I DID NOT know much about The Patriot newspaper when I fi rst encountered it. I would spot it at newspaper stands but never took the time to understand what it was all about. That all changed one day in Kwekwe when Mrs P. Zhou, now Honourable P. Zhou, casually mentioned to me, “I see you write books. Have you heard of The Patriot? You could also write for it.” The idea fl eeted through my mind, but my focus was elsewhere, and I didn’t think much of it at the time. We both lived in Kwekwe, so we met frequently.
The next time we encountered each other, she asked: “Have you thought about the paper? You could get a copy and see what kind of stories they publish.” A little embarrassed, I admitted I hadn’t done much with the idea. She kindly gave me the number for the CEO’s PA, suggesting I call for a clearer picture of how the paper worked. On our third meeting, I felt compelled to call. After dialling, I was connected with the CEO, Pritchard Zhou. His response was nonchalant, suggesting I write 10 000 words on something and send it over for assessment. “10 000 words?” I thought, “That seems strange.” So, I put the idea aside and forgot about it for a while.
This was in 2012. Then, in December of that same year, I visited Harare for a few weeks. While I was there, I also used the time to search for a printer for my books. One day, as I walked into town, I passed a building with the sign The Patriot next to the entrance. Could this really be the same place Mrs Zhou was talking about? It seemed so. I told myself I would stop by later to see what happened there. The next day, after another round of printer-hunting, I decided to stop by The Patriot. At the reception, I explained that I had written something that I thought they might be interested in.
The receptionist called a certain ‘Mr Evans’, and I was asked to meet him at the reception. I had two pieces of writing with me: one was an article titled ‘Women in the Struggle’, a rebuttal to the many misconceptions about women’s roles in the liberation struggle. I had written it out of anger, tired of the fallacies I’d heard about women at the war front. Initially, I hadn’t thought of taking it to a newspaper. I had considered making it into a book, along with other pieces I had written. The second piece was a small book called Comrade Mother, the story of my mother’s struggle against the Rhodesians in the early days of ZANU and later during the Second Chimurenga.
I had already published this book. ‘Mr Evans’, whose full name is Evans Mushawevato, took the writings and said they would get back to me. I left, still unsure of the direction I was headed but determined to show Mrs Zhou I had at least pursued the matter. Later that day, as I searched for printers in the light industrial area, I received a call on my cellphone. The man on the other end introduced himself as Alexander Kanengoni from The Patriot. At fi rst, I didn’t quite register who he was, but he explained that we had crossed paths before in Mt Pleasant when he worked at the Ex-Combatant Scholarship Programme. He mentioned a few comrades we had both known, though I couldn’t quite place him.
Then he said, “I’ve seen your articles, and I’m excited. Come, let’s talk.” His warm tone was inviting, and suddenly, everything started to make sense. I retraced my steps back to The Patriot and was greeted by this aff able giant of a man, full of energy and enthusiasm about my writings. He told me that they would publish the Women in the Struggle article, but in two parts, as it was quite long.
As for Comrade Mother, ‘Mr Evans’ suggested they serialise it, but Kanengoni preferred the women’s article for its immediate relevance. I left the offi ce feeling elated. Before I left, Mr Kanengoni mentioned there was an allowance for contributors. “Oh, thank you,” I replied, surprised by the gesture. I soon went back to Kwekwe for the Christmas holidays, and when I returned to Harare in January, I stopped by The Patriot to say ‘hello’. Mr Kanengoni was delighted to see me and informed me that he had spoken with his boss, Comrade Pritchard Zhou. “He thinks you could write about education,” he said, clearly off ering me a commission. “I’d be happy to write about education,” I agreed. ideas, and I explained my plan to write a historical analysis of education in Zimbabwe. I wanted to cover colonial education, the system during the liberation struggle, the fi rst 10 years of independence, and how the education system had evolved up until that point. Mr Kanengoni was thrilled with the idea, and we began working together.
Thus, my journey with Cde Alexander Kanengoni, a comrade, mentor, and friend, began. What stands out most from this experience was Cde Kanengoni’s respect for my ideas and thoughts. He was a far more experienced writer, a seasoned reporter, while I was new to writing for a paper, coming from the education sector. Yet, he never made me feel inferior. He always encouraged me to articulate what I wanted to say, to express myself freely. He would ask questions, prod me, and help me refi ne my thoughts until I was able to present my ideas with clarity.
