The story of Francesca Chigutro, alias Cde Tauya muZimbabwe 

IN March 1975, I made the bold decision to join the liberation struggle. 

I was 15 years old and had just enrolled for Form One at Mavhuradonha Secondary School in Mt Darwin. 

On March 9, the school, for the first in its history, received strange visitors, vanamukoma. 

We were summoned to a base, about a kilometre from the school, where we, along with villagers from the surrounding areas, received political orientation. Early in the morning, the following day, a convoy of three Rhodesian army vehicles arrived at our school. We were summoned to the school hall. 

A sellout had informed the Rhodies about the previous night’s pungwe. Fourteen senior boys were apprehended and taken to a military base in St Albert’s Mission. It was on that fateful day — March 10 — that I started my journey to liberate my homeland from the shackles of colonialism. 

This journey was made possible by Cdes Akim Gadzikwa, Pedzi Marikita and Everisto Nhamo, who came to our school in the middle of the night and escorted us to Mozambique. 

I was just one in a group of 30 students which included the likes of Theresa Ngwenya, Tobias Kadyakake, Maria Pachanja, Justine Chinhanga and Tichafa Ngwenya. 

It took us four days to get to our destination because we only travelled during the night and rested under cover during the day to avoid being intercepted by the Rhodesian security forces. 

On crossing the border, we were met by two comrades who led us to a FRELIMO base. From there we were taken to Kambototo Base, which was under the charge of Cde Mhaka, a ZANLA commander. 

I was at Kambototo Base for two weeks before I was transferred to Itubi Base on the banks of the Zambezi River. 

There, I joined a group of ZANLA recruits en route to Tanzania for military training. 

We received our military training at Nachingwea before I was deployed to Tete, a ZANLA war province where I was assigned as secretary to Cde Sheba Gava, the then provincial commander. Then came the Tembwe attack of June 1977, whose horror memories will live with me for the rest of my life. 

I woke up with this omnious feeling that something terrible was going to happen. My fears were confirmed when a fish eagle (hungwe in Shona) flew past the base, emitting a strange cry. 

In traditional folklore, the fish eagle was considered to be a messenger of joy or sorrow, depending on its cry. 

An hour later, a spotter plane or ‘alumanya’ in the local vernacular flew over Base One. 

It was at this base that recruits were interrogated and received their initial training before they were taken to Base Two, which served as a transit to the war front. 

The sight of the spotter planes was a sign of impending doom as their sudden appearance in the sky was usually followed by an air raid. 

About 20 minutes later, the sky was filled with helicopters dropping paratroopers on the eastern side of the camp. 

The helicopters were immediately followed by Hawks and Mirage jet bombers. 

In the blink of an eye, the whole sky was filled with these ugly killing machines. 

If my memory serves me right, the first bomb fell at exactly 7am. But as fate would have it, I lived to tell the tale. 

This was because I had left the camp with a contingent of 20 girls and 10 boys — all recruits — to collect materials about 10km away for the construction of more grass-thatched barracks. 

This is probably what saved my life and those of my colleagues. 

We helplessly watched the slaughter from the distance. 

We could not render assistance as we were unarmed. However, we made a strategic retreat in the direction of nearby villages where we sought refuge. 

The bombing lasted the better part of four days, reducing the camp to a virtual rubble. There were very few survivors. 

When relative calm returned after about 10 days, we went back to our rendezvous point on Chari Mountain. 

Here, an agreement was reached to go back to the devastated camp to facilitate the burial of our fallen comrades and to assist the injured in any way possible. 

On return to camp, or whatever remained of it, we found hundreds of vultures feasting on the dead. 

We managed to dig shallow graves with hoes before the arrival of a bulldozer from Tete. 

On July 8 1977, the bulldozer completed the job by digging three mass graves where we buried more than 3 000 ZANLA recruits. 

I will never forget that heinous attack because I lost six of my former schoolmates. To date, I find it difficult to tell their parents how their children perished as they are still trying to get closure. 

Compiled by Emergencey Mwale-Kamtande