The story of Brigadier-General Retired Freedom Tsodzai aka Cde Freedom Nyika

ON the morning of August 9 1976, we gathered at the parade square at Nyadzonia in our thousands.
We were expecting logistical supplies to the camp.
The previous day had been ZANU Day (August 8) so we had been promised some food and clothes hence we were excited because life in the camps was harsh.
And as we waited at the parade square, there were cheers of relief as vehicles which resembled FRELIMO trucks drove into the camp.
The people inside the trucks also wore FRELIMO regalia and we were happy that our comrades had stood by their word.
In fact, a column of seven Unimogs and four Ferret scout cars carried 84 men of the infamous Selous Scouts.
Some young boys had already gathered around the vehicles to offload the goods as was the custom.
I was about 150 metres away from them because Nyadzonia was congested and everyone was at the square that morning.
During that moment of ecstasy, fire broke out.
I just heard a loud, screaming voice shouting: “Take cover!”
And because I had spent about six months at the camp, my colleagues and I immediately took to the ground and started crawling.
However, for some the language was new and they did not know how to react.
They panicked and were running all over the place becoming cannon fodder.
Machine guns seemed to fire from all angles.
People screamed and shouted for help everywhere.
There was blood everywhere.
I still remember the headless people around me.
As I crawled, I could feel the blood in my hands and I could not lift my head up to help my colleagues because bullets were flying just above our heads.
It was a slaughter.
It was just around that time that a heavy whirlwind came and raised a lot of dust on the area such that the attackers were blinded for a while.
I stood up and ran as fast as I could.
A few metres away from the camp was the Nyadzonia River, which was a tributary of the Pungwe River
Panting for breath, I ran straight into it and swam.
Swimming across was not easy, many could not swim and were drowning.
We helped those who could not swim, but still many drowned.
We passed lifeless bodies.
We passed whimpering comrades who needed help.
But we were in shock; we could not even believe that we were alive.
Even if we wanted to help, we had nothing to assist them with and feared the enemy was hot on our heels.
Many of us just wanted to survive and be out of the killing bag.
Many lost their lives in the river, it was wide and deep and because of fatigue, many could not make it across.
After crossing the river, we headed to Masengere Base.
Some comrades who had made it out of the killing bag began falling, dying, succumbing to their injuries.
Many died along the way to safety.
We spent about two days in the bush before arriving at Masengere.
Tired, confused, shocked, afraid, hungry and anxious we were.
From the conversations that we had with other survivors, I learnt it was Livison Mutasa aka Morrison Nyathi who had led the Selous Scouts into our camp.
That is how the security at the gate had been deceived.
We could not comprehend how a fellow son of the soil had abandoned the cause of the liberation struggle and become a sellout.
What hurt the most is, he knew how vulnerable we were and took advantage of that.
We did not have any weapons because Nyadzonia was merely a holding camp.
It was a refugee camp and transit base for those who wanted to receive military training.
Humanitarian organisations such as Red Cross International had made it clear that for the camp to receive aid, it was not supposed to have weapons.
The camp held people of various ages including the elderly because most people were running away from home, the then Rhodesia, as families and couples.
There were children who included toddlers.
The majority were teenagers who had come to Nyadzonia with the hope of going to the Front.
They were all unarmed.
We stayed at Masengere Base for about two weeks before heading to Doiroi Camp, which was similar to Nyadzonia.
I was only 17 years at the time, but to date I remember the horrific attack which also claimed the life of my best friend Enos.
I tried to look for him after independence in 1980 to no avail.
Compiled by Chiratidzo Moyo