It is afternoon of Sunday December 27, 2015 as I wander to the rendezvous point. Being a Sunday, the reading of the day had been on the parable of the shrewd manager. It makes one very thirsty, for it paints the picture of corruption that is obtaining in Zimbabwe in both the public and private sectors.
Tapiwa Nyandoro
Two limousines parked outside betray the presence of two well-heeled gentlemen already inside. Greetings are exchanged as I wait for my friend. Upon entering, as is the norm, he sets the ball rolling by asking what I thought of that day’s press.
I narrate a rather unusual columnist’s lamentations in the broadsheet weekly as having disturbed my peace. He complained of his political party’s divisions. According to him factionalism was putting the mooted Aliko Dangote projects, the Chinese mega deals and the Yuan’s introduction as part of the multi-currency domestic currency in Zimbabwe into jeopardy.
The columnist added innuendo to the cloak-and-dagger activities in his party, by threatening to name those shrewd cadres holding midnight meetings discussing presidential succession plots. I opine the fact that the columnist should have named the culprits, or at least explained why his party is not reporting to the police what could be potential economic saboteurs.
The discussion attracts the quiet well-heeled gentlemen, one of whom whirls around, demanding to know what I “thought of this ‘animal’ called the War Veteran”. Well, here was an opportunity I would not miss, for I believe the war of liberation veterans have been portrayed and profiled wrongly to the public. I had been itching to tell their story to whoever would care to listen, and now an opportunity had presented itself.
There is Baba Tazi, a realtor and a gentleman in his early 60s. Always ready to share a joke, Norman never boasts of his war-time exploits. Now a pastor in the Salvation Army, he is a committed Christian. His beautiful wife, with whom he has raised a family, now graduating from colleges, is always dutifully by his side.
There is Elasto, Joe, Knox and Alex, all ex-Fletcher High School and reading pharmacy in 1978, now in their late fifties. Together with other UR (University of Rhodesia) students from other disciplines, they left for the war, leaving behind the then considerable comfort of the University of Rhodesia. Joe, Alex, and Elasto came back. Alex and Elasto resumed their studies at a liberated University of Zimbabwe. Alex graduated top of his class in pharmacy. A fitness fanatic and father of two graduates, many a client wouldn’t know they are consulting a real war veteran at his pharmacy in Highfield. All they see is a friendly grey-haired professional.
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Elasto switched disciplines to graduate with a bachelor of accountancy degree. Hearing a beautiful voice on ZBC’s Radio 2, he phoned the announcer, proposing to marry her, without ever having seen her, which he duly did. More than 30 years later they are dedicated passionate Seventh Day Adventists. In between, he rose to a high rank in the Air Force and later served as a commissioner in the Zimbabwe Anti-corruption Commission, both jobs at the President’s pleasure.
Trauma, however, seemed to have taken its toll on Joe. Quiet before he went to war, he was quieter after it. And he would not look you in the eye. As for Knox, the lecture-theatre jester; he did not come back. Just like Ephraim, who left in 1976 for the war soon after “O” Level at Mufakose High School, Knox has not come back.
There are many others of course, who left the UR for the war. Some, like Judge Charles, who has recently invited the media and the public to exercise its democratic right (which he fought for) to openly critique judgments, sits on the High Court Bench.
And then there was Solo. A trained Zanla medic, he underwent a further training after the war to become a pharmacy technician. Highly respectful to a point of fault, never angry and always smiling, the Zanla cadre joined Mpilo Hospital in 1982 to give excellent service to the Ministry of Health. In his sixties now, he may still be doing the same at Chipinge District Hospital in his home area.
The story would not have been complete without describing my first sight of a Zanla combatant in military fatigues. In the December holidays of 1979, Maud had stayed on campus doing a holiday job. As Cupid could have it, Zororo had flown in from Mozambique, after the ceasefire that led to independence. His forward detachment of the Zanla General Staff was to be housed at the Audio Visual Unit, adjacent the Medical School’s pre-clinical departments. Zororo had spied, with his little eye, a beautiful damsel across the fence. Not daunted by the Rhodesian army’s Ferret armoured car stationed at the corner of Churchill and Second Street extension pretending to guard the General Staff, and yet its massive gun pointing directly at the Audio Visual Unit, the two became an issue.
When the Medical School opened in January 1980, the lady relocated to the Medical School Residence at Parirenyatwa’s Group of Hospital. And that is how the bearded guerrilla, now resting at the Heroes Acre, found himself visiting the Residence to the surprise of mostly white medical and pharmacy students.
It was time for the black students to sing “love is in the air”, a popular song then, that some few white students, to the horror of the rest, had sung when the Rhodesian Airforce had bombed refugee and Zipra bases in Zambia.
And after that narration, it was time for the questioner to share his own experience. His story was history; a “soldier’s story”.
Tapiwa Nyandoro can be contacted on [email protected] or [email protected]
