GUERRILLA TRAINING
It had seemed the day would never come, but finally it did. I was among the hundred and twenty refugees chosen to board the FRELIMO trucks that had arrived as early as 5 am for an unknown destination. I was glad to be leaving the camp, but not overly optimistic about going for training. When we left Machazi I had been excited thinking that I was finally going for training, only to find myself in another refugee camp. From the day I set foot at Nyadzonya, the refugee population had more than trebled to just over 800. Maybe we were now being transferred in order to depopulate the camp.
We drove during the day through many settlements and small towns whose buildings bore the scars of the fight against Portuguese colonialism. Our first stop, around 2pm, was at a FRELIMO garrison where we were each given three paus and some orange juice for our lunch. After a break of one and a half hours we resumed our travel. Around 8.15 pm we arrived at a town called Tete, which I knew from my study of geography is in northern Mozambique. We drove to another FRELIMO garrison in Tete to refuel. From what I had seen so far, Rhodesia was more developed than Mozambique.
From Tete we drove for about two hours through a dense forest. It was difficult to determine the expanse of the forest because it was now dark. Suddenly, a wooden boom straddling the road brought our convoy to a halt. Seemingly from nowhere, a guard manning the roadblock appeared, armed with a submachine gun* similar to those used by our commanders at Nyadzonya.
The guard approached the lead vehicle, in which I was a passenger. He quickly scanned the whole convoy, looking for signs of impending danger. Satisfied there was none, and with authority and great confidence, he approached the driver of the lead vehicle and challenged him to identify himself and to state the purpose of his mission. After a few verbal exchanges, the driver gave the guard some papers. Using the beam of a pencil torch, the guard scrutinised the papers, but without relaxing his vigilance.
During all this time, the guard’s right index finger rested on the trigger of his gun, ready to explode into action should the necessity arise. Finally, satisfied with the explanations given, the guard allowed the whole convoy to proceed.
As we drove past the guard, I saw for the first time two other guards, one on either side of the road. They were partially concealed by the trees behind which they took cover and by a combination of the dark green camouflage uniform they wore and the darkness that distorted their form. They too were armed with sub-machine guns, professionally held and ready to be fired.
We drove for another one and half to two kilometres with no sign of life then, all of a sudden, came to yet another boom. Our experiences at the first boom were repeated before the guard allowed us to proceed. About 500 metres further down the road the convoy came to an abrupt halt. I wondered why we had to stop now as there was no boom to restrict our passage. The engines and lights of all our vehicles were turned off and as my eyes began to adjust to the new lighting conditions, I was surprised to see we were in the middle of a camp.
The time was past 11 pm and there were no fires or lights to give away the existence or location of the camp. Neither were there unnecessary movements of people, or evidence of the presence of animals. There was absolute silence which was only broken by the camp officials who came to meet us.
I began wondering whether we had come to a FRELIMO camp. But when the officials, all armed with automatic rifles and not the wooden replicas used in the refugee camps, addressed us in shona with a distinct Zimbabwean accent, my doubts were put to rest and so were the anxieties I had that we were being moved to yet another refugee camp.
The main ZANLA training camps in Tanzania were Nachingwea and Mgagao. In Mozambique they were Tembwe in Tete Province and Mapinduzi, later renamed Takawira, located at Chimoio ZANLA Headquarters in Manica Province. Our group had been assigned to Tembwe Training Camp.
The group of trainees that preceded us had already completed their training and been deployed. Remaining in the camp were officers and veterans (referred to as instructor assistants) who would be responsible for our training.
The routine for the first three weeks at Tembwe closely resembled that at the refugee camps. We were engaged in the construction of our barracks, attending political lessons, and practising military drills. A typical day in the life of a trainee was something like this:
0400 – 0410 at the sound of a whistle, assemble on parade in correct military formations
0410 – 0430 actual attendance on parade reconciled with expected attendance
0430 – 0530 toi toi (jogging) for about 10 kilometres from base
0530 – 0600 collect firewood or construction materials for barracks, etc
0600 – 0800 walk back in formation order to base
0800 – 0930 form up at parade and practise marching drills
0930 – 1100 breakfast
1100 – 1300 go to respective training group in accordance with training syllabus
1300 – 1430 lunch
1430 – 1700 continue training in accordance with syllabus
1700 – 1730 evening parade
1730 – 2000 bath and supper
2000 – 2200 political orientation
2200 retire to bed
The 4 am whistle signalled the start of a day. We would quickly form up into our company formations and, led by the officers and veterans, we would run and sing in unison for ten to fifteen kilometres to go and fetch firewood or materials for constructing barracks or any other buildings.
