By Evans Mushawevato

RHODESIA in 1964 was a smouldering powder keg, a nation on the edge of history. The question was not IF he fight for freedom would erupt but WHEN. Ambrose Mutinhiri, barely a man but already carrying the burdens of one, knew this better than most. At just 19, the world demanded of him not youthful naivety but hard resolve, a readiness to shape the future or be swept away by it. But just who is Ambrose Mutinhiri? Born on 22 February 1944, Mutinhiri is a retired army commander and brigadier, who served as Minister of Youth Development, Gender and Employment Creation with effect from February 9, 2004. Unbeknown top many, he was among the f irst ZIPRA recruits to be trained in Russia as Zimbabwe’s nationalist movements prepared to take the Rhodesia regime head-on.

Mutinhiri is known for training the best calibre of soldiers during this period, among them the late General Solomon Mujuru. Mutinhiri was nominated as ZANU-PF’s candidate for the House of Assembly seat from Marondera, capital of Mashonaland East Province, in the March 2008 harmonised elections, which he won comfortably with 4 284 votes against 2 132 for his Movement for Democratic Change rival. He was placed on the United States sanctions list in 2005.

This is Mutinhiri’s compelling story in his own words. “I left for Zambia with nothing more than a letter, one I presented at the ZAPU offices in Lusaka. “We stayed in Lusaka for three months, waiting, planning, learning. For someone like me — young, eager, and idealistic — the waiting was agony. I wanted to f ight but there seemed to be a hesitancy to send me for military training because I was still too young. “I was only 19. “But I was a part of the pioneers, many things were still being figured out with regards to orchestrating a military struggle. “Later on issues of age would not really matter as thousands of young Zimbabweans flooded Mozambique and Zambia to receive military training. “Eventually, we were sent to Dar es Salaam in Tanzania. Even there, my tender age became a bone of contention. Some doubted whether someone so young could endure the rigours of military training, let alone the mental strain of guerrilla warfare.

“In 1964, everything changed. I was chosen to join the first ZIPRA contingent to receive military training in the Soviet Union. There were six of us in total, a band of men who would become brothers in arms. “During the same period ZANU had also sent its first contingent to China, which included Emmerson Mnangagwa (now President of Zimbabwe), Fabion Shonhiwa, Thomas Ziki — the first ZANLA contingent to receive military training in China. “Akim Ndlovu was our leader, a sharptongued man whose temper burned as hot as his dedication. Robson Manyika, our father figure, balanced Akim’s fire with a demeanour that held us together.

Arthur Nyoni’s wit was as sharp as the blade of a bayonet, while Elliot Mlala carried a quiet strength that inspired respect. John Moyo was the joker, whose humour helped carry us through the rigours of training. “And then there was me, Ambrose Mutinhiri. The youngest. A blank slate. Most eager. “We were the fi rst Zimbabweans to be trained in the Soviet Union, the fi rst to learn the art of modern warfare in a land far removed from the land we would one day return to. “I experienced many fi rsts during that time, the fi rst time to fl y, the fi rst time to see snow, fi rst time to experience below zero temperatures.

“Moscow greeted us with a cold I had never known. It hit like a tank, seeping into and freezing our very bones. We were Africans, born of sun and soil, and this frozen world felt as alien, Russia was not just cold — it was otherworldly, for all intents and purposes, we were on another planet. “Let me emphasise on the cold, maiwee! “The cold was a living thing, a relentless invading monster, slipping into our boots, our gloves, our clothes. We were Africans, children of the sun, and the Soviet winter swallowed us whole but we endured.

We had no choice. “Our training was supposed to last a year, but the Russians, realising our unfamiliarity with the brutal winters, compressed it into 10 months. It was an unforgiving 10 months. “Our days were a blur of drills and lessons, our nights fi lled with dreams of home, of fi ghting, of dismantling Rhodesia. “The Russians were thorough. The mornings began with physical drills that pushed us to the brink of exhaustion. We crawled through snowfi elds, ran with packs loaded far beyond what seemed reasonable, and sparred until we couldn’t lift our arms. We learnt to shoot straight, how to dismantle a rifl e in seconds, to think faster than an enemy who wanted us dead. “They taught us to fi ght like ghosts, to move unseen, to strike and vanish. “The afternoons were reserved for tactics. We studied ambushes and raids, urban warfare, and the art of sabotage.

The Russians taught us to use anti-tank weapons, and manufacture improvised explosives. But for all the technical knowledge they shared, it was the psychological lessons that left the deepest marks. “’War is won in the mind’, our instructors would bellow with voices that could silence a room. ‘You must think like your enemy, anticipate his every move, and then disappear like smoke’, were part of instructions drilled into us throughout the training period “I lapped it all up. “Where others struggled, I thrived.

