The Sunday Mail
Amai Victoria Chitepo
I first met Herbert at Adams College in Natal near Durban, South Africa.
He was doing his Matric, and I my Diploma in Teaching. We would meet at student houses, and for some time, we actually lived in the same student house and met often.
The year must have been 1942 or 1943.
During that time, we had college debates and I was always fortunate to debate on issues in which he participated. I could tell from my first encounters with him that he was one of the best students.
He debated knowledgeably and articulately. He was clearly academically gifted.
He also played tennis very well, and I appreciated this very much. I watched him play; I appreciated him more. He was one of the few students from the then Rhodesia, with the likes of Samkange and Dumbutshena.
After Adams College, he went to Fort Hare for a Bachelor of Arts degree. Although we lived far apart, we kept in touch. He later went to London to study Law.
He then came back for some time and taught at St Augustine’s Mission.
We got married in Durban on November 29, 1955 – a joyous occasion that drew many. We had known each other for over 10 years before marrying.
He had been migrating to different places, as I remained in South Africa.
So, since 1955, we started living in Zimbabwe together. I still have that house in Highfield.
The suburb was a hotbed of political activity because many people who lived there rose against colonial oppression.
On my part, I organised women to march in protest.
I also co-ordinated care for detainees who were in prisons in places like Marondera and Sikhombela.
I was obviously inspired by Herbert. He was very popular, and defended Africans taken to court by the regime.
George Nyandoro and James Chikerema were among those he defended. They would come to our house to discuss.
As the first black qualified lawyer, he was duty-bound to defend his colleagues. It would have been awkward for a white man to represent blacks.
Of course, there were risks; we would hear that he was going to be arrested. Nonetheless, he always drew strength from his colleagues and those he defended in court.
It must be remembered that he was the first trained lawyer in Zimbabwe before he became an advocate.
This made him aware of the discrimination around. The experience he got working outside the country also shaped him. He worked for a long time in Tanzania where he dealt with the laws of a free Tanzania. These were completely different from the laws of Rhodesia.
His nature would have influenced him to be part of those who wanted to stop this discrimination.
At home, he always liked reading. He would read literature on his profession daily. He also liked African newspapers.
He, however, disliked gossips. Most of all, he hated discrimination. There were silly things like, “You cannot use the same door as the white man, or blacks are prohibited from certain streets.”
Herbert was averse to all discriminatory laws and he always said he would play his part to end such oppression.
The call
He loved his family and friends. There was always this very loud laughter whenever he met someone he knew very well.
For instance, he got very excited whenever he talked about Robert Mugabe or Joshua Nkomo.
It was his commitment to the struggle that I admired most about him.
In Tanzania, he was invited by the government to become chief prosecutor. He was the prosecutor-general as it were.
Remember, we spent nearly 19 years outside the country, living in Tanzania, but he left after five years on the job. He had a contract, which would expire after five years in 1965.
That is when Cde Mugabe and others in detention asked him not to renew the contract. I had personally travelled to Sikombela to inform them that Herbert was finishing. They, in turn, told me that they wanted him to relieve himself of that job so that he would come and lead the country’s liberation.
I had travelled from Tanzania to see them. The journey was particularly difficult. Even the driver was afraid Rhodesian police would pounce. I didn’t have a car and needed someone to drive me to Sikombela.
So, I drove with the young man in a small Volkswagen, straight to Bulawayo where we met Dr Silas Mundawarara, who gave us directions to the place.
I wanted to buy bread for the comrades, but this young man warned me that having bread would clearly indicate to the police (if we met them) that I was going to see the detainees.
I changed my mind.
The comrades were all excited when we arrived. I remember this great deal of excitement. We got down talking while seated on benches.
It was a very emotional talk.
I remember Cdes Mugabe, Muzenda, Leopold Takawira, Zvobgo, Ndabaningi Sithole and others were there. I told them about the main reason for my visit: Herbert’s contract was ending.
They unanimously said he must not renew the contract. He must return to lead the struggle, they told me.
It was an honour that they thought so highly of my husband.
I went back and told Herbert what the comrades had said. He did not think twice: He said he was prepared to die in the struggle.
It was an easy decision for him to return home.
I, however, remained in Tanzania, teaching and with the children. I taught at boarding schools that offered accommodation and convenience with the children.
Our children were still young when he left on January 1, 1966. The eldest was about 10 years old.
He visited occasionally. Sometimes we just met him at the airport, to say goodbye basically. There were also days when he had meetings with Nyerere. He would then come to see us for a day or two.
When he went to places like Nigeria or attended conferences, he came to Tanzania, which was an office that managed virtually all African political movements fighting for independence.
We listened to the news and read newspapers to follow his political activities back home.
Murder most foul
His death in 1975 came as a blow to us. I don’t remember that last day I saw him. I honestly can’t remember.
I actually heard about it on radio at lunch time that he had died. I was at teaching in Moshi, which is far from Tanzania’s capital, Dar es Salaam.
The office in Dar es Salaam told me they had received the sad news.
Two days later, we travelled to Lusaka, Zambia, for the funeral after the office in Tanzania had made arrangements.
It was unfortunate Cde Mugabe and others were not there to bury their colleague because they were in prison.
In Lusaka, we were taken to State House.
I never really bothered myself with the part about who killed him. It never really bothers me. I was not there when it happened. So, it would have been unfair for me to speculate.
I have read books written about Rhodesians who have said they planned his death. I found the information to be revealing and these books are out there for anyone who wants to read and know what could have happened.
Also, there is a report by the Zambian government. I have never followed up to say, “Ndiani, ndiani? Who killed Chitepo?”
When you are fighting a war with the British, how would I know who of the people killed him? It is something I try not to think about. There are whites who have written books saying they did it.
That is up to them, not me. I have read one of the books, and took that information as it was. I am very proud that my husband died in the struggle. It has been 40 years, but I am happy that he was one of the people who contributed to give us the independence we enjoy today.
Even though it is sad that he is gone, I feel proud that he died for a worthy cause.
◆ Interview and transcription by The Sunday Mail Senior Reporter Kuda Bwititi in Harare on March 20, 2015