In those early days, running ten kilometres non-stop was taxing for all new recruits. Many recruits would fall behind and start walking due to exhaustion. Veterans following close behind, and with whip in hand, would beat the tiredness out of the exhausted recruits. Only in very rare cases would the whip fail to persuade a recruit to resist tiredness. At the end of the first three weeks all recruits, unless afflicted by some illness, found it easier to complete the distance than when we first began.
Our training syllabus was made up of modules with specific time frames to be adhered to. (The table in the appendices on page 270 shows how the course was structured, according to Wilfred Mhanda.*)
What we had considered a tough test of endurance, running 10 kilometres without a break, turned out to be a picnic when the actual training in guerrilla tactics began. We were split into groups of 20 and each group was headed by a Member of General Staff (instructor) aided by four veterans.
I remember vividly our first lesson in field craft. The instructor heading our group began his first lecture by explaining the myth surrounding guerrilla operations and tactics.
“You have all heard how the guerrillas are able to disappear when confronted by an enemy, haven’t you?” he said. We all gave a positive response to this question.
I had first heard the myths surrounding guerrillas’ operational tactics before I came to join the armed struggle. It was common talk among the villagers, some dramatising battles between the comrades and the Rhodesian soldiers they had never seen but which they swore they had witnessed. They would tell how the guerrillas were able to turn into cabbages when confronted by enemy forces, or simply disappear. I had taken these stories as just hollow propaganda. But the commanders from the battlefield who occasionally visited Nyadzonya refugee camp had confirmed the veracity of these myths.
“Yes it is true, the comrades are able to disappear, and by the time you finish my course you will all know how to disappear right in the eyes of the enemy,” the instructor explained to a mesmerised audience. “I want your undivided attention to what I will teach you and total commitment to what you will be told to do,” the instructor was making a plea to the already converted. Who in his right mind would refuse to learn how to disappear when engaged in combat with the enemy? There was excitement on the faces of all the recruits as we absorbed every word our instructor said. ‘Maybe there was some magic potion that would be smeared on all the comrades to make us invisible,’ most of us thought.
After enthusing us with high expectations, the instructor called upon two veterans to demonstrate a few tactics. In our group the veterans were all female comrades.
“Comrades,” the instructor barked out an order, “attention.” The veterans stood at attention and awaited the next order.
“Prone position, take.” The veterans responded to the order by thrusting their left feet forward, bending their left knees and extending their left arms forward, coming to lie on the ground with their bodies propped up by the left arms that were level with the ground from the elbow to the wrist. The whole manoeuvre was done smoothly and effortlessly in synchronised moves.
“Comrades, up!” the instructor gave another instruction and the veterans, with the same synchronised moves, got up and stood to attention. It all seemed so easy. When the instructor asked for volunteers from the trainees to follow the example shown by the veterans, we all had our hands in the air.
Two by two we all took turns to repeat the demonstration. It was not as easy as the veterans had made it appear, but also not too difficult. The whole of the first day was spent perfecting that basic manoeuvre.
The second day, after rehearsing the basic manoeuvre a few more times, the instructor ordered the veterans to demonstrate the next stage.
“Attention, prone position, take,” the instructor gave the order as before. The veterans once again effortlessly adopted the ordered position.
“Crawl!” the instructor further ordered the veterans. The veterans quickly crawled by moving the left arm forward and pushing the whole body forward by exerting pressure on the right heel. Again the manoeuvre was made to appear so easy. Then it was the turn of the recruits to practise what had been demonstrated.
What started as simple manoeuvres proved to be the most difficult stage of guerrilla training. To perfect the movement of the whole body, using the left arm and the right foot while keeping the whole body as close as possible to the ground, was in itself a daunting task. To repeat this procedure over a long distance on rough terrain became a painful and punishing experience.
As you got tired, the veterans would urge you to overcome tiredness and continue crawling. When you felt you had been driven to the limit, the veterans would be generous with their whips as they continued to urge, “Crawl, comrade!”
Faced with the ominous presence of the whip above and the tiredness from within, one quickly learned to acknowledge that tiredness is a psychological condition that afflicts the mind and can be controlled and regulated.
Continuously putting the weight of your body on your elbow in this way makes the skin rupture and bleed, causing extreme pain. Suffering like this, the natural reaction of most human beings is to appeal for sympathy, and the recruits did just that. The most unexpected response to the appeals was what we got – the lavish whip.
But for the instructor and his veterans, bleeding was the awaited and most desired outcome. It signalled the time was ripe to change from the soft, user friendly terrain to one that was rugged and unfriendly. As the terrain became uglier, so did the temperament of the veterans who, like the Spanish bulls, seemed aroused by the sight of red blood to charge more aggressively and lavishly with their whips.
