Listen to this tale, bold countrymen and kindred souls, Of deeds that burn as brightly as the noon-day sun, When men and women of iron will and valiant hearts, Did shake the very sinews of oppression’s cruel grasp. It was December 11 1978, When Salisbury’s prideful towers, cloaked in colonial might, Were rent asunder by the fi ery breath of freedom’s call. In a far-off land, where Mozambique’s earth doth embrace the sky, A council was called, a gathering of minds so sharp they cut the very air.

There stood Solomon, known to all as Rex Nhongo, A lion-hearted general, whose courage knew no bounds. By his side, Josiah Tongogara, a wise commander, And others whose names shine like stars in freedom’s firmament; Constantino Dominic Nyikadzino Guveya Chiwenga, and their bold ilk, Did plot and plan “Enough!” they said, “Enough of Rhodesia’s tyrant yoke.

Let us strike not with feeble hands but with a blow so mighty, The oppressors’ knees shall quake, and their hearts shall melt as wax!” From out of the ranks of many, seven were chosen, Each a Chingaira Makoni in courage, a Tshaka Zulu in cunning. Lobo, the fox with fi re in his eyes, States America, a tempest in fl esh, And Norest, a strappling youth, yet fi erce as any lion. Through forest and Rhodesian-infested territories, These brave few journeyed, bearing not just arms But the weight of a nation’s yearning on their backs. Lo, they marched for weeks, their feet eating miles, Their spirits unbroken, their purpose steadfast To Domboshava they came, weary but resolved, And there did fi nd a friend, one Richard Mverechena, A merchant true, whose heart did beat With the rhythm of the revolution’s song.

Disguised in garb of the city’s throng, They moved among the colonials, unseen, unknown. Guided by Long Chase, a farmer plain yet sly, Their eyes took measure of the fuel tanks’ girth, Their ears drank in the whispers of their foe. For weeks they watched, for weeks they planned, Till every crevice, every shadow, was etched in their minds. Oh, how the air hummed with tension! The chosen seven, divided, crept through the city’s veins, Each step a drumbeat of destiny. Housed by kind souls in Mbare and Highfi eld, They schemed by candlelight, their breaths Bare whispers, their hearts afi re. Yet danger’s shadow loomed — Suspicion’s fangs were bared, And so they hastened, before treachery Should undo their sacred task. And so, upon that fateful day: “Now,” the leader shouted, “let the tyrant’s veins be severed!” Their weapons roared, their grenades sang, And Salisbury’s sleeping pride was roused to terror.

The tanks, those monstrous beasts of iron, Spewed forth their fi ery guts, The heavens themselves painted red with their ruin. Smoke and fl ame, a mighty pyre, Did light the way for justice’s dawn. In a few seconds, just a few seconds, eternity was written there, In the language of freedom’s righteous fi re. Oh, December, December 11 1978! How thy fl ames did blaze Not just upon Rhodesia’s fi elds but in the hearts Of all who yearned for liberty. Thy glow reached far, to boardrooms and chambers, Where Ian Smith and his ilk, pale and shaken, Did plot surrender in the guise of negotiation. Thus, the fi re kindled by Lobo and his kin Spread wider than their mortal hands could reach. Today we stand, free men and women, Upon the ashes of those fuel tanks, Upon the bones of oppression, And we remember.

Remember, with pride, The night the sky burned red, And freedom’s dawn did break. We sing their praises, we who tread this hallowed ground of Zimbabwe! Let their names be etched in stone and star, For they dared to dream, they dared to fi ght, And brought us independence.