The Sunday Mail
AFTER chronicling how his group was attacked by Rhodesian security forces who wanted to pre-empt their deployment to the front, Cde TOBIAS KANYONGO, whose Chimurenga name was Bomber Chimukwende, concludes his story by narrating to our Features and Arts Editor PRINCE MUSHAWEVATO about his eventual deployment and how he survived the war.
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Q: You were attacked by the enemy at your base in Mozambique and successfully held your ground. What followed next?
A: After the battle, commanders Josiah Tungamirai, Robert Mugabe and Emmerson Mnangagwa, the current President, came to see us off as we were deployed to the front.
The instruction from them was simple: Make them feel hell on earth.
Cde Kanyongo
And when we came to Zimbabwe, we did just that.
The Mozambique battle was a good boost for us; we were in high spirits.
Troops from our group were deployed to all our operational provinces — Gaza, Manica and Tete. I was deployed to Manica province, under the Tangwena Sector, and operated in the Chiduku detachment, close to Rusape.
The deployment and arrival of our group to the front changed the face of the war.
The Rhodesian government immediately felt the impact of the force.
We carried out several attacks that confused the enemy.
Besides, all those who were deployed to Manica had been instructed by Commander Tongogara to first attack the Grand Reef, close to Mutare, before proceeding to their respective bases or engaging in any other mission.
This was supposed to be our message to the Rhodesians that we meant business.
Q: In our earlier discussion, you indicated that you crossed into Mozambique with your friend to join the armed struggle. What happened to him?
A: We were together in training, but he was deployed to Tete province.
We only met again after independence.
Deployments were not friendship-based.
They made sure not to deploy you to your rural home for obvious reasons. It would cause problems for your family.
Our group was made up of 25 freedom fighters.
I took part in several battles but unfortunately got injured on November 11, 1979 at a place called Madhibha in Chiduku.
I will never forget the date and time.
It was around 7am.
I was now commander of my section.
Around that time, the Rhodesian soldiers, mainly the auxiliaries, used to travel in large groups called “Pfumo Revanhu”, and they used to wear brown overalls.
One day, our informers told us that a group consisting of 78 fighters had invaded our territory.
As we were doing our patrols, we bumped into them.
There were only 14 of us against 78 fighters. They tried to encircle and capture us alive, but we did not make it easy for them. Being captured alive during war is one of the biggest mistakes you can ever make. A war prisoner goes through hell, being tortured as they try to get information out of you.
We used to see some of our colleagues having their legs tied to a helicopter and flown around hanging as part of torture.
Q: Did you plan to engage the enemy or tactically retreat due to the unfavourable odds?
A: Running was never an option for us. We engaged in a fierce battle. But in such situations, black fighters (mapuruvheya) who supported the white man would run away since they feared us, but the white man would never do that.
They would fight to the bitter end.
So, as the black enemy fighters were running away, I was busy aiming and shooting them down.
However, as I was doing so, I did not realise that a white soldier had taken aim at me.
He fired a bomb lance towards me, and it hit me on the elbow before exploding.
He fired from about 25 metres away.
After hitting me, he thought I was going to fall but I did not, which probably made him believe I was still dizzy and would eventually fall.
My hand was broken; bones fragmented, and I also suffered injuries in other parts of the body that include legs.
The lower part of my hand was hanging by the skin. During war, professional soldiers are encouraged to capture, not to kill, the enemy.
Information is what they would be after. After striking me, I checked the direction where the shot came from and our eyes locked.
I was so angry that I wanted to immediately get revenge.
My gun, an AK47, had fallen down.
I ran for about 100 metres.
However, as I was running, I thought about my gun. I loved that gun dearly; more than anything in this world, thus I stopped.
I realised that I was seriously injured and it was most likely that I was going to die. But again, I thought about my gun and the thought of it being seized by the enemy did not go down well with me. I then made a U-turn and started going back towards my weapon, which was close to where the white man who had shot me was.
Q: That sounds suicidal. What exactly was going through your mind?
A: I was seriously hurt but could not countenance dying without my gun.
At the same time, I had the feeling that if I managed to get hold of my AK47, I would be able to fire back at the Rhodesian soldier who had injured me.
I went back, which, in a way, puzzled him, as he just stood waiting to see my next move.
He was shocked with what was happening, considering the extent of my injury.
I got to the gun and picked it up with one hand as he stared at me.
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I am sure he was convinced that I would eventually collapse or die.
Sooner, rather than later, he realised that I was not dropping dead and started firing at me again.
I ran towards the direction my colleagues had taken cover.
I caught up with them and surrendered my gun and other weapons I had on me, which was standard procedure when you could no longer continue with fighting.
I told them it was the end of the road for me but they had to carry on with the struggle.
But I retained a single grenade.
I had a feeling they would follow me, and if they did, I was going to detonate it, killing myself and them in the process.
Q : And then what happened?
A: My colleagues carried me to a mountain but the enemy kept trailing us because of the bleeding. I then ordered my troops into battle formation to stop the Rhodesian fighters in their tracks while I proceeded to safety.
They managed to ambush and massacre them. Just when we thought we had won the battle, we were soon to discover that they had called in reinforcements.
Within a short space of time, we saw helicopters coming towards our direction, which marked the beginning of yet another battle.
The clash started in the morning and lasted until around 3pm.
My colleagues managed to get me on top of the mountain and hid me in a cave.
They were attacked until they left the mountain. The white man then decided to come and fish me out from my hiding place. Fortunately, from nowhere, a heavy downpour began.
The rains were so heavy that you could not even see a few steps ahead.
The helicopters flew away.
I believe it was God and the ancestors who saved me that day.
I was left alone on the mountain.
The rains stopped around 6pm and I climbed down the mountain.
I was now feeling worn out because of the heavy bleeding and hunger.
I walked to a nearby village.
They cooked porridge for me, and I regained a bit of my strength later on.
I then instructed some war collaborators in the area to go and inform my colleagues that I was still alive and they should come and get me.
Indeed, they came around 1am, took some cattle and a cart to transport me about 10km from where the battle had taken place.
I stayed in the village with three guys, and one of them was responsible for treating me.
We would periodically change houses just in case someone sold us out.
I eventually healed and began staying in the village like ordinary villagers, but I became a vital intelligence component.
I assembled a team of informers and they reported directly to me, and I would communicate with my fellow comrades.
I knew the exact information that needed to be gathered because of my experience at the warfront.
Some of the comrades I operated with include the likes of Gideon Varunguvachapera, Sagandione Muchaona, Dambura Mbabvu, Peter Mashatini and Chiriseri.
PM : In winding up our discussion, maybe you could tell us about your final journey towards demobilisation.
TK : After independence, I was transferred to Dzapasi Assembly Point in Buhera.
It is there that I was later transferred to a proper hospital, where I got professional treatment.
I was operated on three times on the injured hand. The first time was at Bindura Hospital, then the other two times at Harare Hospital.
I was operated on by a doctor called George.
He was one of us, a comrade.
We never trusted white doctors.
I fully healed by 1980.
After that, all injured comrades were taken to the Ruwa Rehabilitation Centre.
There, we got the opportunity to resume our studies since we were school dropouts.
I had not done Grade Seven.
After the war, it became difficult to go back to primary school.
We were now old.
But there was an American called Ladin, who started classes for us and that made life easy at Danhiko.
We opened that centre in Msasa.
I enrolled for Form One until I completed my Form Four.
I failed some subjects but supplemented until I got five Ordinary Level subjects.
I then secured work in the President’s Office, where I worked until retirement.
I am now a full-time farmer after benefitting from the historic Land Reform Programme.