For every trainee a measure of relief came at the end of each day’s training session. But that also did not spell the end of a trainee’s woes. We alternated every second day between guard duties and cooking responsibilities. Those spared from these additional responsibilities spent two or three hours taking political lessons.
Each day for about two weeks we repeated the crawling exercises, reopening the wounds of the left elbow. Satisfied that the recruits had mastered the basic crawling techniques, the instructor introduced another variation. Using both arms and knees, recruits would crawl like a baby before it learns to walk. The procedure was repeated until we were able to move swiftly using our knees and elbows and keeping our bodies as close to the ground as was humanly possible, but not before we developed more wounds to our battered knees and elbows.
By the end of the first phase of guerrilla training, the scars around the knees and elbows turned into a thick protective shield which, like the bottom of a foot, became resistant to rugged terrain. The calluses so formed could easily betray the identity of a trained comrade if captured by the enemy.
During the last week of the first phase of guerrilla training, each trainee was issued with a semi-automatic rifle (AK-47). The feel of a real gun, and not the wooden replicas we had been accustomed to in the refugee camps, caused much excitement amongst the trainees. We were shown and made to rehearse how to crawl while holding our guns. An additional tactic, complementary to crawling, was how to roll one’s body from position to position with the butt of the gun tucked between the legs and the barrel held close to the stomach and chest.
A trained guerrilla was not expected to maintain a static position when engaging the enemy. One had to fire from one position for a few seconds, crawl or roll to a new position and again fire for a few seconds before shifting to yet another position. This tactic, if properly used, made it difficult for the enemy to aim accurately at a guerrilla position and also created the illusion that there were more guerrillas than the actual number firing at the enemy.
“If you master and utilise properly the tactics I have taught you” the instructor emphasised at the conclusion of his course “you will create the illusion of being able to disappear. Don’t be misled; there is no magic potion to make anyone really disappear.”
Finally, the truth about the myth that guerrillas disappeared or turned into cabbages was revealed. But when we completed our training, and without being urged to do so, we joined the ranks of all trained comrades in perpetuating the myth.
We had different instructors specialised for each phase of instruction. Weapon training was the most interesting part of guerrilla training. The instructor gave us lessons on the characteristics, maintenance and use of the basic weapons. These included semi-automatic rifles, sub-machine guns, pistols, bazookas, light machine guns, grenades, and other light infantry weapons.
We also learnt the characteristics and usage of the weapons commonly used by the enemy. This was necessary because weapons captured from the enemy could be used against them if the situation demanded. In the final stages of our struggle as we consolidated our military gains by establishing liberated areas, it was common for us to train the povo in their localities and arm them with weapons captured from the enemy so that they could provide the first line of their own defence against the enemy.
Emphasis was placed on the maintenance of weapons. The real and constant danger during operations was for a gun to get jammed. This was often a reflection of a lack of regular cleaning, more often than not arising from an accumulation of residual gunpowder when a gun is continuously fired, or changes in weather that could result in dampness to the gun powder causing the gun to malfunction, or clogging of the barrel of a gun from impurities in the atmosphere. Every recruit had to master the skills of disassembling and reassembling guns, even in darkness or when blindfolded, for the purpose of cleaning.
Accurate aiming of weapons was given a lot of attention too. To achieve this goal, a lot of time was spent at the firing range, sharpening shooting skills. We practised shooting from the prone, kneeling, and standing positions. After we had mastered the techniques of shooting at stationary targets, we also practised shooting at moving targets. The ability to shoot accurately at short and long ranges against stationary and moving targets was critical to the economic use of our meagre ammunition in order to inflict a high casualty rate against the enemy with a minimum wastage of bullets.
We all had to master the best way to handle our weapons to avoid accidental discharges that could result in one’s own injury or death, or the injury or death of other comrades. Without adopting the correct handling procedure, a bazooka, for instance, can cause serious burns to the user or those around him/her with its back blast. Accidental firing of a weapon during operations could give away one’s presence or location to the enemy.
During weapons training, we practised how best to handle our weapons when carrying out tactical crawling manoeuvres.
Equally important, we learned the various tactics and formations guerrillas use when operating in the field. Most movements were to be in the evening to avoid detection. This was particularly important when there was a movement of large numbers of guerrillas, or when entering a new operational zone where the people had not been adequately politicised.
Other tricks of the trade centered on how to cross gravel roads or paths and rivers. These were to be approached and crossed walking backwards. By so doing, the footprints would point in the direction from where the guerrillas had come, thereby causing the enemy to go in the wrong direction in pursuit of them.
