fuse in a toilet. They beat us under the feet until we squealed. With the evidence in place after our confession, our going to the courts was just a formality. I was found guilty and sentenced to five years in jail.
Because we had sought legal representation, we were sent to Whawha prison in Gweru after Manene, the lawyer, had fought a good fight. A CID officer came to our homestead and told me I was wanted in Chipinge. Together with Mukoko, we got into the jeep and went to Odzi via Chipinge where we spent two weeks before we became the latest entries into Whawha prison.
We arrived at dusk. I noticed that it was fenced and gated but there were two camps. There was no electricity; that did not preclude the inmates from playing tsoro but the overriding feature of my Whawha experience was being isolated from the outside world. My wife visited once but the galling experience at the prison left a sour taste in the mouth.
Yes, I ate food but what is delicious about food when a foreigner took care of business at parliament and government level? We talked about the liberation war at full throttle in the country side but felt hemmed in. The prison authorities mocked us about our folly in supporting a losing horse.
On 18 April 1978, I was released. That was due to the March 3 1978 Internal Settlement that culminated in elections that were won by Bishop Muzorewa. On our arrival at home, we were treated like heroes.
I was born in 1922 as the youngest sibling in a family of three. I never experienced the love of a father as he died when I was barely five. I was born in Munyokowere village; Munyokowere is a Headman in the Mutema chieftainship; they call him a ‘’dumburanzou’’ in the mould of Chikwanda, Maunganidze and Mafaone among others. I went for Sub A at age 19 in 1941. I did Standard 4 and 5 at Chikore before finishing off at Mount Silinda in 1949. I enrolled at Domboshawa Agricultural Institute and graduated in 1953. Some of my contemporaries include Wilson Simango and Kodak Mayahle. We had been uprooted from our homeland where black soils encouraged verdant vegetation and our livestock thrived. Then came The Land Apportionment Act of 1930 that with a stroke of the pen, gave the 50 000 odd whites 49 million acres of land while the slightly over one million Africans had to make do with 21 million acres. The total acreage of Zimbabwe is 96 000 000 acres.
Moreover, the Maize Control Act hindered African economic development due to different prices given to European and African produce. Prices, for similar quality produce, were skewed against Africans. As an Agriculturist, I was livid inside when the Land Husbandry Act made Africans to have a specific number of cattle (5) for a given area as colonial authorities argued that conservation would be difficult. It was ironic that the government allowed a single white person to have thousands of hectares of land while the Africans shared the hilltops with monkeys and baboons. Over and above that, they had to limit their livestock.
We were uprooted from what is now called Middle Sabi and made to go and live in Bikita, Matsayi and Tonhorai areas. We left a place where we had good harvests and forced to live in arid areas. In our former area, whites planted their cotton and other crops. We went as far as Mutema where I live now as a desperate measure to remain close to where our navels (chikumvu) were.
It was against such a background that I joined the National Democratic Party in 1959; when it was banned, I joined the successor party, ZAPU.
I had worked as an Agriculture Demonstrator (Mudhomeni) in Rusape where I married my first wife. However, we had an altercation with the Chief Agriculture Demonstrator, Mr Cotton, which made me come and work in the Vander Burg area for some time and the spirit of war was in the air.
Our leadership had decided to use the armed struggle to remove colonial exploitation and we supported that to the hilt. We were coming from the sabotage era to a stage where the gun would reign supreme in dislodging the colonial bondage.
Young men, whatever you do in life is related to politics. You have to make Zimbabwe work and stop complaining. Independence came for you to make use of opportunities that are in abundance.
I am still married to Sipiwe Bayiwa and stay here at Mutema having retired from active farming. It has been a tumultuous journey since I joined politics many years ago; independence came at a price but the good thing is as a nation we can look back and say it was a good fight.
As a citizen of this country, we are duty bound to be patriotic and fight for economic emancipation.
For your views and comments, please call, sms or whatsapp me on 0777582734 or email me at [email protected]
