The Sunday Mail
Zimbabwe owes a lot to womenfolk who, apart from bearing the country’s courageous liberation war fighters, endured so much pain in the midst of armed struggle. Some were brutally tortured and others murdered for resisting colonialist oppression. Our Chief Reporter Kuda Bwititi spoke to Cdes Evermore Mazai and Marara Kahiya, both ex-detainees who endured the brutality of the settler forces to eventually see an Independent Zimbabwe.
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Tortured, arrested and defiant
I was born Evermore Muneinazvo Mazai in Mutoko in 1949. My father and liberation war hero Cde Mereki Naison Mazai was a well-known figure in the Mutoko area as he was a member of the Zimbabwe African People’s Union.
He was part of the nationalist movement that worked to dismantle Rhodesian settler rule.
I was just 13-years-old when my first run-in with the colonial regime occurred. It was barbarism at its worst.
My father had hosted a rally at our homestead in 1962 and Dr Joshua Nkomo and other Zapu leaders were present at that event.
I remember President Robert Mugabe and Cdes Samuel Parirenyatwa, George Nyandoro and James Chikerema were there.
In fact, Cde Parirenyatwa was coming from this rally when he died in that questionable road accident.
So, after his death, the Rhodesian forces got wind that he had attended this rally. They swooped on our house, interrogating the entire family.
They threw all sorts of questions at us concerning the rally.
Though the episode was terrifying, the Rhodesians failed to get what they wanted out of us. They wanted to know where Zapu’s weapons had been hidden. Since my father was in the party, there had been conversations regarding where to hide a cache of guns and other military hardware.
It was then agreed that our house was the best place to keep them; so pits were dug around the yard and the weapons placed in them.
We knew how ruthless our interrogators could be, but managed to hold strong – somehow.
Besides, the consequences would have been much worse had we divulged details of this “armoury”.
So, we remained silent as our hearts pounded and fear threatened to strangle me in its clutches.
My father and I were then arrested and taken to Mutoko Police Station where we were placed in separate sections.
I later learnt that my father had been tortured. Immediately, I knew the same kind of brutal treatment would be coming my way sooner rather than later.
And so they came for me.
My age and small body frame did not deter them from using all means to force me to reveal where the weapons had been hidden. My father had told me not to, hence I never let out a word.
I was released after two weeks in custody. I was free, but failed to write my Standard 3 examinations and to proceed educationally at the time.
My family remained defiant, though under the regime’s radar.
In 1964, I joined a group called the “Zhanda Group”, which was famous for sabotaging activities of the white settlers.
Our operations involved destroying crops, especially tobacco, and disrupting their farming operations.
We targeted plantations and operated at night.
I was eventually arrested and detained for this, and subjected to more gruesome torture.
One form of torture the Rhodesians seemed to prefer was tying one to a tree and giving them a thorough beating. My hands were tied to a tree, as one officer flogged me and another stood in front, pushing me back and forth like a swing.
After every stroke, they asked about the number of tobacco crops we had destroyed.
Others succumbed to torture and ended up giving up all the details: The number of farms they had descended on and even the number of stones they had thrown at white farmers’ houses!
When such confessions were made, a court hearing followed and people would be sentenced to jail terms that corresponded with the number of whites they would have attacked.
If you confessed to attacking one white man or one farm, you were sentenced to one year in jail; two farms, two years and so on.
I never revealed our secrets in spite of the torture. Something inside of me seemed to kindle the fighting spirit I needed to pull through.
It was clear to the Rhodesians that I preferred death to “selling out”.
But the torture got worse.
They came up with another method, which entailed beating me throughout the day and then depriving me of sleep at night by filling my cell with water.
This went on for three consecutive weeks, a tortuous period during which I never found sleep.
I suffered permanent injuries, which I still carry to this day. After those three weeks, they came to realise there was nothing they could do to make me confess.
So, they took me to court, sentencing me to eight months in prison. I had not confessed to the number of white farmers I had targeted so they could not pin me down on a longer sentence.
I did time at Marondera Prison.
One of the rules there was that women were not allowed to wear undergarments and headscarves. This was ridiculous.
I then led the women on a hunger strike. The protest went on for three days and in the end, the Rhodesians acceded to our demands.
I was at the prison from November 1964 through to July 1965 and then condemned to restriction.
My movements were limited as I was not allowed to move to any other area beyond my household. I felt as though I were a dog on a leash, tied to its kennel, awaiting freedom that would not come.
A policeman visited our home daily to check on me. My restriction seemed infinite until independence came in 1980 and with it my total freedom.
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Pregnant and protesting
My name is Marara Kahiya. I was born in 1932. I lived in Mbare in the 1950s during the days when the National Democratic Party was the main African political party in Rhodesia.
My husband and I worked closely with people like George Nyandoro and James Chikerema.
When Zapu was formed, we joined as ordinary members. Because I lived in Mbare, I naturally played a role in organising meetings at Stodart Hall.
When Dr Joshua Nkomo was arrested sometime in the early 1960s, we organised a protest which was fronted by women.
I was one of the key planners of that protest and devised a plan to halt all operations in the city to protest our leader Dr Nkomo’s arrest.
The plan was to mount a blockade on Hatfield Road and target whites who resided in that area. We placed rocks on the road to block vehicle passage and then organised a march which drew hundreds of women from suburbs in Salisbury.
This is one famous moment that has not been talked about much in the history of this country, though very significant as it showed female defiance.
I was heavily pregnant at the time and there were several others who were carrying children on their backs.
So, this protest really hit the Rhodesians hard as no business was conducted in the city since no one could make it to the city centre.
It was only after some hours that the Rhodesian police descended on us. They came with dogs and mounted officers joined their ranks.
But we remained defiant, singing spirit-lifting revolutionary songs as they approached.
The result were running battles.
We were eventually rounded up; forced onto trucks, which we referred to back then as Magumete, and taken to Harare Central Prison.
When we had been put into our respective cells, I informed them about my pregnancy. A white officer, however, clapped me, saying they would have none of it and that I would not get preferential treatment because I was pregnant.
One of the major challenges at Harare Central Prison was lack of water.
There was a lavatory in the cell, so we would drink water from the toilet.
The experience was terrible.
We were taken to court after a while and then transferred to Chikurubi Maximum Security Prison as remand inmates.
I was to attend court again 17 days later and sentenced to four years in prison.
The Rhodesians were hitting back, but this didn’t matter. As womenfolk, we had taken the fight to the enemy.
◆ Interviews and transcription by Kuda Bwititi in Harare on July 16, 2015.