The freedom fighters had to be sensitive to local traditions and beliefs in areas where they operated. Reverence was given to spirit mediums and it was taboo to denigrate local traditions and beliefs. Even in our camps at the rear, vana Sekuru (spirit mediums) were held in high esteem, given their own bases, and often consulted to foretell the future. There were, ofcourse, some pretenders amongst them who made false prophesies in order to gain favour and to try to influence the course of the struggle.
Outside formal training, non essential lies were subtly allowed to do the rounds amongst recruits in an effort to engender courage and a degree of honesty among our fighters. For instance, there was a generally held view that if one had sexual intercourse in the operational areas one would not survive in battle. The real truth was that sexual relations in operational areas could result in conflicts amongst comrades, as well as poisoning relations with the masses, and had to be strongly discouraged.
In some cases comrades would sniff ground tobacco to ingratiate themselves with the spirit mediums and, when crossing rivers, put a pinch of the snuff into a river while begging for guidance and protection from the spirits. Even if one did not believe in spirit mediums, it was inconceivable that anyone would openly argue against these beliefs.
Overall, the objective of guerrilla training was to impart knowledge of weapons and weapon handling, tactics and tactical manoeuvres, survival and first aid skills; all interwoven with a political prescription that moulded the comrades into a potent force against the oppressive regime in Rhodesia.
No comrades were expected to carry food when going on operations. The masses were the providers of our food, our clothing, and our operational intelligence. Hence the need to politicise and trust our masses and make them willing and proud, even at great risk to their lives, to contribute to the struggle in this manner. On rare occasions, comrades would carry limited rations, especially when they had to walk for days before coming to populated areas.
Although the actual training in guerrilla warfare had its pains and challenges, there was an even more painful and menacing experience for which no lessons were provided, but which was lurking throughout all our training – hunger. During our training food was a precious but scarce commodity. To be assigned a duty to cook became the most prestigious responsibility one could wish for. It seemed there were some with good connections with the administration who were assigned to cooking duties most of the time. In my case, such opportunities were few and far between. As a survival tactic I, together with a few other comrades, used to lay ambushes when the cooks were taking cooking drums down to the river for washing. We would knock these drums down, and dive inside to scrape food particles stuck to the inside walls of the drums. It was a remarkable scene to watch half of a body inside each of the drums with buttocks and feet sticking outside.
Comrade Kamudyariwa, our boarding master, sought to stop this practice by deploying veterans with whips to flog the ‘behinds’ of those caught red-handed, but to no avail. On one occasion our ambush had near fatal consequences. Undeterred by the menacing presence of the whip-wielding veterans, one comrade and I knocked down the same drum and we both dived into it. We wedged ourselves inside the drum. The veterans applied the whips to our buttocks. The effect was that of a hammer being applied to the back of a wedge to push it further in. We locked each other inside the drum and were suffocating one another. One of the veterans noticed that our efforts to wriggle further inside or extricate ourselves from the drum were becoming feeble. He ordered the others to suspend the whipping, and with some veterans holding the drum and others holding our legs, we were pulled free from the drum almost unconscious. For me, the drum ambushes ended on this day.
Tembwe was far removed from the densely populated areas. That, added to the rigorous training schedule we went through every day, removed the appetite and strength to engage in illegal trade with the povo. Be that as it may, there were exceptional individuals with the audacity to travel the long distances in search of barter deals. If discovered, the ‘emergency therapy’, a common feature in the refugee camps, was surgically and mercilessly administered to the accompaniment of the sorrowful song ‘Rangarira zuva riya rawakasiya vanamai vachingochemachema’ (Remember the day you left the parents crying in anguish).
When I completed my basic training in guerrilla warfare, the rebel character in me had been reinforced and revolutionalised and I was ready and eager to be unleashed into battle against the Rhodesian war machinery alongside other comrades.
Our expectations for an early deployment soon after completion of training were dashed by the announcement that we were to transfer to yet another camp named Sabondo. Only later were we to appreciate the wisdom of this decision.
Sabondo was situated about 15 kilometres from the main training camp at Tembwe. It was located in the middle of a game reserve and was far removed from population centres. Just before being moved to this base, we were issued with standard munitions – brand new AK rifles and six magazines of ammunition each – an event that was received with great enthusiasm.
During our period of training, the starvation ration we were getting left our bodies severely shrivelled and malnourished. The camouflage uniforms we wore seemed to be hanging on skeletons. At Sabondo, however, we were getting at least two decent meals a day and, as a continuation of training at shooting moving targets, we hunted down game, especially warthogs that were in abundance in the game reserve. There was never a shortage of meat in the camp.
