HomeOld_PostsEarly days at Pasichigare

Early days at Pasichigare

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IT was June 1978 and I had just arrived from Botswana via Zambia. 

My last stop before Pasichigare was Gondola where schoolchildren who had survived the Chimoio massacre had been relocated. 

Before I could put up at Gondola, I was taken to Pasichigare Camp that very day, late at night, a camp located in the Mudzingadzi area near Chimoio.

It was in the dead of the night when I arrived at Pasichigare.

As soon as I arrived at the camp, a female comrade was called out of her barrack and given instructions to find me a place to sleep. 

I was given no instructions and in time, I realised that I had arrived where I was supposed to be for some time at least. 

As time went on, I began to realise that during war times, no-one was stationed anywhere permanently.

We were constantly mobile, being assigned to various missions as the need arose, at the front, at the rear or abroad. 

The female comrade found me a wooden bunker in her barrack. 

That was my first night at Pasichigare and the beginning of my days in the liberation struggle. 

I was more than excited. 

My dream had come true and I felt deepest peace within myself.

Morning commenced at 4am. 

We would sing on our way to the river for the first bath of the day:

“Ndiro gidi vasikana

Richatonga muZimbabwe

Richatonga nyika yedu,

Nyika yedu yeZimbabwe!”

In those morning hours, we took care not to disturb the stillness, not to drive the morning mist away too hastily. 

Our singing blended with the morning bliss.

The river water would be ‘smoking,’ I had never experienced such my whole life, and the temperature was not too harsh to the body. 

The water was almost lukewarm.

There were some rocks in the river where we could anchor ourselves. 

For some reason I was not afraid of crocodiles, no-one talked about them. 

We would still sing on our way back to the camp. 

This was our permanent accompaniment and it always made us feel so joyful and peaceful.

“Nyika yedu yeZimbabwe

Ndimo matakazvarirwa

Vana mai nababa ndimo mavari

Tinoda Zimbabwe neupfumi hwayo hwose

Simuka Zimbabwe!”

I learned this song on one of our morning trips to the river. 

It captivated my heart, it said it all, the cause and cost of the armed struggle.

The songs were our ever-present commissar, constantly reminding us of the cause of our being in the liberation struggle.

There is something inexplicable about the days in the liberation war. 

Despite the vicissitudes, our morale was very high at most times and we were at peace. 

We knew we could be attacked anytime, but that was external. Internally, we were very much at peace and joyful.

From the river we would go for the morning parade. 

There we would sing more revolutionary songs, there would be announcements and we would be assigned duties for the day.

In these early days I was not assigned to any department, nor was I given any duties. 

It was a special time for me nevertheless.

I discovered as well as learned so many things from different comrades about life in the liberation struggle. 

One of my favourite places to visit was the guarding post up on the hill, manned by some very young comrades (compared to my age then). 

I asked them about the guns they had. 

I was fascinated by the lancer, though seemingly so small it is a rocket which explodes on impact. 

I also learned about the Chinese motor bomb, and the anti-aircraft guns.

But what touched me the most were the comrades manning this post. 

They were so young that I was humbled. 

I thought to myself, ‘these are youngsters who have not known any other life but the struggle’. 

I was older and had spent some time at university. 

I had worked for a short while, but these young comrades had been at secondary school before they left for the war. 

They had never had a ‘life’ so to speak. 

But here they were, so totally full of life.

They were very much content and at peace. 

I was full of admiration for their depth of love and commitment to free their country.

I spent some time at the library where I borrowed many revolutionary books. 

I remember reading about Ho Chi Min, the leader of the Vietnamese struggle, his days in prison and how he survived those trying times. 

I would take out the books and read them by the hillside.

Evenings were the best times. 

After the evening parade and supper, we would sit by the fireside and talk about everything.

It was a  special time. 

We felt so close to each other, like we had known each other all our lives and would be together for the rest of our lives. 

The comrades always warned me not to put my feet too close to the fire in case they might get infested with jigger fleas. 

I believed my compatriots but I could not figure out how jigger fleas would get to my feet which were safely ensconced in sneakers. 

Up to now I don’t know how but they did. 

Within a few days my soles began itching and the comrades advised that I get the fleas out before they lay eggs for that could lead to deformation of the foot especially the toes. 

They removed them before they could infest my soles with their eggs.

The evening conversations by the fireside were spirited and could go on and on. 

On a particular night, a discussion developed about males and females, the usual tug of war. 

We went on and on, each side defending themselves to the hilt. 

When it seemed the conversation could never come to a resolution, I asked the young men if they would fight the war in the absence of the women.

There was an instantaneous, ‘No’ from all the male comrades present. 

They spoke as one, and we rested our case.

The struggle was harsh. 

In my one month stay at Pasichigare, I had an encounter which broke me deep inside. 

It was one morning and I was at the fire at the guzunya (the kitchen) when a truck pulled in and parked nearby. 

It was full of young male comrades. 

What shocked me the most was how emaciated they were, their skin was grey and they were so thin. 

I was hurt. 

I asked a comrade who was standing nearby: “How come?” He explained that they had just completed their training and had come to recoup before they were deployed to the front, after sufficient food and rest. 

It was a disturbing experience.

Such were my early days at Pasichigare.

By the end of one month, unbeknown to me, a decision had already been taken that I should be assigned to the Education and Culture Department. 

I was taken to Gondola, where the department was headquartered and I was to work in the research department. The month at Pasichigare had given me an opportunity to familarise with the liberation struggle. 

In fact, I can say it was my orientation.

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