The ManicaPost
Freedom Mutanda
Correspondent
WAR is the last resort in a negotiation process when everything else has failed.
Whites, from 1890, in Zimbabwe consistently conspired to hurt Africans through various initiatives, leaving young men and women to take up arms and dislodge the regime through an armed struggle.
The liberation struggle was never to be a walk in the park as school children and adults faced a heartless settler army which would use torture tactics to extract information from the public.
Mrs Susan Thandobani was 16 at the time and was in Grade Seven in 1978 at a mission school in Chipinge.
The following is her story:
Rhodesian soldiers were camped at Chibonere Farm, and we had just crossed Umzilizwe River on our way to Chipinge from Mount Selinda or Chako Road.
The soldiers were said to be ruthless and used any method to extract information from an African.
My friend, Doris Kupamhama and I were coming from Semwayo Shop about 700 metres from the school.
The unmistakable shriek of the military vehicle euphemistically called ‘’kwels mahala’’ came from behind us, and we froze in fear of being hauled, and sent to the cells at Chibonere.
We heaved a collective sigh of relief when it passed us.
Whites could say: “Kwira mahara wozobhadarira mberi’’ (get in, you will pay later) when they stopped the vehicle and haul Africans to these torture chambers at Chibonere; thus, many older school children were afraid of this vehicle and would take to their heels when they heard the sound.
We went to the soccer pitch and watched the boys practising.
I felt a nudge on the backside.
It was a gun.
The five of us were bundled into the despicable vehicle and taken to Chibonere.
It was our excitement that our teacher, Mr Lovemore Moyana, had returned from the torture chambers that made us fail to run away when there was still time, but wait at the soccer pitch.
That was our greatest undoing.
No one helped us, for these brutes would brutalise anyone who dared challenge them.
At Chibonere, we were treated to sadza and round nuts.
I refused to eat, but on the second day, my colleagues urged me to eat since I would die of hunger.
There were more than 50 males in the cells.
We were two girls.
To their credit, the soldiers threatened anyone who abused us during the course of our stay.
No male crossed our paths in that regard.
Torture began. Girls would be applied with electric shocks while in an upside position.
On the other hand, the shocks would be applied on the man’s genitalia with piercing screams pervading the area.
I am told my mother wanted to come, but friends and relatives dissuaded her, saying it was no use as she, too, would be detained and treated in the same way.
“Ipiro gandanga? (Where is the terrorist?) Do you know Ndinani and Fidza?’’
These were well known feared commanders who operated in the area.
We remained mute.
As for me, I spoke to them in pure Zezuru because I had lived with my father in Mbare for close to 14 years.
I said I had only been at Emerald School for a week.
They understood and after five days, we were allowed to go back on foot, a distance of about 18 kilometres.
I remember carrying Sekuru Godfrey Bhejana, on my back. We were greeted with jubilation at home and at school.
One night, a fox barked the whole night.
The following day, the soldiers came to ask us the older guys who were there whether we had heard the fox barking.
How can you tell a white man that the barking was an ominous of death or illness without receiving the full wrath of these very callous soldiers of fortune (Rhodesia hired mercenaries as they were running out of manpower because of the fatality rate at the war front.)
We thought the ordeal would be over once we got to a boarding school.
At Mount Selinda Institute, comrades came and shepherded us to the boys’ boarding.
They urged us to sing revolutionary songs while Rhodesians were close by.
At times, they would come to the girls’ boarding and picked older girls to accompany them to pungwes (all-night meetings where political commissars belted out the party’s ideology.)
For their own part, Rhodesian soldiers came with dead bodies that they presumed were freedom fighter.
They asked us to identify them, but we could not lie.
Fortunately, ceasefire came and the double edged sword targeted at learners came to an end.
Cde David Mtetwa, a war veteran, was there at the battle of Chimoio in Mozambique.
He said he threw himself into a thicket as he ran for cover.
Unbeknown to him, the thicket had buffalo bean (uriri), a powerful plant which makes you scratch your body non-stop to stop the discomfort.
He remained in that position without scratching for more than 24 hours until he felt the coast was clear and came out. Up to mow, he is impervious to uriri.