After only two weeks at Sabondo the transformation in the physique of all comrades was incredible. You began to discern swellings to the faces of all the comrades and, gradually, these extended to the rest of the body. It was like observing people with mumps and seeing them spread from the neck downwards to the rest of the body as the skeletal forms began to fill with flesh. With a few exceptions, by the end of a month all the bodies were evenly dressed in flesh and exuded great strength and purpose. Had deployment taken place immediately on completion of training, we would have been unable to cope with the rigours of travelling long distances on foot from transit bases close to the border with Rhodesia to designated operational areas. Nor would our skeletal figures have had sufficient strength to carry the huge ammunition reserves, or pieces of heavy weaponry needed to bolster our firepower against the well-equipped enemy forces.
We were in our sixth week at Sabondo when commanders withdrawn from the operational front to be allocated reinforcements arrived. Naturally, we were excited at the prospect of finally being given the opportunity to make our mark on the battlefield and, also, a little apprehensive of the unknown and uncertain future.
The emergency whistle just before dawn, two days after the arrival of the field commanders, was not entirely unexpected, but rather a little delayed. In record time every one of us formed at the parade ground, verified our numbers and stood in absolute silence while waiting to be addressed. Before this could happen, the silence was broken by the roar of vehicles driving into the camp. There was no panic from our commanders, a sure sign that the arrival of these vehicles had been anticipated.
Before the three trucks could come to a complete halt our camp commander, papers in hand and flanked by the field commanders, came to address the parade. Names of thirty comrades were read out and those named were ordered to remain at the parade ground while the rest of us were to return to our barracks.
Barely twenty minutes later we heard a stampede as the comrades who had remained on the parade ground came breezing into the barracks to collect their personal belongings. There was a mixture of excitement and sadness as they bade us farewell. The exchange of emotions lasted less than five minutes and they had to rush to a designated meeting place.
Two hours later, the three trucks that had earlier arrived empty were now leaving the camp. The leading two trucks had the thirty comrades and their personal weapons. They all had webbing across their chests containing magazines of ammunition. It was not possible to tell the cargo of the third truck as it was covered by a tent. We imagined it would carry reserve ammunition, mortar tubes and their shells, some heavy machine guns and explosives.
“Tondorwira nyika yamaireva, tondorwira nyika yamadzibaba nemadzishe …” (We are going to fight for the land of our forefathers and our kings …) was the animated and melodic singing from the reinforcement that almost drowned the noise from the trucks that laboured under their weight. For some of these comrades, this was the last time we would ever see them.
Two days later the same three trucks returned and the same procedure was repeated. Following the departure of the second wave of recruits we waited four days before the return of the trucks to uplift the third wave of recruits.
Judging by the carrying capacity of the trucks, it was predictable that the fourth wave of reinforcements would clear all the remaining comrades. We waited an agonising ten days before the trucks returned. The frustration created by the delay was swept aside by the excited realisation that finally, D Day had arrived for all the remaining comrades. The commander followed the now familiar routine of reading out the names of those leaving, at the parade ground. For all of us, this was purely academic as all the remaining comrades would surely constitute the fourth and final wave of reinforcements.
The commander exhausted his list but, alas! I had not heard my name. Maybe I was mistaken or it was a mere omission that would be rectified immediately. I made a sign to attract the attention of the commander. Permission was granted for me to speak. I pointed out that my name had inadvertently been left out. Without giving the commander a chance to respond, four other comrades echoed the same sentiments. A response was made and it was devastating. The omission was deliberate. The five of us constituted the exceptions whose malnourished bodies were deemed not to have recovered sufficiently to be immediately deployed, despite the VIP treatment at Sabondo. A separate programme was going to be unveiled for us.
Almost two weeks after the last reinforcement from our group left for operational deployment, the five exceptions were seated in a pickup truck going to a yet unknown destination. The treatment we were being accorded now was different from that before we had been trained. We had even been told we were going to Chimoio when we left Sabondo, but to us Chimoio meant nothing at all as we had not adapted to the name changes after Mozambique’s independence.
Around 4 pm we came to Vila Pery. The name was familiar from my study of geography. The town bore the scars of the struggle against Portuguese colonialism. Bullet holes pocked most of the buildings, and some were in complete ruins. Shops that were operational were nearly empty. We moved from shop to shop looking for some food items and soft drinks, but without success. After about six failed attempts and on the verge of giving up the search, we entered a dilapidated shop and were surprised to find a few soft drinks displayed on the shelf. There was no refrigerator and the four displayed bottles were the last ones. We bought all of them and shared their warm contents.
When we were ordered back into our truck in readiness to proceed with our journey, I enquired from our commander how much longer it would take us to reach Chimoio. I was surprised to be told that we were in Chimoio and it was the name by which Vila Pery was now known. However, our final destination was between fifteen and twenty kilometres from this worn out town.
