The ManicaPost
Freedom Mutanda and Sifelani Tonje Post Correspondents
Last week, we did not write about the bloodied white man owing to space constraints but that is a story for next week when we conclude this gripping tale about wartime and post war stories involving guerrillas who lived, fought and loved during the Second Chimurenga.
We have feedback from our readers and here is a sample. Please keep on sending those messages of support and constructive criticism.
“Cde Gilbert Nyanhongo a.k.a Collins Batsirai’s account was amazing. One funny thing I am a former Mutare Boys High School student where Nyanhongo senior worked. His story pointed out that the Rhodesians only wanted cheap labour from the Africans.
His 2008 narrative is scary and is stranger than fiction but it shows the power of the spirits of the land. Umm shuwa muhondo manga mune zvamo.
His getting $10.68 from nowhere is testament that even up to now, the mediums who worked during the war are still helping vana vevhu.
Thank you Cde Nyanhongo, for the story. To you Freedom and Sifelani, keep up the excellent job,’’ writes Tawanda Mhlanga from Mutare.
Phillip Kusasa, a regular reader, says, ‘’your stories bring back memories of atrocities.
The Mulema couple is keen to contact Nyanhongo as what he is doing might help them relocate the remains of a brother who perished in the brutal Chimoio attack.We will continue to look out for the unsung hero among us as a matter of course.Cde Nyanhongo goes to the Nyakatsapa saga and we glean the Nyadzonia attack in the words of Collins Batsirai.A comrade residing in another human salutes him
On December 7 2016, I was called to attend a case where a woman was possessed by a dead fighter at a homestead near Chidahuyo 2 Business Centre.
I got there at 1300 hours and met with a middle aged woman who marched towards me and promptly saluted me and said, “maita zvakanaka mauya shefu. Ndanga ndakakumirirai.’’
Cde Gilbert Nyanhongo aka Collins Batsirai
We went to her parents’ homestead; I interrogated the deceased who said he was Musada Gilbert from Mount Darwin in the Dotito village under headman Chimombe. He said his nom de guerre was Chauya Chauya.
He revealed he was with two other fighters in a toilet at Nyakatsapa Primary School.He said one of the comrades was called Gonzo, a very popular guerrilla in the area who meted instant punishment to sellouts during the war. Another comrade, Muchaneta Mabunu from Murehwa was buried around the environs of the Chidahuyo Business Centre.
The dead guerrillas’ plight, according to the bodies that housed them, wanted to be taken to their homes in different parts of the country.My immediate reaction was to pacify the deceased comrade and reassure him that he together with his comrades in arms would have a decent burial soon as the Fallen Heroes Trust was ever ready to use its resources to bring closure to the deceased as well as their families as many years have elapsed before that event which is in line with the Zimbabwean culture.
On 12 December 2016, I went back to Chidahuyo in the company of Cde Mapfunde, the District Chairperson and Cde Ngwarati, the historical affairs secondary within our own war veterans group; the provincial chairperson, Cde Gift Kagweda, was there; we also invited Penhalonga police details to manage the situation. We wanted to have indications at Nyakatsapa School in the eyes of everyone.It is a public secret that Nyakatsapa School is host to a number of mysterious incidents; Reverend Chikuni can attest to that. It is said, two weeks before schools closed, the stakeholders prayed for the incidents to be pacified. Nevertheless, one spirit refused to divulge its identity.
“Ndichataura ndava kuda zvangu,’’ it said. Such arrogance!
My educated guess was, it is the same spirit that migrated from the pupil; to this woman, ‘’kutsvaga homwe yakatsiga. I asked the spirit why they had been quiet for all these long years; the answer was tied in the incident involving the murder of a teacher by his wife using an axe some time ago.A certain woman in the area sold out. The spokesperson of the trio said there were exorcism rites to drive away the spirit of the murdered teacher by one Tsoka and that affected the three comrades. He said, their mere request was for their remains to be relocated to their original homes.
We are working flat out to make sure the dead spirits find rest.
Nyadzonia attack
My story’s story line runs in a zig zag way and I plead with you to appreciate how I present the story of my life. There are so many incidents I was involved in but let me talk about Nyadzonia.
The camp was situated near Nyadzonia River; it housed Zimbabweans, mainly refugees who had fled Ian Smith’s horror policies. About 5 000 refugees were at Nyadzonia.
My recollection of war was war movies where the protagonist never got killed as he shot, killed and defeated his enemies.At Nyadzonia, there were no tents, no jeeps, no food, no guns and no blankets. I was ill equipped for such a life. Sakubva was no heaven but at least we had a roof over our heads and certain basics were available. I had to practice Chirenje which was frowned upon by our leaders for they thought it brought us in a bad light. It carried a heavy punishment if one was caught exchanging goods with the povo.
