WHEN I heard the news I could not, I would not believe it.
It was only when I saw my colleagues help push the stretcher that carried out the lifeless body of the veteran ZANLA cadre, the late Cde Alexander Kanengoni, that it hit me that indeed he was no more.
I closed my eyes.
I felt pain that was like a needle slowly going through my heart.
The legend was gone, had left us without saying good-bye.
Was this how a surprise attack felt.
Twenty-four hours had not even passed since I last spoke to him.
He had given me invaluable pointers on how to tackle the story I was doing.
It was about the discipline of war veterans, a hallmark of the freedom fighters; it was a subject he understood by virtue of being one of the disciplined war veterans.
I first met Cde Kanengoni on March 17 2013 when I brought my father’s hand-written war biography for publication.
I was fascinated by his cordial reception.
He asked me to write the story of my father from a son’s perspective, of how my dad, a schoolteacher, had made the decision to abandon the chalk, the classroom, for the gun to liberate Zimbabwe from the British imperialists.
There was no hesitation on my part; I accepted the assignment or rather a challenge at that time.
It turned out the challenge was my interview.
He was impressed.
When I informed him that I was in fact an unemployed journalist he wasted no time in offering me an opportunity to become a writer for the highly esteemed The Patriot.
The first stories I worked on, with his expert and patient guidance, were the exposés of Rhodesia’s Selous Scouts atrocities during the liberation struggle.
These are the stories that exposed the true colours of the then MDC-T’s stalwarts; the infamous Roy Bennett and Iain Kay.
The stories sent Kay to the political dustbin.
Kay tried to sue us.
As part of our defence preparation, we drove to Svosve, Hwedza, with our lawyers, to talk to Kay’s war victims.
Cde Kanengoni was impressed by the scale of ground I covered during my investigation of the story.
He was a man who appreciated good work.
It was at that moment he nick-named me ‘Mujibha’.
My seemingly boundless energy fascinated him.
From then on documenting the liberation struggle became my business so-to-speak.
I am one person who was the biggest beneficiary of the man’s big heart.
Were it not for his kindness and understanding my destiny could have taken another, totally different trajectory.
Thank you Cde for not giving up on me.
Only a loving father could have had the patience you exhibited and cared to that unbelievable level.
For a time I was a burden that you carried despite having no obligation to, still you did.
I will forever be grateful for the opportunities and for never giving up on me.
I hope I am doing justice to the liberation discourse.
I took your instructions to heart.
Because of you I have developed into a man I am not ashamed to look at in the mirror.
I will forever remember those days you left the office to accompany us on assignments to gather war stories.
Together we visited what had been the Dzapasi Assembly Point in Buhera and Protected Villages in Chiweshe.
At Dzapasi we slept in classrooms, that humility on your part had a huge impact on me.
You could have booked at some respectable lodge, but you remained with us and shared our food.
That was just you, a modest and an unassuming fellow.
At your farm in Centenary, you proved that blacks were capable farmers through commercial farming as well as animal husbandry.
At one time as we drove to your farm, you shared your sentiments on what it means to work for your country.
You said it was the responsibility of the young generation to safeguard our heritage.
“Nyaya dzako dzaunonyora dzemakomuredhi nenhoroondo yehondo dzakakosha,” you said.
“We did our best when we were at your age.
“We abandoned everything and joined the war to liberate ourselves.
“This is a revolution and it’s not yet over.
“We are now advanced in age hence we are now passing on the baton stick.”
You feared if we did not record our story future generations would depend on the distorted version relentlessly being churned out by Rhodesians.
I still had a lot to learn from you.
But you opened my eyes.
And because of your guidance I can now see the machinations of the enemy.
You have gone too soon.
May you rest in eternal peace.
You fought well.
You lived well.
We miss you.