Chimoio ZANLA Headquarters comprised many different bases, including the Headquarters Base, Mbuya Nehanda (female Base), Mapinduzi* (first renamed Takawira Base and later Takawaira Base 1), Percy Ntini Base, Parirenyatwa† (hospital base), National Stores Base, and later, Takawira Base 2 (new training base we called ‘Taks by the yellow river’).
Mapinduzi was a training base. There were cadres undergoing basic training in guerrilla warfare (thank God I had gone past that stage), and there were those who had completed their basic training and were now specialising in different fields. Areas of specialisation included the handling and use of heavy machine guns, multi-barrelled anti aircraft guns, mortar 60s and 82s, recoilless rifles, bazookas, and others. At a later stage I gained superficial knowledge in the use of all weapons, but my specific area of specialisation was explosives.
The effective use of explosives was a game changer in our struggle. Explosives had a devastating and demoralising effect on the enemy and were routinely used in conjuction with small arms in ambushes, or deployed independently. Both anti-personnel and anti-tank mines struck fear into the hearts of the enemy and diminished both his motivation and capacity to fight. We were taught how to use different types of explosives. We also learned to identify and de-fuse enemy bombs and other explosive materials, and how to conceal and prevent our own explosive materials being detected.
Comrade Zhepe Chibende, and later Comrade Chapewa Masande, were my tutors in this exciting speciality. Both had wonderful delivery skills and at times made daring and dangerous experiments with explosives. I was shocked, though not totally surprised, when I learned two years later that Comrade Chibende had been killed due to a premature detonation while demonstrating the use of explosives to his class.
Soon after my specialisation I was deployed to participate in the long awaited operations against the formidable Rhodesian forces. The enemy was superior in numbers, better trained and better equipped. In its eyes we were a rag tag guerrilla force that could not successfully threaten or overcome the might of the Rhodesian forces, supported by the equally formidable forces of the apartheid regime in South Africa and other capitalist countries. Nevertheless, we were undaunted by the advantages the enemy had over us. Our superiority lay in our conviction that our struggle was for a just cause, deserving a commitment from all of us to pay the supreme sacrifice, if need be, for the freedom and independence of our country, and to bring to an end the subjugation and suffering of our toiling masses.
After spending three months on operations I was recalled to be an assistant instructor (veteran) at Chimoio ZANLA Headquarters, after which I was promoted to be a member of General Staff (GS) and appointed as an instructor. This, of course, allowed me the opportunity to look at training from both the angle of the receiver (recruit) and that of the giver (instructor).
As a recruit I had considered training to be tortuous and cruel and the veterans inhumane and barbaric. That negative perception began to change after completion of basic training when the veterans began showing a more genial attitude towards the graduates. When I became an instructor, and with the little exposure I had had at the battlefront, I began to appreciate the need for a rigorous training regimen in preparing the recruits for even tougher operational demands.
Being appointed a member of GS had lots of advantages. You were immediately moved from the barracks and into a hut just dedicated to you. You were also assigned the services of two batmen to maintain the cleanliness of your hut and to provide for your other needs. Other advantages included an allowance which you could use to buy cigarettes, beers or supplementary food.
At least once every week, members of GS would nominate one of their own to go to the town of Chimoio to buy their requirements. On one Saturday morning it became my turn to go on such an errand. The only available transport on this day was a seven ton Mercedes Benz truck. Accompanied by one of my batmen and another comrade, we were driven to Chimoio town to buy cigarettes and a few other grocery items. When we got there we discovered it was a Mozambican holiday and almost all shops were closed. The few open ones did not have cigarettes in stock.
I was disappointed and directed that we drive back to our base. But our driver came to my rescue and explained that there was a prison complex nearby where cigarettes were sold, and they never ran out of stock. I was relieved to get this information and ordered that we drive straight to the prison.
We arrived and parked next to the entrance. I went to the gate and banged my fist on it to attract the attention of a prison guard. Without delay the gate was partially opened, just to allow the prison guard to see who had banged on it. I explained my wish to buy cigarettes and the prison guard opened the gate sufficiently to allow me to enter. All the comrades accompanying me remained in the truck to await my return.
Inside the prison I waited about fifteen minutes, expecting someone would come to serve me. There was no sign of that. I decided it was time to remind the guards that I was waiting to be served. The guard I spoke to had a whispered conversation with his colleague before turning his attention to me.
“Who told you that cigarettes are bought in a prison?” he enquired. I was surprised and irritated by the question.
“My colleague told me that on occasions our comrades come to buy cigarettes here,” I responded. The guard seemed to ignore my answer and a few minutes later his colleague, who had briefly disappeared, returned holding some prison clothing. The clothes were thrown at me and I was ordered to change into prisoners’ uniform.
