How Rhodies turned me into a hothead

Below is Ambrose Mutunhiri’s story as told to Evans Mushawevato:

“I was born in Marondera, under the domain of Chief Nyandoro. My earliest memories are of the land — the red soil beneath my feet, the scent of rain-soaked earth. But it didn’t take long to realise the land didn’t belong to us, even though we belonged to it. Rhodesia made sure of that. Hope among us barely existed it was often overshadowed by the stifling reality of Rhodesia — a land where blacks, the rightful owners of the soil, were rendered second-class citizens.

“I started my education at Chionana Primary School, but it didn’t take long for me to learn that, for children like me, schooling was neither stable nor fair. The black child in Rhodesia had no claim to quality education; what we had was a patchwork of overcrowded classrooms and under-qualified teachers.

“My primary education became a nomadic journey. From Chionana, I moved to Mhondoro to live with my aunt and attend St Peter’s Musonza. Life there was simple, but my young mind felt the cracks of an unjust system. Eventually, my wanderings took me to Highfield, where I enrolled at Tsungai Government School before continuing my education at Highfield Secondary School.

“Highfield, located on the eastern outskirts of Salisbury, was more than just a place of education — it was the home of African nationalism. It was there that the embers of my political consciousness began to burn, stoked by stories of rebellion spoken among peers and the presence of men like Joshua Nkomo and Josiah Chinamano, who inspired a generation to dream of freedom.

“My father, a man deeply connected to the land, was a farmer at heart. He carried within him the ambition