The ManicaPost
Freedom Mutanda and Sifelani Tonje Post Correspondents—
On November 9, 2016, a dark cloud hung over the province as Ndombi Ye Kanyi, Jessica Mwaitireni Grace Chapfiwa (nom de guerre was Mabhunu Mchapera), a veteran of the liberation war waged in Zimbabwe, breathed her last.She had been a dedicated nationalist who fought a good fight before and after independence as she fought racism and bigotry brought about by the evil scourge of colonialism and the Unilateral Declaration of Independence on November 11, 1965 by Ian Smith, the Rhodesian Front leader and Prime Minister of rebel Rhodesia, compounded the matter.
The Manica Post team comprising Freedom Mutanda and Sifelani Tonje sought her friend and comrade in arms, Esther Magudhu, Farirai Magorira, to give us the story of their movement from Chikore to Chibawawa in Mozambique as the duo joined the deluge that went to the war en masse from every border point in Zimbabwe as the spirit to fight racism engulfed everyone.
We used the late hero’s diary to reconstruct her story but with additional comments from Esther Magudhu who was thunderstruck at her friend’s death as Cde Mabhunu Muchapera, aka Jessica Mwaitireni Grace Chapfiwa, prodigiously worked towards ensuring that Farirai Magorira receive her dues as a veteran of the liberation war after she failed to access the benefits for the past 36 years for one reason or another.
We felt that penning her story albeit posthumously, will give our valued readers an idea of what female fighters encountered out there in the bush as they fought a callous regime which could not countenance whites sharing a table or a train with a black person.
We will use the first person narration largely due to the fact that her diary is that of a guerrilla telling her life story.
Chimoio attack — 23 November 1977
Although it can’t be corroborated, some people say one Cde Sanhu is said to have sold out at Chimoio by giving sensitive information to the enemy.
Dakotas appeared from nowhere in the early morning of November 23, 1977. Before we knew it, we were surrounded by Rhodesian forces; the majority of us were defenceless as we had yet to be trained.
Helicopters hovered overhead as they offered reinforcements to ground troops dropped by the Dakotas.
Soldiers fired at the crowd indiscriminately; bullets rained on us. We were mostly unarmed refugees and most of us had not received basic military training although we had been told over and over again that if the enemy shot at us, we should all fall as if we had been hit and mingle with the fallen comrades for us to survive.
We ran helter-skelter in confusion as the unmistakable sound of machine gun fire disturbed the stillness of the morning. Bullets mowed down babies so much that the sight of open skulls was the order of the day in the aftermath of the barbaric attack when the leadership counted the cost of the cowardly assault on the refugees.
The mere act of getting into Mozambique was a clear violation of international law as Ian Smith and his acolytes upped the ante in delivering a mortal blow to the nascent guerrilla group. We had heard that they attacked Mkushi in Zambia as well.
The watoto, women, frail old men and women and those awaiting training were the hardest hit in terms of casualties. To survive, I crawled among the dead. Rhodesian soldiers could not be fooled into thinking everyone who was lying down was dead; they walked over the still, blood-soaked bodies. They kicked bodies to ascertain whether one was dead or not. If they noted that one was still breathing, they used pistols to finish that person off.
I lay there quietly, not daring to move as my heart beat thunderously like a grinding mill. My heart nearly stopped beating when a soldier kicked my back side. I thought that could be the end. He continued on his way when I made no movement.
When we felt the enemy had gone away for good, we crawled out of the death filled field to safety.
Counting the costs after the attack made depressing reading. Many people had died. Miraculously, my group from home had survived the attack.
I similarly survived a joint helicopter, arumanya and ground forces attack at Mudzingazi base. The enemy used the same modus operandi to cause confusion among the cadres.
I must tell you how I became one of the refugees at Chimoio.
I was born Grace Mwaitirenyi Jessica Chapfiwa to James Mukazvikona and Jane Magaisa on November 11, 1962. I stayed with my maternal uncles of the Mwazioneyi (Jenya) clan who are famed with rain making capacities. That was because my mother had passed on.