My protests were in vain and the guards reinforced their numbers to force me to change my clothing. Reluctantly I did so. Meanwhile, after a prolonged delay, my colleagues outside banged on the prison gate to enquire when I would come out. To their utter surprise they were told no one resembling their description of me had entered the prison complex that day. When finally dusk came they had no option but to return to our base and report my mysterious disappearance.
Late on Sunday morning some officers were dispatched to the prison to secure my release. Again, they were told that I had never been there. To prove that they were telling the truth, the prison officials ordered all the prisoners to assemble and my comrades were asked if they could identify me. When they could not, the prison guards suggested that maybe my colleagues were mistaken about the prison where they had taken me.
The officers who had come to seek my release began to suspect foul play on the part of the comrades who had accompanied me to Chimoio the previous day. It was true I was not at the prison complex when my fellow officers came. Early that Sunday morning I had been transferred to a police holding cell and for the next five days was moved from one cell to another. On the fifth day, two days after I had begun a hunger strike to protest my detention, I was released without charge or explanation.
Among my trainees were two senior members of ZANU (PF), Comrade Herbert Ushewokunze* and Comrade Sydney Sekeramayi.† I was their instructor in political orientation classes and for sub-machine guns. This period of training cemented a special and enduring relationship between me and the two members of the Central Committee.
Later in this book I shall describe the attack by the Rhodesians targeting Chimoio ZANLA Headquarters in November 1977.‡ By then I was the acting Director of Politics and was involved in rewriting our political lessons. After surviving the attack, my team relocated to a new base called Mudzingadzi to continue our rewrite of the political lessons. While in this process, Comrade Rex Nhongo§ accompanied by four other comrades interrupted what we were doing and announced, “Co-co-comrade T-Tekere na Co-comrade Ushewoku-kunze vasungwa” (Comrade Tekere and Comrade Ushewokunze have been abducted) in his characteristic stammer. The troubled expression on his face bore witness to the seriousness of his words.
Without delay we took our guns and followed Comrade Nhongo in the direction of Takawira 2 Training Base where the purported abductors had headed. About three kilometres from the camp we heard the sound of a car coming from the direction of the camp and took up positions by a Mozambican primary school. With weapons ready, we waved the culprits down and made them disembark. After a quick but thorough interrogation we were given the location in the forest where Comrades Tekere and Ushewokunze had been gagged and tied to a tree. We were thus able to free them, ruffled but unharmed.
My relationship with Comrade Ushewokunze endured after independence. Comrade Ushewokunze accompanied me to my wife’s rural home where he acted as go-between in negotiations with my inlaws over the payment of lobola (dowry) and represented my father when our marriage was officially registered. When Comrade Ushewokunze was a government minister I used to visit him at his house in Glen Lorne, a low density surbub in Harare. On one such visit, just after he had been dropped from government in a cabinet reshuffle, I went to his house to commiserate with him. I had just said goodbye and was about to leave his house when the late Chief Rekayi Tangwena arrived. He also commiserated with Comrade Ushewokunze and advised him that if he were to form his own political party, he would command a lot of support and that he, too, was willing to give his support. I was concerned by this suggestion and delayed my departure until everyone had left, in order to offer my own advice. Once we were alone, I appealed to Comrade Ushewokunze not to be rash in his reactions but to remain a loyal party cadre, respectful of judgments made by superior authorities. Thank God he listened and it was not long before he bounced back into government.
My highest point as an instructor came when I was tasked by our Chief of Operations, Comrade Rex Nhongo, to train a commando group. I had no idea what such training would entail, so the first responsibility was to identify a team of competent officers to assist me in fulfilling this onerous task. Amongst those I chose were comrades Oliver Shiri, Maspara, Mbumburu and Zitterson Zuluka.
Together with my team we designed the type of training we were to give to the commando group. It had to be something out of the ordinary, easily distinguishable from the conventional training given to all our fighters. We paid particular attention to the physique of the group, their discipline, and their ability to adapt to new challenges. As individuals and as a group they had to be able to operate and survive in a hostile environment, and they had to have excellent map reading skills. We were not told, but we knew they were being prepared for a special mission. Failure on their part to accomplish a given mission would reflect negatively on the quality of training they got and, by inference, the quality of their instructors. Because I had been selected to design and lead the commando training, any failure to successfully accomplish missions by the commando group would be a serious indictment on my capabilities.
We chose a location in the middle of a game reserve, far removed from population centres, to be the training ground for the commando group. The forty recruits were carefully selected from cadres who had completed their basic training in guerrilla warfare and had excelled over others in training and were in good physical shape.