Through this, I grew as a writer and developed confi dence in my voice. Cde Kanengoni’s respect for my style was one of the things I appreciated most. He never pushed me to change my tone or approach; instead, he encouraged me to stay true to myself. I recall one instance when he called me into the offi ce to discuss one of my articles. He showed he me a sentence that was over a hundred words long and asked, “Do you see how long this sentence is?” It was a lighthearted discussion, and neither of us ‘won’ the debate, but it led to me moderating the length of my sentences in future pieces.
Other than that, respected my style, and that is something I’ll always be grateful for. There was one thing, though, that Cde Kanengoni never relented on: the length of my articles. He always insisted that no article should exceed 1 200 words, and any extra words had to be negotiated. I never fully understood the logic behind this rule, but I complied, often spending time at the reception, reducing my articles word by word.
I now understand why ‘Mr Evans’ would chuckle when he saw me doing this. Despite the strict word limits, Cde Kanengoni’s editorial style was always fair and nurturing. I remember him joking that he could refuse to publish anything without giving an explanation, but that was never the case with us. There was always mutual respect.
We often communicated, whether in person or over the phone, about where the paper was headed, its purpose, and its challenges. It was in these conversations that I realised The Patriot was where I truly belonged — a place where I could contribute meaningfully as a freedom f i ghter, defending the soul of our nation. It was a profound revelation. Cde Kanengoni would sometimes commission me to write on specifi c topics, and I always found it an honour and a pleasure. These assignments opened new vistas for me, and through our discussions, I learned a great deal.
One of the most touching aspects of Cde Kanengoni’s character was his compassion. When our allowances were delayed, he always took the time to check if the payments had come through. “Let me check if your allowance is in,” he would say, always concerned about our well-being. I remember one particular day when we were walking through the newsroom, and Cde Kanengoni pointed out that the staff were hungry. He expressed his wish that he could do more to help. It was moments like these that made me admire his selfl essness. He wasn’t just a boss — he was a comrade who genuinely cared for his colleagues. He would also surprise me with small gestures of kindness.
On one occasion, he bought ice cream for everyone at an outdoor function. It reminded me of the generosity of Cde Dzingai Mutumbuka, the ZANU Secretary for Education and Culture in 1978, who raised funds to buy a truck and school materials for teachers in Mozambique, only to use his remaining funds to buy Lux soap for the teachers. Cde Kanengoni embodied that same spirit of generosity and selfl essness. Cde Kanengoni was more than a colleague; he was like an older brother, a guiding fi gure who made the work environment feel like home. No matter the time, whenever I visited his offi ce, I was always welcomed with warmth and respect. We would discuss everything — politics, current aff airs, personal matters — and he would always make time for our talks.
It was never rushed, and those moments were some of the most We talked about the many books we would write together, and I always promised that I would continue writing — a thousand articles, I would say. Now, I realise that I’ve far surpassed that number. When Cde Muchemwa’s book, ‘The Struggle for Land in Zimbabwe’, was published in 2015, edited by Cde Kanengoni and Cde Zhuwarara, Cde Kanengoni took a copy from behind his desk and autographed it for me, saying: “This is our own, the very fi rst of our own.” His excitement was palpable, and I shared in that joy. We didn’t get to write as many books as we’d hoped, but I continue to write, and I know that Cde Kanengoni’s spirit lives on in the work I produce. Two books that emerged from our shared journey are now complete.
The Legacy of Matenje traces how we overturned Rhodesian education during the struggle and laid the foundation for the Zimbabwe Founation for Education with Production (ZIMFEP) and Zimbabwe’s education system. The sequel was titled From Matenje to Mt Pleasant and explores the transition from schools in the struggle to the new revolutionary curriculum of the fi rst 10 years of independence. I can only hope that, somewhere in the libraries of heaven, Cde Kanengoni will f i nd these books, the fruits of our work together. There are more to come. I will not let him down. Until we meet again, Commander.
Yours in the revolution Comrade Ropa Rinopfuka