The Sunday Mail
This week, we make a trail of the political life of Cde Fani Chikomba whose nom de guerre was Sorry Zivanayi. The former freedom fighter whose operations covered Manicaland, Mashonaland East and Mashonaland Central provinces speaks to our Deputy News Editor, Levi Mukarati on his childhood and what inspired him to join the fight to free Zimbabwe.
Question: Cde Chikomba, when you joined the liberation struggle, the war had thickened and it was inevitable you were destined for an armed confrontation against the white rulers. But before we get to that last resort measure to free Zimbabwe, one would want to know where Fani Chikomba came from, that is, your early life?
Answer: It is difficult to chronicle in full my childhood or young adult life as there are many events that shape it. But I will try to highlight the major ones.
I was born Fani Chikomba on 14 November 1956 to Stephen Chikomba and Naume Nyamhindu in Honde Valley under chief Mutasa, headman Chikomba in Manicaland province.
I was to be known as Shadreck Marekera before later assuming a non de guerre Sorry Zivanayi. As we go deeper, the names will make their own sense.
I am second born in a family of 10; being eight boys and two girls.
In 1962, I was enrolled at St Lukes School in Honde Valley for Sub-A.
When I started school, my aunt had already been married to the Marekera’s in the same area, but they were staying in Mutare.
My aunt’s husband, Amos, worked at CMED Mutare, but they did not have a child.
My uncle had also married another wife, but, again, they did not bear any children.
There came a time in 1962, when my uncle applied for a house in the married quarter section in Mutare.
However, one of the conditions was that he should have children to qualify for the accommodation facility.
As such, he agreed with his two wives to list his young brother’s child – Shadreck Marekera – as his son.
I was of the same age as Shadreck.
Later that year, my aunt and uncle secured a place for Shadreck to start Sub-A in Mutare in 1963.
Shadreck’s father worked in Bulawayo and somehow decided to take his son to start education in Bulawayo.
This was despite the fact that a place had been secured in Mutare.
My aunt and her husband were, again, to sit down and agreed that I move from the rural areas to stay with them in Mutare in order to fulfil their application conditions to qualify for a house.
When I got there, I inherited the name Shadreck Marekera. This meant I had to start over Sub-A in the new identity.
In 1963 I was to attend Zamba Government School in Sakubva, which was temporarily accommodated at Apostolic Faith Mission.
Zamba had not yet built its school, so we were learning from church premises.
In 1964, I went for my Sub-B, this time, at Assemblies of God church, which was located near the then new council bar in Sakubva.
Before we had completed the year, we were to move to learn at Anglican Church which is now near the chicken market, again, in Sakubva.
After that, we were to move to St Roberts Hall near Moffatt Hall or the Post Office for Standard One in 1965.
I remember St Roberts Hall had no toilets, so we used the ablution facilities at Moffatt Hall.
Then in 1966, I did Standard Two at Baptist Church, before doing Standard Three in 1967 at Hill Top Church, which was referred to as Church Gomo. It was a Methodist Church.
While in Standard Four in 1968, construction of Zamba Government School was completed in Sakubva and we went for formal classes. We were the pioneers at the school.
That same year, the education system changed to introduce grades and in 1969 we were put in Grade Seven from Standard four the previous year.
This meant I was supposed to go for Form One in 1970. However, there was only Sakubva Secondary in the whole of Mutare and this could not accommodate us all.
I failed to get a place for Form One. Another school – Ellis Gladhill – had been created.
It was an F2 school, which meant it specialised in practical subjects that were not at Sakubva Secondary such as woodwork, metal work and building.
However, we would also do other subjects such as Social Studies, History, Mathematics and English, but emphasis was on practical subjects.
Ellis Gladhill was first accommodated at a building in Mutare city centre with the actual school buildings being constructed later and, as students, we contributed labour.
I should mention that at Ellis Gladhill, we were not identified as Form Ones, but Grade 8.
There, I did grade 8 to 11.
Politics comes to town
Question: The period you were in school was characterised by growing political activities in most cities and towns, Mutare being no exception, how did these affect you?
Answer: I don’t know if I can say I was lucky to have been ‘rescued’ from the rural areas to become Shadreck, a city boy in Mutare.
I grew up in the city, although each holiday my father would insist I spend it in the rural areas.
But in the city, it was a time when a lot of political activities were taking place.
I began understanding these political activities at a young age around 1964 when I was doing Sub-B.
I think by that time, I was a person who understood what was happening since I had also repeated school.
During that time, my father used to move around wearing a traditional Zulu animal hide headgear, which was synonymous with Zapu supporters.
At one time, Zapu President Joshua Nkomo came to Sakubva and as small boys we followed whilst cheering him and his entourage.
The police had to move in to disperse the people and it ended up in running battles.
When I was doing Grade 10, in 1972, we had the Pearce Commission.
The commission was a plot by the British and Ian Smith government to legitimise Rhodesia’s Unilateral Declaration of Independence.
During those years, we used to go for bioscopes at the Beithall in the afternoon.