There were to be no barracks or pit toilets, indispensable components of all our camps. No fires were allowed in the camp after sunset and strict silence was observed during the evenings. We tried the best we could to recreate conditions which the cadres would be expected to operate under at the home front. No boundaries, real or imagined, existed in our camp, and the natural vegetation was preserved the best we could. Littering of any kind was a punishable offense.
We were lavish with our punishments. Just to throw away a piece of paper or an empty ration tin, or drop a bullet, and so on, could earn one of our less severe penalties – running up and down a hill without stopping, carrying a five kilo stone. Failure to accomplish this could trigger other and more severe penalties. When on operations, it is these seemingly insignificant things that can give away one’s presence to the enemy.
The actual training introduced new and advanced skills not taught in regular guerrilla training. The commando group learned to de-buss from moving trucks with guns blazing. They acquired a thorough knowledge of tracking skills which, together with the chameleon skills of camouflage and concealment, turned them into an invisible rebel force against the Rhodesian regime.
The terrain which they traversed became the main source of their operational intelligence. They were trained to glean intelligence from foot prints and other disturbances on the ground, and to determine how long ago they could have occurred. The foliage too was an important source of intelligence. If there were bent or broken twigs or grass, they needed to decipher whether they were caused by animals or humans, which direction the animal or human was going, whether they were broken in a rushed or casual movement, and the approximate time the damage occurred, as well as the numbers involved.
Interpreting accurately the reactions of birds and animals and the different sounds and warnings they make when sensing lurking danger, or just communicating with each other, needed special training and expert observation. Mastering such skills turns birds and animals into useful and dependable allies against an enemy. We thus taught our cadres to be friends of, and friendly with, their environment.
The environment can be the bush with its plants, animals, birds and rivers; or an urban centre with its buildings, people, vehicles, roads, etc.; or the rural kind with its villages, people, cattle, dogs, paths, etc. Whatever its configuration, the environment had to be utilised to protect and conceal every movement from the prying eyes of the enemy, to warn of imminent danger, and to secretly lead to the enemy. We trained our cadres to use the environment to their advantage to spring surprise attacks against the enemy.
But the environment can also be like a tame ass. Friend or foe alike can ride it without resistance. Being at one with the environment does not preclude the enemy from being the same. The cadres had to be alert and vigilant at all times in order to outwit the enemy.
The cumulative effect of the different training programmes and the regimen of punishments, helped mould a disciplined, hardened and resilient commando fighting force, capable of adapting to different operational environments, as well as to seemingly insurmountable challenges and obstacles. We produced a resilient, better-qualified force than its trainers.
About four months after training the commando group I was in Ethiopia after redeployment, as the Chief Representative of ZANU, when news of the attack on oil tanks in Salisbury* broke. This brazen attack bore the hallmarks of an operation by a commando group, such as the one we had trained.
* In Chimurenga parlance the term sub-machine gun was used interchangeably for a variety of automatic and semi-automatic weapons.
* Wilfred Mhanda was known as Dzinashe Machingura during the struggle. He was the Zimbabwe People’s Army (ZIPA) deputy political commissar from 1975 to 1977. He was arrested for his role in the ZIPA rebellion of 1977.
* Mapinduzi was a training base named after a ship that brought comrades who trained in Tanzania to Mozambique.
† Dr Samuel Tichafa Parirenyatwa became the Vice President of the Zimbabwe African People’s Union (ZAPU) when it was formed in 1962. He was killed later the same year in a car ‘accident,’ believed to have been engineered by the colonial government, at a railway crossing.
* After independence, Comrade Herbert Ushewokunze held various ministerial appointments including Health, Home Affairs, Transport, Political Affairs and Energy, Water Resources and Development. He was also a member of the Central Committee and Politburo for the ruling party ZANU (PF), amongst his many achievements.
† At the time of writing, Comrade Sydney Sekeramayi is Minister of Defence, a post he previously held. Other ministerial posts he has held since independence include Lands Resettlement and Rural Development, Health, and State Security. He is a member of the Central Committee and Politburo for the ruling ZANU (PF), among other achievements.
‡ See Chimoio Attack: Rhodesian Genocide by the same author.
§ During the struggle, Comrade Rex Nhongo became the Chief of Operations and deputy to the Chief of Defence, Comrade Tongogara. After independence, Comrade Nhongo, whose real name was Solomon Mujuru, distinguished himself as Commander of the Zimbabwe National Army (ZNA). He was a member of the Central Committee and Politburo for the ruling ZANU (PF). Mujuru died on 16 August 2011 in an inferno on his farm in Beatrice.
* Salisbury, the capital city of Rhodesia, was renamed Harare after independence.