By Canaan Nyika Mugadzaweta, aka Cde Brooks Chinembiri
HAVING joined the liberation struggle in Mozambique on March 23 1975 I was one of the few early fighters privileged to witness Mozambique’s first Independence Anniversary on June 25 1975, only three months after our arrival.
It was a special day not only for us who were at Seguranza Base, a few kilometres from the Rhodesian border, but the entire black population in Mozambique and Africa at large. It was the day Mozambique attained its Independence from the Portuguese.
Next week on Tuesday, the Mozambican nation celebrates their 49th birthday.
Stuck in the bush as we were, together with the late President Robert Mugabe and the late former ZANU PF senior member Edgar Tekere, we pondered on how we were going to celebrate that very important day when Zimbabwe became free. Despite our empty stomachs, the fact that one day Zimbabweans would also celebrate their own independence in a similar manner as FRELIMO consoled our group, who numbered about 48, in a big way.
In our case, there was talk of celebrating in style in the plush Monomotapa Hotel while others talked of slaughtering beasts back in the rural areas.
Yes, all of us constructed nice castles in the air but were also aware that most of us would not be witnesses to those grand occasions. Such are the dictates in any war. Nobody cared.
How could one celebrate independence at a place such as Seguranza where there was no running water, electricity and, above all, without anything to feast upon; we wondered!
However, we knew that our friends, the Mozambicans, were celebrating under extremely difficult conditions. The Portuguese were still in control of virtually every facet of Mozambican life, be it governance, military or otherwise as they were still in command under the transitional government that was in place.
We agreed to be content with the mere fact that, at least on paper and internationally, June 25 1975 was being celebrated as the day Mozambique attained its Independence from the Portuguese.
One FRELIMO fighter, Camarada Ticky, a poor specimen of a human being because of his cruelty, made the day for us. Since our arrival at the base, there was never a day when there was adequate mealie-meal. But on June 25 1975, we had more than enough. To our surprise there were also chunks of meat that were being cut into huge pieces and thrown into an unusually big pot. Cde Ticky was shef de guzinya (one in charge of the kitchen).
Within minutes, there was a large gathering at the guzinya. Everyone wanted to witness what was going on.
We had been at Seguranza for over three months and terribly missing what we took for granted back home. The sight of huge round red tomatoes and fresh onions was so appetising that some among us decided to stay near the guzinya to enjoy watching the entire cooking process. That was not to be as everyone was soon chased away by a menacing Camarada Ticky, intimidatingly brandishing his AK-47 assault rifle. We retreated to our poshtos silently.
The wait for the big meal took longer than expected. We were all treated to a 300ml bottle of Coca-Cola each during lunch time although the actual lunch was still being prepared. Camarada Ticky was not yet through with his splendid cooking, we presumed. Some intimated that perhaps the food was only meant to be exclusively for the FRELIMO fighters.
However, we did not give up. We hung around the guzinya, incurring Ticky’s rage. As the sun settled beyond the hills, darkness taking over, all of us had completely lost hope of being invited to share in their celebrations. A few minutes later, and unexpectedly, a shrill whistle pierced the base, ordering us to assemble at the guzinya (kitchen).
I vividly remembered the days when I was a young man coming from herding cattle in my home area of Chikomba District and seeing my mother prepare a huge cockerel, slowly throwing the huge pieces into the clay pot. To those who grew up herding cattle, the feeling is easy to understand — and it is indescribable.
It is how everyone felt that day.
The only difference is that our wait for the big meal had been lengthy. Most of us had never experienced starvation at home. To go for a day or two without a meal was a matter of choice or taboo. But here we were salivating for food like famished dogs.
The dishing spoons were generous as they loaded each plate with an unusually large quantity of sadza and meat. But one thing surprised Camarada Ticky and his fellow guzinyeros (other kitcheners). No matter at what speed they dished out the food, the number of comrades still waiting to receive their share of food did not diminish.
It remained constant!
The comrades were rushing to their poshtos to off-load and coming back for some more — no wonder the queue did not contract.
When Camarada Ticky and his companions discovered what was happening, they dismissed everyone from the queue, but the damage had already been done. We had stored enough food to last for a day or two!
In FRELIMO phraseology, taking a second share of food clandestinely was termed bizhu. Throughout our stay in Mozambican camps, where in most cases food was in acute short supply, we relied on bizhu for survival — a feat that could only be carried out by the fearless because the punishment meted out to anyone caught in the act was calamitous. You had to be brave and prepared for such punishment if caught and this became an effective deterrent against bizhu.
The trick was never to get caught in the act.
After Camarada Ticky dismissed us, we all rushed to our small huts. The soup was not bad. It was only when you took a bite at the meat that you realised something was awfully wrong.
The meat was surprisingly too reddish, slippery and repulsive. An unusual smell also engrossed the entire food. My quick deduction was that it was no ordinary beef. Perhaps it could be a wild animal slaughtered in the mountains, like an antelope or something. Well, that would be an issue for discussion later. The most important thing was to fully enjoy ourselves. We retired to our poshtos (huts) shoving and throwing everything down our throats.
An hour or two later, our erstwhile FRELIMO friends started whistling and laughing hilariously shouting: “Wadya ntiro uyo!” (You have eaten a baboon!)
We knew we had eaten the big one — a baboon! Some vomited while others simply looked for pieces of grass and started picking their teeth. Hours later, it was our turn to shout back: “Tiri muhondo!” (We are at war. We don’t care!)
The revelation by Camarada Ticky and his fellow FRELIMO fighters that we had eaten a baboon was nothing much to talk about. We had grown thick skins and expected more rarities to be encountered as the war progressed. It did not bother us much.
Congratulations to the Mozambican people as they celebrate their 49th anniversary of Uhuru.
Aluta continua!!!!!!!