For a time, I stayed at the Magaisa’s homestead. He doubled up teaching with his Mutape duties. I used to watch court proceedings; it kind of amused my uncle why I was interested in things done by males.
Chinaa School was where I did my primary schooling; we had to cross the angry Nyauroyi River in summer after heavy rains descended on the Vadondo area. Our Grade Six teacher, Alec Mukwakwami told us about the brutalities of the whites. The segregation was mainly perpetrated by the farmers around us such as Houston, Horace, Manduru, Chiwaya, Baba ari nani.
There was a chilling story about Baba ari nani that made my hair stand on end every time someone re-told it to me. It is said, he was short but loved beating blacks. Thus, he would jump up and beat a man and then falls. After falling down, he would say, ‘vhusa mina’ until he was satisfied that he had beaten you enough.
I used to think the story could have been fabricated for how can a grown man allow such brutality to visit him when he knows fully well that the white man beating him was a weakling.
I was told the white man had a gun. That satisfied me although I still thought the story could have been a legend.
Off to war
One October day in 1976, we left for Mozambique from Muchakagara Village in Chikore. Rodger Mhlanga, Juliet Bangira, Esther Magudu and I left at 10 am. We forded the Umzilizwe and Nyangamba Rivers on our way to Chikwekwete. We asked for directions to Espungabera at a certain homestead. We went via Mugondi.
Finally, we arrived at Toronga base in Chibawawa district. We met Cde Robert Mugabe; he was accompanied by Cdes Edgar Tekere and Morris Tsana. Cde Mugabe told us that victory was certain and urged us to remain vigilant as the decisive phase of the liberation struggle had arrived and nothing could stop Zimbabweans from liberating themselves.
At Chibawawa, we suffered from zvimatekenye and raw hunger so much Chirenje was in vogue. Rheumatism would make you run instead of walking properly. Ukasamhanya, waidonha and waihukura sembwa for more than a week.
When I went for training, Esther, a victim of rheumatism, was left at Toronga base. I got trained at Chimoio and went to the front.
We carried war material as we went to face the enemy. We passed through Gandai district on our way to Manicaland. We also passed through Mavhonde. We carried more than 60 kg’s of war materials. It was back-breaking. Some of us suffered life threatening injuries; they broke our backs. Our menstrual cycle was affected as we went without menstruation for months.
I became a section leader, platoon commissar and detachment commissar. My work was to mobilise the povo for it to appreciate the liberation war. I did that at Pungwes and even in small groups. Songs and dance galvanised the povo to give its all in supporting the liberation struggle.
Rhodesian combat helicopters landed in bushes inside Mozambique before attacking the Chimoio ZANLA base on November 23, 1977.— (Picture extracted from Winds of Destruction by Petter-Bowyer)
We sometimes had to bath with our pants on our mouths as female combatants at the training bases. We were afraid if we left them on the ground, someone may steal it owing to the shortage of clothes that was endemic during our training days.
I remained in Manicaland up to the ceasefire when I joined other cadres at Dzapasi Assembly point in Buhera.
In the run up to the inaugural majority election of 1980, I went to Mrehwa, Mutoko and Highfield to campaign for ZANU which went on to win resoundingly.
I joined the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in 1982 where I worked as a Personal Assistant to ambassadors. Algeria, Canada, Romania and Malaysia are some of the countries I served. It was during my stint in the Foreign Office that I improved my academic and professional qualifications. Resultantly, through private study, I obtained a Diploma in Business Management, Certificate in leadership, Diploma in Child Evangelism, BA in Biblical Studies.
I retired in 2001. I was ordained as a pastor in 2006. I founded and directed the Family Gate Network. I helped in establishing crèches in my home area.
Post script
The Manicaland Governor, Cde Mandiitawepi Chimene, presided over the burial of Cde Mabhunu Muchapera at the Manicaland Provincial Acre. To quote William Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, ‘she was an honourable woman’ who braved the vicissitudes associated with being a woman in a patriarchal society to scale dizzy heights. Here was a woman who went to war as a teenager and continued to work for the betterment of Zimbabweans up to the time she breathed her last on 9 November 2016.
Au revoir comrade!
Hamba kahle ndombi yekanyi!
Asante Sana!
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