I was not drinking, but Baba VaTata, Rasta and Fatso were drinking steadily. I was not feeling well and my doctor had advised me to leave the wise waters alone for the time being.
“Who was that girl I saw you with?” Said Baba VaTata as he looked at Rasta.
“That was Vimbai, Mukorogodo’s daughter,” said Rasta.
“In that case, stay away from her, if Mukorogodo gets wind of it, he will roast you alive,” said Baba VaTata. Rasta just laughed laconically.
I think Baba VaTata was really right. Mukorogodo was overprotective of his daughters and he had three of them. He always declared that his daughters must have sound education before thinking of marriage. When his oldest daughter Moreen eloped while she was at university he had been smitten.
On the other table was Comrade Mobiliser. Someone was buying him beer and he did not see any need to join us. Comrade Mobiliser, a veteran of the liberation struggle was a regular at Zororo Bar and he told harrowing tales of death at the battle front to anyone who cared to listen. In more ways than one, that’s how he got sympathy and free beers.
I observed another war veteran, Comrade My Mission who sat near the loudspeakers. I always wondered about his name. He was a queer one and he was not like the other war veterans who frequented the bar. He always dressed smart mostly in a black or navy blue suit. He always sat apart from the others and hardly tried to befriend anyone.
Comrade Mobiliser had at one time told us to keep our distance from Comrade My Mission.
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The story was that his battalion had been ambushed and wiped off except himself. He was captured by the Selous Scouts. No one really knew what happened after he was captured by the Selous Scouts. There were conspiracy theories though that Comrade My Mission had turned rogue and betrayed his fellow comrades.
He joined the ranks of the Rhodesian army and provided the enemy with vital information like the deployment of liberation fighters from Mozambique and their areas of operation and how they got their ammunition. There were many others like Comrade My Mission who betrayed the struggle and caused the death of many comrades.
At the end of the liberation struggle, quite a number of sellouts turned up at the demobilisation camps and claimed their place in the history of the armed struggle. They had blood on their hands and some of them never found peace.
Comrade My Mission seemed to be a victim of Post -Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), a psychiatric condition that arises from combat experiences after exposure to traumatic events such as combat experiences and is characterised by re-experiencing the trauma.
Comrade My Mission faced challenges like experiencing social isolation, difficulty reintegrating into civilian life and had flashbacks, anxiety and depression caused likely by the demise of his fellow comrades.
At one time, Comrade Mobiliser whispered to me, “that one, he is a dead man walking, he has no peace, leave him alone,” he had said pointing at Comrade My Mission.
When I looked at the latter, I could see a man who was struggling with his inner self, all the dressing up was a mask. All was not well with him. His self- isolation was not normal, but pointed to inner turmoil. It was only a matter of time, the bubble would burst.
- Onie Ndoro is a an IELTS tutor, ghostwriter and storyteller. For feedback: X@Onie90396982/email:[email protected] 0773007173
