‘The war was real’

Alice Mazorodze

NATIONAL hero, Simon Mazorodze, is known to many people as one of the contributors towards Zimbabwe’s independence.

As Zimbabwe marks its important 40th year of freedom, sadly dampened by the coronavirus pandemic that has brought misery, agony and pain of losing thousands of people, I feel honoured to share, with readers, the life I lived with Cde Mazorodze.

My name is Alice Mazorodze (nee Madinga), a Xhosa woman originally from South Africa.

I met Simon in Durban in 1960 and we got married in 1962.

Simon was studying medicine at Natal University, which at the time had a joint venture with King Edwards Hospital, where I was working as a nurse. I met him one night when I was making coffee for my superiors, since I was a still a junior; and it was common to be asked to do such tasks.

I remember Simon and his friends were passing through the hospital corridor and started commenting on the aroma of coffee that I was preparing.

They stopped and introduced themselves. It was Simon, Sydwell Musengezi, who was an optician, and Masango, who was from the then Nyasaland, now Malawi.

That meeting led to a union that eventually resulted in our marriage in 1962 and we came to Zimbabwe in 1963.

Politics was quite rife at the time and my first dance with politics was when I met Cde Joshua Nkomo when he visited Salisbury to meet a group of black workers.

As Rhodesia government employees stationed at Harare Hospital, we were not allowed to take part in politics, but we did meet him anyhow.

Various groups of politicians, both Zanu and Zapu, would visit us and we would interact with them.

In 1967 Simon was transferred to Ndanga Hospital in Fort Victoria, now Masvingo, as a superintendent and that is the same time the liberation struggle was taking shape.

In 1972, there was the Pearce Commission where the white minority population voted for white rule while blacks with the privilege to vote rejected with a big “no”.

In 1973 myself and Simon witnessed, first-hand, the physical effects of war when we went to Mt Darwin to bury his mother in the Chesa Purchase Area.

The war of liberation had started in this area and it was around the same time armed comrades abducted a land inspector in the area, Mr Hucksworth, and took him to the rear. I’m not sure if it was to Zambia or Tanzania.

The situation in the area was very tense as people were being tortured by                                                                 members of the Smith regime who wanted to know the whereabouts of Mr Hucksworth.

My mother-in-law’s funeral was marked by a high-mast of a red cloth used to signal the event taking place.

There was no crying, no singing, and no talking and only the priest conducted the funeral in a low tone, that’s how tense the situation was.

In 1974, Simon’s brother died in a train-car crash at the Umvuma junction from Gwelo to Driefontein.

We had to go and collect the body for burial in Mt Darwin.

Again, the incident was an eye- opener as we were required to be in Bindura with the body by 6am.

This was meant to ensure we were escorted by a landmine detector as landmines had been planted by the white settler government to try and inhibit the movement of freedom fighters.

This incident opened my eyes that the war was a reality.

We were late and arrived in Mt Darwin at around 11am before reporting to the District Commissioner.

We were advised to wait for another convoy that left at 2pm going via Chesa farming area.

It was a summer afternoon and it was very hot.

I was exhausted and thought to myself that we had failed to proceed by ourselves because of the landmines which had been planted to kill my fellow black brothers and sisters.

Along the way, I noticed a number of dead bodies in open space, but could not ask anyone.

I concluded these were the evil intentions of those who had planted the mines.

When we arrived at the farm gate, there was a big ditch that I later learnt had been caused by a landmine explosion.

But it appeared that the atmosphere, at that time, was different as people had embraced they were in a war and that the fight for freedom was a reality.

We were told of stories of people being tortured in the area by the white regime for no apparent reason while some were even being killed.

During a vote of thanks at the end of the funeral, we heard comrades being acknowledged for digging the grave and assisting during the funeral.

As we left the farm, a group of boys at the gate waved and smiled at us.

I wondered who these people were, but I got a whisper from Simon that they were comrades.

The Smith propaganda had labelled such people terrorists, but there was nothing evident in them to show they were out to cause terror.

They were just normal people seeking freedom and had time to console us during our bereavement.

We returned to Fort Victoria and I yearned for the time the war would reach our area.

Then the independence of Mozambique changed the face of the liberation struggle.

Many corridors were opened for politicians, recruits and school children to seek military training in Mozambique.

My husband, for his role in training and harbouring school-leavers for political purposes, was subjected to harassment and surveillance by the Rhodesian Special Branch.

But that did not deter him. He continued to facilitate the crossing of cadres ready to free their country.

Indeed, the country was to gain its independence in 1980.

Ms Alice Mazorodze spoke to our reporter Norman Muchemwa