THE Second Chimurenga was a protracted guerrilla war (1966-1979) that put paid to white-minority rule in Rhodesia, ushering in an independent Zimbabwe on April 19, 1980. The 13-year-long gruesome military confrontation was a collaborated effort of the majority of marginalised blacks who had borne the brunt of racism for far too long. The young and energetic Africans from urban townships, mainly in the capital Salisbury (Harare) and Makokoba in Bulawayo, were greatly influenced by the nationalist leaders whose operations were launched from the political hotbed of Highfield to leave school and join the liberation struggle.

There was also mass exodus of schoolchildren swapping their pens for the AK47 in the rural areas, mainly from boarding schools around the country, especially those in Manicaland, Mashonaland Central and Mashonaland East provinces due to their proximity to the Mozambican boarder. Although thousands of these young boys and girls perished at the hands of the enemy in barbaric attacks such as Nyadzonia, Chimoio, Tembue in Mozambique as well as Freedom and Mkushi camps in Zambia where the enemy pounced on the unsuspecting recruits and refugees, they were not deterred.

These massacres, instead of instilling fear into the would-be guerrillas, actually fired their zeal. But let it be said that the Zimbabwean liberation struggle was supported by many progressive forces around the world. Military weaponry, training and logistical support were provided by countries like Mozambique, Tanzania, Russia, China and Yugoslavia, among many others. On the war front, logistical support for the freedom fighters was the responsibility of the masses. For this to succeed, the masses had to be schooled on the aims and objectives of the struggle. When the historic Chinhoyi Battle of 1966 failed to achieve its objective, ZAPU National Chairman Herbert Chitepo and other leaders of the struggle went back to the drawing board.

The resolution was that there had to be a symbiotic relationship between the fighters and the masses — similar to that between fish and water. According to Elizabeth Mungati of Shambaweta Village in Murehwa, every villager contributed food which was cooked at the headman’s homestead. This food was then be delivered to the nearest guerrillas’ base by boys and girls, popularly known as mujibhas and chimbwidos. “We were given political orientation by freedom fighters who first came to our village in 1976,” recalled Mungati, now 82. “Cde Tichakunda told us that the war they were fighting was to liberate us from Rhodesian colonial rule, hence we had to work together.

“He told us that in guerrilla warfare, the fighters needed the support of the villagers. “Since we wanted to liberate ourselves from the colonialists, we joined hands and every family contributed food to feed the freedom fighters. We made sure that the freedom fighters had a balanced diet.” However, keeping the guerrillas nourished came at a cost to both limb and life. “There were sellouts among us — some voluntary while others were coerced,” Mungati said. “But punishment, brutal and severe in most cases, only hardened our resolve. We were caught between a rock and a hard place, but someone had to do it. “All we wanted was freedom and we knew freedom would come at a huge cost.

This was war and we were prepared to pay the ultimate price. “I am sure you will agree with me that out in the countryside, livestock constitute our bank. We sacrificed part of our cattle herd, goats and chickens to feed our freedom fighters. The rural business community also played their part by providing the freedom fighters with food and clothing. According to Francesca Chigutiro, a businesswoman from Chirodzero Township in Chinamhora, Domboshava, the business community made sure freedom fighters were supplied with jeans and appropriate footwear. “As a business community, we raised money to purchase military wear for the freedom fighters,” Chigutiro told The Patriot. “Once we had collected enough money we handed it over to any businessman going to the then Salisbury to purchase the clothes. “As soon as the clothes were bought we handed them over to the war collaborators who subsequently delivered them to the freedom fighters. “This was a life-and-death issue.

Not surprisingly, we lost quite a number of businessmen after they were sold out to the Rhodies.” However, it would be unfair to conclude that it was only the rural folk that oiled the liberation struggle. Gainfully employed young men and women in the urban areas contributed to the war effort by sending money ‘home’ to purchase food and clothes.

“I started sending money to my home village of Chirozva, Musana, in 1977, after I attended a pungwe,” remembers Christopher Jani. “I was convinced by Cde Farai, the ZANU PF political commissar in the area, that rather than cross the border to Mozambique for military training, I should join hands with my fellow villagers employed in the urban areas and pool our earnings for logistical support towards the war effort. “In response, I and my colleagues (eight of us) — all employed as gardeners in the capital — came together and gave part of our meagre pay a local businessman (Mandingisa) for him to buy clothes and food for the freedom fighters.” The trio of Elizabeth Mungati, Francesca Chigutiro and Christopher Jani are just a tiny fraction of the civilian face of the liberation war.

While the guerrillas were armed with AK-47 rifles and could make good their escape in the thick of battle, the masses were defenceless when the Rhodies sought revenge. As Mungati puts it: “Those who view the war with ‘romantic’ eyes are doing so from the point of naivety. It was not a stroll in the park.”