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Wounds of Chimurenga

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By Stanley Kusha Mupfeki

BROTHER JOB brought home my letter from the Council Office and read it to mother and father who were in the kitchen. I was pleading for pocket money.

Despite my mother complaining that I was careless with money, father agreed to send me some, and, luckily, Job had a stamped envelope to use.  

“I can post him the money tomorrow,” Job said.

I am told father handed Job a two-dollar note and replied to my letter.  

He put the letter and money in the envelope, sealed and addressed it to me.  

When Job was going out, alas, a young white Rhodesian soldier stood before him.

“Hey, what’s your name?” the soldier asked.

“Job,” replied my brother.

“Where are the ‘terrorists’ (freedom fighters/vanamukoma)?” asked the Rhodie.  

“I know nothing about them,” said Job.  

“If ever you see them anywhere, come and tell us at Madziwa Base Camp and you will get a handsome reward,” said the white soldier.

Job was still holding his envelope.  

The setting sun blinded him, so he shielded his eyes with his hand trying to figure out the track of the young soldier.  

He suddenly heard a sharp whistling from the bushes and a dozen armed men advanced towards our home, guns pointed at  him.

“Hey, why did you continue looking at me like that?” asked the white soldier.  

“You are a terrorist collaborator and under arrest.  

“Give me that envelope.”

Job handed him the envelope which he tore open. 

“Aha! You are sending this money to terrorists,” said the soldier.

“It’s my young brother’s letter and money,” explained Job.  

“He is at Mavuradonha Mission School.”

“Ooh! That place in the north most part of Rhodesia?” exclaimed the soldier.

“I know that place, there are terrorists there.  

“We are taking you to the camp.  

“Officers, take him along.”

Job never got the letter and money back.

Father and mother were dumbfounded.

At the camp, Job was startled by a report he was given to read and sign.

“Job Nyahunzvi, age 20 years, was found with a letter with money, addressed to terrorists. He followed us for two kilometres in the bush, trying to locate our destination. We concluded he is a terrorist collaborator, so we have arrested him,” read the report.  

“I didn’t follow anyone,” Job said but his interrogator believed the written statement. 

Job slept in custody and on an empty stomach that day.

The next day, eight Rhodesian soldiers were deployed to our house to do a thorough search for anything ‘terrorism-related’.

Father and mother could not believe the case levelled against their son.  

During the search, one soldier saw a knife labelled ‘AFRICA’ on its handle.

“Aha!, here we are officers,” said the white soldier.  

“Look at this knife.  

“It’s clear evidence of terrorist activities by this old man.  

“There is no doubt he got it from some African country supporting terrorism in our peaceful country.  

“Old man, you support terrorists just like your son.  

“Where did you get this dangerous weapon?”

“I bought it from G.G. Store at Madziwa Township,” said my father Nyahunzvi.  

“The storekeeper who sold it to me is still there.”

“The storekeeper will be your witness, let’s go to that store,” said the white soldier.  

My father was driven to the store of reference, where Negomo the storekeeper flatly refused to have ever sold such knives.  

The development left my father accused of collaborating with ‘terrorists’.

At the camp, father found Job with a swollen back, having been tortured by Rhodies for ‘assisting terrorists’.

“Old man, your son goes home and we are taking you and your AFRICA knife to Bindura where you will tell nothing but the truth,” the soldier, saluted as ‘captain’, who presided over the case, said.

My father was taken to Bindura in an armoured truck, handcuffed.  

In the interrogation room, he maintained his position that he bought the knife from G.G. Store at Madziwa Township.  

He was tortured, but stuck to his word.   

He was later led to the Charge Office where he received the ‘good news’ from a senior officer.

“Nyahunzvi, you are lucky,” he said. 

“The manager of G.G. Stores confirmed they had such knives in stock three-or-so years ago which they ordered from South Africa.  

“He showed us one such knife.  

“You are a free man now.  

“Guard against supporting the terrorists.”

My father thanked the officer for virtually no reason.  

The Rhodesian security forces had tortured him and his son for absolutely nothing.  

He headed back home.

My mother could not believe her eyes when she looked at father’s swollen body.  

He and Job had received the wounds of Chimurenga. 

She quickly heated water to administer to his wounds.  

The following day, my brother Job left for Mazowe Mine where our elder brother Tagura worked.

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