The Sunday Mail
Cde Baxton Mupotaringa’s (BM) bullet wound scars serve as a poignant reminder of the Rhodesian government’s brutality and determination to cling on to power at whatever cost. Bullets from a Rhodesian army sniper’s gun narrowly missed Cde Mupotaringa’s heart, fracturing the liberation war fighter’s bones. On several occasions, a badly wounded Cde Mupotaringa, with blooding oozing out of his shredded body, had to dodge bullets from the blazing Rhodesian forces’ guns. Despite suffering life-threatening injuries, the former freedom fighter soldiered on, engaging in one fierce battle after another. After narrowly escaping death during the Nyadzonia Refugee Camp massacre, he took the Rhodesian soldiers head-on in several do-or-die engagements. For the next few weeks, our Senior Reporter TENDAI CHARA (TC) will discuss with Cde Mupotaringa the frightening battles he took part in as he sacrificed his life for freedom.
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TC: Cde, if you can introduce yourself and take us through part of the long and torturous journey you took as a freedom fighter.
BM: My name is Baxton Mupotaringa. I was born in Rusape, in the Chiduku area.
My family later on moved to Hwedza in the Nyamupara area, where I attended St James Primary School. I did not go for secondary education in Hwedza. I did my secondary education by correspondence with the Rapid Results College after the war.
I joined the liberation war in 1975.
TC: Why did you choose to become a freedom fighter?
BM: The ill-treatment that I suffered at the hands of racist white employers forced me to cross the border and train as a guerrilla fighter.
Before I went to Mozambique to train, I worked for an art gallery that was situated in the Salisbury (now Harare) central district.
The art gallery belonged to Mr Peter Birch and it was called the Peter Birch School of Art.
I did not have any problems with Mr Birch, who had migrated from Scotland.
Actually, Mr Birch liked me a lot.
At one time he gave me clothes as a sign of appreciation for the good work I was doing.
I had problems with some of Mr Birch’s fellow white workmates who were racist.
These white workers ill-treated black workers, often mocked them and labelled them monkeys, baboons and chimpanzees.
On several occasions, Mr Birch came to our rescue when the white racists attacked me and Morgan Chirere, my colleague.
What happened was that the white racists confronted us, asking why we were drinking from the same cups that they used.
They said drinking from a cup used by a black man was akin to kissing a baboon.
The white racists often derided us.
Since I was a bit educated and could understand the English language, it hurt me each time I heard the whites calling black people all sorts of names.
Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do.
White people did whatever they wanted and us blacks were seen as inferior objects.
That ill-treatment forced me to find ways of becoming a freedom fighter.
My wife, who was my girlfriend then, often went to her rural area in Mount Darwin and each time she brought to us news concerning the war that was being fought in the war zones.
I was always excited about hearing news from the war-front.
I was inspired by the stories and I felt a need to go and join the liberation war.
As a young man, I had thoughts of going for military training and come back as a fighter, and exact revenge on the white people who were calling us baboons.
I was a teenager then.
TC: Where were you staying in Salisbury?
BM: I was staying at the art gallery in the servants’ quarters.
The gallery was formally known as the Salisbury School of Art.
I once stayed with my brother who was working as a gardener in Mount Pleasant.
When I married my wife, she was not allowed to visit my quarters.
So when she eloped, she would wake up very early in the morning and go to the nearby Greenwood Park, and spend the rest of the day in the park.
Later in the evening, when the whites had gone to their homes, she would then sneak into my room.
She did this for a long time.
Mr Birch later on discovered I had married and he allowed my wife to come and visit me during the day.
White employers could dismiss a black worker for bringing his wife to the living quarters.
The white employers insisted that black workers should take their wives to the rural areas. Surprisingly, the white employers lived with their wives.
I was always asking myself why and for how long black people were going to be treated this way. I then decided to go to Mozambique to train as a liberation war fighter.
TC: Tell us about the journey to Mozambique.
BM: At my workplace, I was joined by Samson, my younger brother.
So one day I told him that I was going to Mutare to consult a traditional healer.
Samson was surprised.
He had never heard about me consulting traditional healers.
Since I told him that I was going to Mutare, he asked me to pass through our rural home in Rusape and deliver clothes we had bought for our mother.
I flatly refused.
He failed to understand what I was up to.
I left him standing in Greenwood Park.
He did not have any clue as to where I was headed.
He thought I was going to work elsewhere.
My brother was not aware that I was headed for Mozambique.
One of my friends had a politically active relative who lived in Highfield.
That relative had given us directions to Mozambique.
We went to Mbare Musika and boarded a bus to Rusape.
I had two friends of mine but one, Vincent Chizavani, later developed cold feet and refused to board the bus.
Together with my other friend Claudious Magoche, we proceeded.
Sadly, Magoche, whom I last interacted with at Doroi, died during the war.
From Rusape, we proceeded to Nyanga.
We then crossed into Mozambique where we stayed briefly with FRELIMO fighters.
After five days with FRELIMO fighters, we were then taken to Villa Perry.
By then, the number of new recruits had swelled.
I didn’t like my stay with the FRELIMO soldiers because they fed us rotting meat.
I refused to eat the meat.
Little did I know that I was headed for even worse times ahead.
From Villa Perry, we were transported to the Nyadzonia Refugee Camp, where I was placed under “Company P”.
On arrival at the camp, one had to be vetted by the security department first to determine whether they were not a Rhodesian spy.
Food supplies were erratic and the arrival of lorries carrying food was punctuated by scenes of wild jubilation.
Barely a week after our arrival at Nyadzonia, the camp was attacked by the Rhodesian army led by the infamous traitor Morrison Nyathi.
Next week, Cde Mupotaringa will detail what happened during the 1976 Nyadzonia massacre and how he survived by feigning death.
