SAUSO broke the news one evening when we were in Madetere/St Faith’s.

He just said, “Robert died a few weeks ago.”

He did not add anything more.

He simply gazed into the fire and his silence said it all.

Our minds wondered into alleys and pathways that we crisscrossed in the Mawango Range with Robert Ndlovu.

Memories converged and diverged as they retraced the glorious days on that section of devoted fighters under the command of one of the best commanders ever to come out of Makoni Detachment.

We were the only cadres in this new unit who shared this past, a past which no narrative could ever capture.

After all, the business of shooting the enemy was still far from over.

There was no time for grief, even less for reflection.

There was no one else to share our grief with.

Most of the men he had opened up the sector with way back in Honde Valley were long dead.

This will include comrades such as ‘Jet’, ‘Hungry’, ‘Leopard’, ‘Paradzai’, ‘Bvunzawabaya’ and many many more.

Our last respects were always in the simple line, “Pamberi nehondo!

“Pamberi neChimurenga!”

Every bullet we fired was a gun salute to fallen heroes, Robert had joined the ranks of these revered men and women of our struggle.

Robert was one of the last survivors of that cutting edge — the front force that opened up Tangwena Sector of Manica province in 1976.

They carried out valuable reconnaissance, identifying routes and mobilising the Povo.

When bigger units followed the routes, bases and targets had been identified and operations were carried out.

I have never been able to weave a clear chronology of events surrounding his death … everyone has bits and pieces, but many of these narrators are no longer around as well.

Except for ‘Patts Zvenyika’ and ‘Mudzengere’, I do not know who else was on the battlefield as he went down.

One definite thing is clear, he went down in action, fighting and not in flight.

It is said in his excitement at the height of battle, he rose to his feet and the bullets caught him in the chest almost like Fearless in Pepetela’s Mayombe who fell leading an assault.

He went down leading his men in action.

It is said mabhunu were driving through Mawango village one afternoon.

It is not clear whether they were coming in or were leaving.

I can still see the image of Robert in low position, at full speed leading his comrades to the ambush.

I can imagine the hurried deployment as vehicles were approaching … I went through this with him many times.

Then opening staccato burst: The brief silence then all hell is let loose.

Petts Zvenyika was there, he never said much except that there was an exchange of gunfire in the setting sun.

After much action, they retreated under heavy fire.

They did not know Robert was left lying there, never to rise again.

July Chimurenga and Mudzengere were also there, but I never got their side of the story.

It is said some villagers saw Robert’s defaced body in an army camp in Rusape.

It is said someone cut off his lips and ears.

Why anyone would do this I still wonder.

This is the madness of war … never clean, never fair, brutal and callous despite all Red Cross conventions. This chilling reality that has never been mentioned about the Rhodesians.

Robert lies somewhere near Rusape, maybe ‘paButcher’ or in some mass grave somewhere.

I wish I could locate him and give him a decent burial.

That is the only honour I can give.

Robert left us a legacy, every army, regular or irregular has its elite unit, a crack force, a cutting edge that opens up the new spaces, do the unthinkable and the impossible.

Such was Robert’s unit.

He went deep into enemy territory on missions that many recoiled from as suicidal.

It gave us character and a sense of purpose.

The perpetual danger of an enemy who was always a stone’s throw away kept us on our feet and action was second nature to us.

That became the glue that kept us together, we became a band of brothers more than shamwari dzeropa — we were siblings and Robert was the eldest brother; a Rueben.

He had such a profound influence on us and we carried the character of that unit wherever we went and we retained traces of Mawango long after the guns fell silent in 1980.

He bequeathed us wisdom, courage, determination, a sense of discipline that can see us through any adversity.

In his mild manners, Robert gave us character that we have taken well into our civil lives.

It is from such remarkable characters that one gets bottomless barrels of resilience … a never-say-die attitude, limitless determination and endless hope and persistence in the midst of aridity.

I write these lines in the ambience and serenity of the University of Cape Town, in another time and another place.

But the image of Robert remains clearly etched timelessly in my mind.

I see in his spirit a Nguni warrior (after all Nguni blood ran in his veins).

My permanent image of Robert Ndlovu is the low crouch in a burst of speed running to engage the enemy.

This is not a unique narrative.

Every detachment, sector, province has a vast collection of such stories; they must be told for posterity. There are numerous similar stories of great men who died fighting for us to cast that precious ballot.

They lie in the bosoms of many, remain untold.

It is sad many will go away with this valuable heritage that our children should know and hold dear as they rap and globalise.

This narrative is my salaam yamwisho (My last salute).

This is my salaam yamwisho to Robert and all the others who died for us to live.

Heroes who never made it to Zimbabwe.

Kwaheri Afande!

Lookout for next week’s story of a guerrilla leader called ‘Action Moyo’.