THE brutal murder of my grandfather, Nhamo Kufakwatenzi, by Rhodesian soldiers who terrorised villagers in Mutsamba, Honde Valley, in Chief Ngwende’s area and the impact of political orientation aired on Radio Maputo led me to join the armed liberation struggle at the tender age of 16.

It is now 47 years since the murder of my grandfather, but the flashbacks of that brutal murder still haunt me to this day. On that fateful day, I woke up around 4.00am to go to Chimboza shop, about 10 kilometres away from our home. There I was supposed to collect a parcel meant for the freedom fighters. On returning home, I was shocked to find fellow villagers gathered under the mango tree at our homestead. I was struck with fear when I saw saw several Rhodesian military trucks parked and soldiers milling around the yard, armed to the teeth. The parcel I was carrying included jeans and tennis shoes for Zimbabwe’s gallant freedom fighters.

To be caught with such items was a death warrant. Fortunately, I managed to hide the bag before detection and proceeded to the gathering. A sellout had informed the Rhodies about my grandfather’s collaboration with the freedom fighters. Every struggle has its sellouts who make a living by selling information to the enemy. During the liberation struggle, we had our fair share of sell-outs who passed on sensitive information to the Rhodies in return for such luxuries as tinned beef and beer, including hard cash. As the village head, my grandfather was responsible for mobilising the collection of food from the villagers as well as providing some of the food which was cooked at our homestead. This is why he was betrayed.

On arrival, a member of the notorious Rhodesian African Rifles (RAR) was addressing the gathering whilst my grandfather was sitting in the middle of the gathering with his hands tied to his back. There was dead silence as the black Rhodesian soldier started addressing the villagers. In his address, the African sellout told us that white settlers were angels sent from heaven to save us from ‘African paganism’. What hurt me most was the fact that the African soldier, who was serving the enemy, had no kind words for the freedom fighters and villagers who supported the liberation struggle.

He made no secret of the fact that he was prepared to kill anyone who resisted settler-colonial rule which brought ‘civilisation’ to this country. To instill even more fear into his audience, the RAR soldier warned that anyone caught working with the ‘terrorists’ (freedom fighters) should be prepared to face the consequences. And, as if to prove his point, he handed my father a whip with which he was supposed to beat my grandfather. He had no choice because there were eight soldiers pointing rifles at him. I could see the distress in my father’s face as he whipped his own father. I was seething with rage, but there was nothing I could do to save my grandfather and my father from this sacrilege.

A short while later, a white Rhodie seized the whip from my father and started beating both him and grandfather before he left them for dead and bleeding all over. After my grandfather succumbed to the savage beating, my uncle and aunt were forced to dig a grave for him. The leader of the Rhodies, one called Ray, used his bayonet to slash my grandfather’s belly open. The old man groaned in anguish as he breathed his last.

My father was forced to bury my grandfather next to his kitchen hut whilst his fellow villagers watched helplessly. The villagers were forced to disperse soon after burial and I rushed to Gwiriri Mountain, which was used as a base by the following freedom fighters — Cde Shasha yeZimbabwe, Cde Tanga Neropa, Cde Teppie Makanda, Cde Chenjerai Muhondo, Cde Garande, Cde Ichauya Zimbabwe, Cde Steady Chimurenga and Cde Tauya MuZimbabwe.

There, I told Cde Chenjerai Muhondo of my decision to join the liberation struggle in retaliation for the torture of my father and grandfather’s brutal killing. I vowed to kill as many African Rhodesian soldiers as I could, pegging the figure at a minimum of 1 000. Cde Chenjerai Mabhunu asked me to stay at the base for three days while waiting for a group of students from St Augustine’s Mission in Penhalonga en route to Mozambique for military training. That was the day I left home for Mozambique to join the struggle for Zimbabwe’s independence, which eventually came on April 18, 1980.