My youth, which had been thev subject of contestation, became my strength. I learned quickly, adapting to every challenge with a determination that surprised even myself. “The training was brutal. They broke us down, piece by piece, until there was nothing left of the men we had been. Then they built us back up again, harder, sharper. We were taught to kill without hesitation and the Rhodesians when we fi rst confronted them approached us like some errant kids and we gave them the shock of their lives. “Akim clashed often with the instructors.

He couldn’t stomach their stories of the Second World War, which glorifi ed their contribution and black soldiers were footnotes in that war, if mentioned at all. He argued fi ercely, his words a flame against the cold indiff erence of history. “I stayed quiet during those debates, soaking in everything. I was young, hungry to learn. Each lesson was a piece of the puzzle, a step closer to the warrior I was becoming. “By the time we left Moscow, I wasn’t the same boy who had arrived. “By the end of 1964, we were back in Lusaka. The Soviet cold was behind us, but the fi re of war lay ahead. ZAPU had no formal military wing yet, so they formed the Department of Special Affairs.

Akim was put in charge. “I was sent to Kongwa, a camp in Tanzania where freedom movements from across Southern Africa converged. FRELIMO, ANC, SWAPO, MPLA — each had its own struggle, its own wounds, its own dreams. “My job was to train new fi ghters, retrain those that had been trained elsewhere, I was responsible for what we called ‘standardisation’. Our fi rst group of 70 came from Algeria, were they had received their initial training. They were supposed to be 90 but 20 best students who included Alfred Nikita Mangena remained behind for cadet offi cer training.

“I taught them the skills we’d learned in Moscow, moulding them into a force capable of taking the fi ght back to Rhodesia. “My task was clear: take the recruits and turn them into fi ghters. I taught them everything I knew, drilling them until the fi re in their eyes matched the fi re in my chest. “It was at Kongwa that we prepared for the famous Wankie Campaign. “We fought alongside the ANC, our guns pointed at the Rhodesians and the ANC on its way to dislodge the apartheid regime in their country. The Rhodesians never expected it. They thought themselves untouchable, secure behind their walls of arrogance. “We struck when they least expected and melting back into the bush. The campaign shook them. For the fi rst time, they saw the black man not as a servant or a threat to manage but as an enemy who could fi ght and win.

“The Wankie Campaign was a turning point. Led by John Dube, the operation shook the Rhodesian regime to its core. “The campaign wasn’t without its challenges. We learned that winning a battle wasn’t enough; we had to win the hearts and minds of the masses. Without the support of the people, our victories would be hollow.

“The Wankie Campaign wasn’t perfect, but it was a beginning. We proved that the black man could fi ght back, that the world they had built on our backs could burn. “The Rhodesians came with dogs, helicopters, everything they had. To them, we were vermin, scurrying in the shadows. But we knew the truth. We were an indomitable force that would help bring independence. “In 1967, I moved to Morogoro, which became one of our largest and most advanced training camps. Our fi rst group consisted of 200 fi ghters and I served as the chief instructor, overseeing their transformation into soldiers of the revolution. Alfred Nikita Mangena soon joined me and together we built a training programme that would shape the future of ZIPRA. “Morogoro wasn’t just a camp; it was a school of revolution. Here, we taught everything from basic infantry tactics to advanced guerrilla warfare.

The recruits learned to dismantle and reassemble weapons, to navigate treacherous terrain, and to strike fear into the heart of the enemy. “But it wasn’t just about physical skills. We taught them the importance of discipline, unity and ideology. They had to understand why they were fi ghting, not just how. “It was hard work, but it was also sacred. Each recruit who passed through Morogoro carried with them a piece of the dream we all shared, we all nurtured and brought to fruition: a Zimbabwe free from oppression. “The second group of fi ghters to pass through Morogoro included names that included the current ZANU PF Secretary for Administration Obert Mpofu, the late General Gevan Maseko, and many others. “Training became my life’s work. It was my way of contributing to the struggle, of ensuring that every man who went into battle was prepared for the challenges ahead.

“As I sit here now, in an independent Zimbabwe, I often think of those days. I think of the snow in Moscow, the heat of the Kongwa camp, and the faces of the young men and women I trained. “Some of them didn’t live to see the fruits of their labour. Others went on to lead this nation in various capacities. “I carry their stories, their sacrifi ces, and their dreams.

The war for independence was brutal, but it was necessary. We fought not for ourselves but for the generations to come, for the children who now play in the streets of a free Zimbabwe. “I remain proud. Proud to have been a part of something so much larger than myself. “Because in the end, freedom is worth everything.”