I DO not think that if we were to meet again today you would remember the conversation we had during the 14th ZANU PF Annual National People’s Conference at that watering hole in Chinhoyi in 2013.
It was the second time we had sat down to have a discussion on the liberation struggle and your heroes’ reburial project.
The first time we met was in Masasa, Buhera, in 2012 where we sat at the back of that hut eating goat meat.
I learnt that you liked your meat.
In Buhera, you expressed satisfaction with how the reburial programme was going on even under difficult circumstances.
Tendai Biti was the Minister of Finance and Economic Development then, but instead of getting angry with him for not releasing enough funds to support your programme at the Fallen Heroes Trust of Zimbabwe, you felt sorry for him.
You were calm as you expressed your exasperation over the former MDC-T secretary-general’s failure to understand and appreciate the role of the liberation struggle.
You felt it was the fault of liberation fighters that many Zimbabweans, especially those in the opposition, had little or no appreciation of the liberation struggle.
I argued that they had knowledge of the struggle but the politics they pursued did not resonate with the same.
You threw your hands in the air and leafed through your astonishment with these comforting word:
“If they reset their history, then we will deliver our true history to those who feel comfortable associating with that compelling past.”
And you never relented in your pursuit to deliver and remind progressive hearts and minds of our history which is the gateway to the future and the fight against imperialism and white supremacy.
You were unflinching in your stance when it came to matters of sovereignty.
We were to meet again in Chinhoyi the following year but each time you came to our offices you always wanted the goat that I promised you.
It saddens me that I never fulfilled that promise.
My apologies Cde.
In another life, in another time!
So there we were, seated in that thatched bar, that night in December 2013 in Chinhoyi with the late Alexander Kanengoni, Fidelis Manyange, Knowledge Teya and Dhingimuzi Phuti, discussing this and that.
It was over drinks of course.
For you it was your beloved Golden Pilsner and your bute (snuff) which you offered me not once but countless times.
You insisted that it was a good brand and that it was good for the mind.
You offered all of us that bute brand.
That is the good man that you were Cde Rutanhire.
One issue that you kept referring to that night in Chinhoyi was that of the bullet that was stuck in your hip.
You kept on talking about the excruciating pain that constantly visited you as a result of that repugnant bullet.
Indeed, as the night wore away, the pain of the bullet was evident as you winced in pain at regular intervals.
I could tell it wreaked havoc not just in your bodily ligaments but those of your heart as well; it reminded you of that horrible and painful era.
There are many like you Cde Rutanhire who bear the pain wrought by the brutality of the struggle for independence.
You kept on going even in the midst of that visible pain, that hidden agony which you suffocated with your war stories and that determination to give meaning to the struggle.
There are many from the struggle who could not live to tell the horrors of the war to my generation, the ‘lost generation’.
But you were a rare breed that stood out and told that story with relative ease.
The pain you felt that night at the bar, I felt when news of your demise filtered through.
I write to you as if you have just taken a short break and will return soon to continue, undeterred by the pain of that invisible bullet, with that enthralling narrative of yours.
The story as you said that night, was not your story.
It was the current and future generation’s narrative.
You travelled the length and breadth of the country, digging up your fellow comrades who were killed in the bush by the enemy and gave them a decent burial.
Rest in peace Cde!
Let those with ears listen.