The ManicaPost
Freedom Mutanda and Sifelani Tonje Post Correspondents
Those boys and girls who went to fight the enemy did so with the conviction they would come across seemingly insurmountable hurdles in an effort to liberate Zimbabwe, their fatherland. Indeed, several atrocities visited those who braved several hair-raising incidents on their way to the rear and encountered the full wrath of the enemy in the training and refugee camps, which were scattered throughout Mozambique.
This week’s instalment takes a look at the female comrade who had to endure the settler army’s heart rending attack over Nyadzonia refugee camp in Mozambique when the excitable youngsters mistook the enemy for a friendly convoy which had come to take them for training.
Here is a female cadre who hasn’t forgotten what it was to be attacked and still believes that what she saw on that day will forever be embedded in her collective memory. She believes her story is just one of the many that will be told by the survivors of an ordeal which seemed to be a scene from hell.
The Manica Post correspondents, Freedom Mutanda and Sifelani Tonje, caught up with Khetiwe Thonje nee Matembudze, who went to Mozambique in late 1976 alongside her husband Fadhuku Thonje when the duo realised that its continued stay in colonial Zimbabwe would be disastrous to its well-being. She lives at Sakuinje village under Chief Musikavanhu.
Khetiwe Thonje is KT and the correspondents are MP. Read on the tantalising and horrific tale of a couple who survived by the narrowest of margins at Nyadzonia where thousands perished and up to now calls are being made to give the dead comrades a fitting burial.
MP: Would you mind giving us a brief background about yourself comrade Khetiwe?
KT: I grew up in the Mujaho family; we are also of the Matembudze family in the Fumhanda area in Chikore. I didn’t get far with education and that culminated in my getting married to Fadhuku Thonje at a relatively young age. I gave birth to 12 children although I lost Josiah when he was nine months old. Our first encounter with the war was when we heard voices from the aero planes exhorting us to go to Rimbi PW (Protected Village) and because we had a large herd of cattle we plotted to leave the country and go to Mozambique.
MP: How did you manage to succeed in your fleeing the country with a huge herd of cattle?
KT: Zimbabwe and Mozambique are Siamese twins; you find that Musikavanhu’s hegemony actually stretches to Musambiki. At a place called Chikwekwete we crossed the border. Frelimo soldiers commonly referred to as Makamaradha didn’t allow us to go with our cattle claiming that their allowing us asylum would invite untold suffering to the Mozambicans as the Rhodesian would carry out cross-border attacks.
We, thus, asked Samuel and Matrose to stay behind and look after the cattle but that time, they would be staying with Sekuru Nyanga. Three of our children had joined the war without them bidding us goodbye. These boys who joined the war are Luka, Lazarus and Musa. It was this ‘guilt’ more than anything else which propelled us to make a quick move into Mozambique for we were afraid the authorities would question us and probably put us into protective custody. We crossed Nyapamba River and went into Mbonyeya’s land or Chikwekwete.
MP: Going as a family must have been a risk?
KT: It was but there was nothing we could do. Bhunu harisaijaerika. Our stay in that country was characterised by hunger and disease. Nyadzonia teemed with people from different parts of Rhodesia. For accommodation, we had to make do with makeshift plastic or thatched huts. It was a common hut. Baba Fadhuku practiced chilenje which was a form of barter trade with the locals. A huge number succumbed to malnutrition. A number of girls died as a result of hiccups.
MP: And the attack?
KT: It came – ferocious, ruthless, unrelenting and non-discriminatory. It was hell in hell. Hitherto, we had synced ourselves with camp life. It never occurred to us that a refugee camp would be a victim of a senseless attack. When it came, we were caught flat footed. My husband had gone to fetch thatch grass and I was at home with Adam, my son, as he wasn’t feeling well.
MP: You mean, you went there with several children?
KT: Oh yes, only Samuel and Matrose were left behind for them to look after our large herd of cattle. Three had joined the war. The rest accompanied us to Mozambique.
MP: Go on.
KT: Suddenly, several vehicles, around eight, trundled in a convoy into the camp. As it was a Saturday, no one had gone to fetch firewood. Some days before, we had been told our days at the camp were numbered as we were going to be trained soon. Therefore, on seeing the vehicles, everyone thought the hour had come for them to be trained. I became curious as I knew Fadhuku would surely go and be trained; after all, he looked soldierly because of his physical appearance.
MP: Was there a twist to the narrative?
KT: All of a sudden, there was an unmistakably burst of machine gun fire. That Rhodesian machine gun could be identified by any cadre whether trained or untrained. Those who had ululated and ran towards the vehicles had their mouths agape as they saw some of their colleagues fall. Volleys of bullets hit the camp and to me it appeared I was watching a war movie but this time around, I was a participant. I rushed to pick up Adam who gurgled as if the world was right under his feet. On the other hand, I took hold of Gertrude while my other child, Grace, had Paul on her back. As we ran, we saw boys and girls fall like dominoes and their anguished cries rang in my ears but I was helpless as I was still untrained.
MP: At this time, your husband wasn’t around? What gave you the courage to run?
KT: I wouldn’t say it was courage. I ran because I didn’t want my children to die. I didn’t know whether Fadhuku would survive or not and I had to survive for my kids. That’s what mattered at that time. We headed towards Nyadzonia River. It had a narrow bridge and the sea of people wanted to cross at once. Crossing the river was the only option and everyone wanted to get to the other side where there was thick foliage which provided the much needed cover. The first group made it but a lot of the cadres couldn’t make it. Relentless fire came from the Rhodesian soldiers. More and more people died. The crying, wailing and mourning is still ringing in my ears more than four decades later; the brazen attackers didn’t stop shooting even as the watotos fell clutching their stomachs with intestines gushing out and the dying whimpering. I crossed to the other side via the shaky and narrow bridge; those who came after us weren’t so lucky. The whole forest close to Nyadzonia refugee camp was awash with fleeing Zimbabweans; we arrived at a certain village and there were cries “masangatareafurwa’’ as they welcomed us to their homes. They gave us madwoka or cassava. Soon, it got dark; I became apprehensive because in the melee I lost contact with my family members. Sleep hardly came as we had no blankets.
MP: Did you see your family members later?
KT: I saw all my children and my husband. The following day we trudged back to Nyadzonia; it was desolate and the smell of death hung stale in the air like a plague. Contorted faces stared back at us, lifeless. Young ones who had more years to live if only the settler army hadn’t been so callous in its execution of the war. What had we done as refugees? We weren’t trained but the bhunus had taken the lives of the people when they were in their prime. Fadhuku had fled to Gorongoza but he later came back after hearing his family had survived.
MP: What happened to the hundreds if not thousands who had perished?
KT: The Mozambican government provided a caterpillar which dug mass graves and scooped bodies before placing them in the graves. Up to now, I don’t want to hear about that saddest chapter of my life. Many people drowned as they attempted to cross the river and for the next two or so weeks, comrades fished bodies from the Nyadzonia River.
A week later, we were transferred to Pungwe camp. There, we erected two huts and stayed there until independence in 1980.
MP: You voted after independence? Did you see your children after the war?
KT: We returned to Chipinge and cast our votes at Rimbi. We were reunited with our children Samuel and Matrose. When resettlement came, we settled at Sakuinje in Horace farm; the owner had made us suffer before majority rule came.
MP: We thank you comrade for the narrative.
KT: The pleasure is mine.
