The story of Sylvester Mutyavaviri

MY name is Sylvester Mutyavaviri. 

By 1977, the liberation struggle had reached its peak and was spreading like a veld fire throughout most parts of the country.

I lived in Zvimba, Mashonaland West Province. 

Our area had not been visited by the war, but by early 1977, ZIPRA forces had started to appear. 

The Rhodesians, at this stage of the war, were desperate to contain the resistance which was intensifying by the day, thus they orchestrated and perpetrated some of the most heinous acts in order to suppress the resistance which had made their operations and lives miserable.

I was only 12 at that time, but the level of cruelty and brutality displayed by the Rhodesians was deeply etched in my psyche to the extent the memories remain fresh to this day. 

The Rhodies were aware that the success of the guerillas was hinged on the support from the villagers.

In a bid to thwart and remove the support they established what they called ‘Protected Villages’ commonly referred to as the ‘Keeps’. 

Ours was called Gangarahwe Keep.

This was a large complex made up of many small huts built near the District Administrator’s office at Murombedzi Growth Point.

The Rhodesians were convinced this set-up would separate the villagers from the freedom fighters.

Take out the fish from the water, so to say.

Everyone was supposed to be in the ‘Keep’ by 3pm and would only go out in the morning.

It was heavily guarded — not for our protection, but to ensure no-one got out with provisions, such as food, medication  and clothing, for the freedom fighters.

Violation of ‘Keep’ rules could mean instant death.

I recall an incident in March 1977 when my uncle Makwiramiti was visited by his nephews from Bulawayo.

They arrived at around 5pm. 

The boys went to the residence they knew, which was outside the ‘Keep’, and on finding everyone absent at the house, since they had gone to the ‘Protected Village’, they decided to make themselves comfortable in the house.

Now, black Rhodesian soldiers would scout the villages at night, house-by-house in search of anyone breaking the new law. 

They would be heavily armed with guns and powerful flashlights which they used to scan the houses through the windows. 

They got to my uncle’s house and when they peered inside, they noticed human presence.

Needing no explanation, they immediately tied the door from outside and set the thatched hut on fire. 

All the boys inside were burnt beyond recognition as no one was around to assist them — no-one would have dared to anyway.

We only arrived in the morning to discover the heart-breaking incident. 

The sight of charred bodies and the putrid smell of burnt human flesh is still vivid in my mind. 

The whole village was traumatised.

The matter was reported to the police but to no use since the Rhodesian police force only served the interests of the whites, not the masses.

A few days after the horrific event, another man, Chakadonha Gweshe, was murdered in cold blood for being outside the ‘Keep’ during curfew hours.

Chakadonha had been at a bira, where one drink led to another to the extent he failed to get to the Protected Village on time.

Though we advised him not to go back to his house but seek refuge elsewhere to spend the night, he insisted on going to his place.

And the guy loved singing when he was drunk!

We are sure the Rhodies heard him singing as he headed home.

I’m not sure of the circumstances leading to his death but he was found lying lifeless on his bed, with multiple bullet wounds. 

Also found were six bullet shells on the ground below the window. 

We suspect that’s where the shooter stood as he killed the fellow whose only crime was having had one too many.

Compiled by Tawanda Kapfidze