By Nyasha Majoni

IMAGINE this: It is on a chilly Sunday night in 1976 and there you are, enjoying your sleep wrapped in your not-so-warm blankets sourced from a philanthropic relative working for some whiteman in town.
But within a few moments, that deep sleep is broken by roaring guns razing and devouring the homestead where you and your poor little black children are sheltered.
You know you are the underprivileged native and your wife, that pitiable mhai of your family is still sleeping owing to, perhaps, a laborious day in one baas Charles’ farm where she is vulnerable to all sorts of abuse and squalour.
As has always been the norm, you quickly awaken your family and they all understand what that means because there is a war going on.
The war is raging and the settler-regime’s soldiers are back in the countryside searching for vanamukoma and you know sooner rather-than-later, the entire village will be summoned and forced to spy on the freedom fighters.
That is after a number of us have received a thorough hiding for supporting the fighters.
The unfortunate ones are taken for continued torture. Lucky are those who return, never mind that they have lost a limb or their minds, at least they return.
Some we never get to see.
They are only discovered years later in some disused mine shaft.
The settler-regime’s soldiers want you to confess that you know where the freedom fighters are camped and that you have been feeding them.
You are forced to tell them where the bases are, but this is against your conscience.
The unfortunate victims are shot in broad daylight and some are burnt to death in those African huts that are as dilapidated as your wretched lives in your village found in some tsetse-infested outpost.
This other week, news filtered that Cde Vurayayi Mabhunu was finally captured and fear grips the entire village.
War is ugly and death is no stranger in typical war situations.
You dreadfully lie that you never saw the freedom fighters and the Ian Smith regime is contemplating purging all the elements that are in diametric opposition to the minority government.
You know many have died and many more will die in the trenches.
But you still have hope because this other day, you listened to Radio Maputo and heard blacks are winning the war against the colonisers who wanted to rule for a thousand more years!
The war continued and many lives were lost.
The seemingly unrealistic dream would one day come because there was hope and sacrifice for its attainment.
Innocent people were killed and many lives were lost, but the war was won.
Independence was achieved.
Zimbabwe was birthed and we could not wait for Ian Douglas Smith’s ‘thousand years’ to claim our land.
Through the priceless sacrifices of the sons and daughters of this our blessed motherland the freedom we all sought was achieved.
Fast forward to April 18 1980 and the Union Jack is lowered while the new Zimbabwean flag, emblazoned with colours that represent peace, black majority rule, our mineral wealth and heritage, is raised.
On Monday and Tuesday next week, Zimbabweans from across the political divide will join hands in honouring the gallant fighters, dead and living, during the Heroes’ and Defence Forces commemorations.
It is, without any shred of doubt, an important day on our calendar.
It is that time of the year that we take time to reflect on the sacrifices that were made by the gallant sons and daughters of this nation to give Zimbabwe back to the Zimbabweans.
The war was fought because the people wanted their freedom.
They wanted their freedom and their freedom was the land.
Yes, their land, for which they risked life and limb in the trenches until independence was finally achieved, it is the land we proudly call ours today.
Heroes and heroines deserve to be honoured.
War was ugly; it was brutal.
Thank you ZANLA.
Thank you ZIPRA.
Thank you all ex-combatants, mujibhas, chimbwidos and political detainees who sacrificed their lives for us, you cared for the unborn, for the future.
We salute you!