At times, food was stolen and it became a house of hungry, emaciated and malnourished people who stared ghostly at others while their gaunt features told a story of lack of food. We ate songs, songs of the struggle. To remain sane in a mad world, we smoked mbanje.In July 1976, the food shortages reached crisis proportions so much that we had skirmishes with our erstwhile friends, FRELIMO due to what their men did to take advantage of the situation. The misunderstanding between trained cadres and FRELIMO units got worse to a point that Cde Rex Nhongo vakauya one day vachivhetemutsa mota. He blew the emergency whistle and we raced animatedly to the assembly point for a parade. There was solid silence.Cde Nhongo took his pistol from the shoulder holster and threw it onto he ground.We all stared at the unfolding drama in shock. He stammered and cried kuchema chaiko. Ukaona musoja asina ronda risiri kuoneka achichema panenge paine nyaya.We wondered and waited with bated breath. Ndokubva ati, “hazvindinetsi zviya izvi. Mangwana chaiwo munoswera mava ku Dar es Salaam.’’
Cde Do It began a song to cool the tempers and we accompanied him in the singing. Cde Nhongo wiped away the tears and reached down for his pistol and holstered it.
The story was the hunger had reached a crescendo and chirenje had gone viral in spite of the punishment meted on those who got caught. Some few FRELIMO comrades had taken advantage of the situation and sexually molested our sisters and we could not stomach that.
That angered our commanders.
FRELIMO said all trained personnel must be evacuated from Nyadzonia leaving the defenceless civilians all alone. Cde Nhongo said lorries would come and take everyone to Dar es Salaam.Sellouts relayed the message to the enemy yekuti malorry achauya monoswera mava ku Dar es Salaam. On 9 August 1976, muvengi ndookuuya nema lorry and comrades may have thought that these lorries were meant to ferry them to a place where food would be in abundance.He then cried again and we all cried with him
With our bare feet, we wrote poetry on the hot and unkind Nyadzonia ground. As we did so, the Red Guards marched. I hear up to now, to the discerning visitor to Nyadzonia, the marching is still heard. The Red Guards spirits will never die. 9 August 1976 came. The attack was code named Eland.We let our guard down. Suddenly, an order to fire came. We were pretty close to the speaker. We knew Morris Nyati alias Livison Mutasa was one of our commanders. He was among the speakers. In our shock, we did not react in the manner a trained cadre should. We ran like headless chickens in all directions.Jet fighters sprayed death on us, pumped bullets into any living thing as we fled from the death machines. Some dashed into the Nyadzonia River; they were finished off by the unimog columns and they became easy meat to the marauding crocodiles. Others drowned.Those who escaped went as far as Zhunda; Rhodesians blew up Pungwe River Bridge, a key link with Chimoio and crucially, that act delayed help for Nyadzonia. Corpses were strewn all over; the thickest concentration of dead bodies was at the assembly point where shattered faces, entrails ugly jutting out and lacerated bodies accused the world of looking on in horror at the atrocities but fold its hand.
I was further down near the communal kitchen which was about 300 metres or so from Nyadzonia River. When we heard a hum of several vehicles everyone thought the lorries for Dar es Salaam had come to collect us and we go for training. We hesitated when we heard the whistle; that hesitation probably saved us.
Those who tried to cross the bridge were shot. I had crawled down the slope to the river. Stood up covered by the slope; I took off my tennis shoes and tied them to my trouser buckles.
I reasoned that the stretch of water before me, a deep green pool, didn’t have crocodiles because they had been attracted by the blood of the wounded.
As I prepared to dive into the water, a female comrade clung to me from nowhere pleading, “musandisiyawo.’’
I didn’t know how I was going to help her. I dived into the water and sunk; I swam under water for a while and when my head bobbed out, I felt the girl land on me. She wrapped her steely hands around my neck and wound her legs around my waist in a tight embrace.
I shrugged her off in vain. As we struggled, I discovered that we risked drowning. I told myself not to panic and swam to shore. The female guerrilla was the first to climb up the river bank and landed to safety.For the whole day, we trudged on. We crossed Pungwe River and walked all the way to Chimoio.The Nyadzonia attack was brutal.
We didn’t have anything to defend ourselves; the FRELIMO unit encamped with us was very small and it was overwhelmed easily by the Rhodesian forces.As we left, Nyadzonia lay behind us, bleeding and weeping.
Next week, we finish the astounding tale of Gilbert Nyanhongo in the liberation trenches.
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