Then one day, as we were going home after watching a film around 4pm, we suddenly heard gunshots coming from Sakubva.
This was after riots had erupted as black people opposed the 1971 Constitutional settlement between Smith and Douglas-Home.
I was aged 15 then and was hyper-active. Together with my friends we joined in throwing stones at the police.
I could feel something difficult to explain run through my body and urging me to show the whites that enough is enough.
That time, political talk was increasing and in high density suburbs we used to sit outside at night, under street lights, discussing politics.
There were more stories about what the nationalists were doing, as such, politics seemed to have had diluted all conversations.
I think the wave was countrywide. It was just as today, where a cellphone is something that one cannot resist to use.
We found ourselves trapped in political discussions with no escape.
I remember some of my colleagues were later arrested after the stone throwing riots.
These included Washington Muchabaya, Misheck, Davi Chayamiti and Mafara Marekera.
But they were spared jail time because they were below 18 years.
However, they were sentenced to six canes each after being taken to the probation centre opposite Mutare teachers training college.
It is such punishment that even toughened us to continue fighting the settler regime.
It seemed as if when one was arrested, they would return a hero, stronger and able to motivate others to join the fight.
I think this was mainly because when these people were released from jail, they tended to exaggerate their living conditions to appear as if they managed to absorb the inhumane treatment from the whites.
They also made themselves look like tough guys who cannot be softened by the whites.
So, in the end, everyone wanted to show the bravado side.
A venture into real life
Question: After those riots and school. How was your immediate step into life as a young man?
Answer: These riots were taking place in many towns and cities and I remember in Mutare at one point eight people were shot dead during the Pearce Commission demonstrations.
In 1974, I was to relocate to Harare in search for employment. I was staying with my uncle – father’s elder brother.
I would do, what we called piece jobs. These entailed cleaning houses, trimming lawns, cutting trees and other small jobs in people’s homes.
At that time, it was difficult to get a good job without a certificate in a specialised field.
I had befriended Luke Mugayi who later advised me that we should find a field to specialise in.
That is when I applied to City Tutorial College in Bulawayo which offered training in basic motor vehicle mechanics, spray painting and panel beating.
I managed to secure a place and went to Bulawayo where I joined Shadreck Marekera; who was staying in Nguboyenja.
The college, at that time, was located along the now Lobengula Street.
I completed a six month training in motor vehicle maintenance, panel beating and spray painting.
Armed with my certificate, I returned to Mutare in 1975 looking for an employment, I couldn’t get a job for the qualification I held.
I was to be employed at Oriental Restaurant, near shell House in Mutare as a bar assistant. The place was patronised by whites only.
I worked on a 10 am to 10 pm shift, with breaks at various intervals. In the afternoon, I would use the break-time to find employment in vehicle garages without success.
The restaurant owner’s wife was Chinese and could speak fluent Shona.
She had a son called Howard whom I got along with fine and we used to call him Bruce Lee.
At that time, any person with a white skin was being asked to go for call-up into the Rhodesia security service.
Howard went for the call-up and whilst he was in Mt Darwin, he got injured after stepping on a land mine.
His mother was not happy with her son having gone for the call-up.
That is when I thought to myself that contrary to the messages we were getting on radio, people who were fighting against the whites were actually winning the battle.
I was to get a job at a garage – Ivy’s Place – near Mutare Museum.
Most of the workers were white and we were only three blacks at the garage.
However, these white employees would leave for call-up and those that remained seemed to discuss their future in the wake of increased resistance to continued white rule.
That was the time I was convinced the whites were losing the battle and we needed up the heat.
I could feel the vigour inside me to join the war.
Then in December 1975, one of my young brothers went to the rural areas in Honde valley and upon return told me that he had seen liberation fighters operating in our area.
At that time buses to Honde Valley were ending at Makunike, some 45 to 50 km before our area.
This was because the road from Makunike to Honde Valley was gravel and the comrades had laid land mines on its sides.
My father used to work at Cecil Hotel, which was later changed to Manica Hotel. He was a head wine steward there and owned a bicycle.
So in June 1976, I told him I wanted to go and see my mother and borrowed his bicycle to cycle from Makunike to our rural home.
When I got to Honde Valley, my cousin Japhet was full of excitement to be one of the people helping the comrades who had set base in our area.
He boasted that he knew and got along fine with them.
He told me there were Cdes Davy, Jongwe, Hummer the Crusher, Chaka, Dzokerai Mabhunu, Gorerino Hapana Chakanaka Tororo.
That alone was the fire power I needed. I itched to see these characters. I felt my blood running itching to be part of them.
I was filled with anxiety of wanting to be part of the fighters. It was for this reason that I had lied to my father that the visit to the rural areas was just to see my mother.
Since my brother had told me stories of the comrades in the area, I would dream of these people sneaking through the thick forest at night, in camouflages and holding AK 47’s.
With Japhet’s showing off, I also developed the zeal for other people to speak of me the way he did of the fighters.
The men patrolling our area were heroes and envied in their own way and I also wanted to be part of them.
Continued next week
