ZANU Traitors and Long Yearn to Ban Mugabe

An incident that took place under one of the mango trees in my paternal grandmother's village compound seems to have presaged the 15th of November 2017 Coup. At the time of the incident, the Liberation War was in full swing. Between the battleground, which was my rural home, and the City of Salisbury, only the commercial farms were the last barriers blocking the war from spilling into the streets and suburbs. My communal area is at the edge of that wartime barrier. This meant that the beleaguered Rhodesian military poured money and personnel into this area. It was Hell on earth.

Beyond taking a resolute military stand in the villages surrounding Salisbury, the Rhodesian military also infiltrated the deployed regiments of the ZANLA forces. One such group used to get quartered in my village, using my mother's compound as the main quarter since it was at the edge of village and very close to a hill used as a temporary base. Deeper in the village was my grandmother's compound. During the night, this compound was used as a gathering place for the pungwe meetings. The political indoctrination, explanations for the reasons for the war and even intimidation of the peasantry, took place during these meetings.

It was during these meetings that I first heard of the man named Robert Mugabe. From the way the fighters described him, I was left with the impression that he was a living midzimu, a veritable demigod above human follies. You cannot insult mudzimu without inviting a disaster upon your heard. At the time, Mugabe's name was mentioned only in hushed tones of an almost idolatrous character. Unto this day, that image of Mugabe molded at these pungwe meetings endures in rural Zimbabwe.

So, you can imagine how shocked the gathered peasantry must have felt when a lanky "liberation" fighter pitched up in my village uninvited and unannounced and, that night, to denounce Mugabe in lyric and verse. A Kalashnikov submachine gun was slung at the back of his tall and thin frame. When walking, his gait was soft and tentative he resembled a predator stalking a spooked prey. There was something of an aura of treachery enveloping this lone-wolf of an armed man. It turned out his name was Comrade Mupaka. Having turned up in afternoon, he lingered around, regularly casting a suspicious eye at the knotted groups of the ZANLA combatants passionately arguing in whispers, while occasionally wagging and jabbing an accusatory finger at the stooping figure of the tall stranger.

It was only during the pungwe that very night that this stranger told us that he had trained the ZANLA combatants camped in my village. "Mufana Jimmy uyu ndakamudziidzisa kurwa hondo," Comrade Mupaka lamented. Comrade Jimmy, his protege in Mozambique, had wanted to kill his trainer the afternoon the lanky "liberation" fighter had stalked his way into my village. By the time he was addressing the gathered peasantry, Comrade Jimmy stood all alone and forlorn, looking very upset at what had unfolded that afternoon. Only the intervention of his fellow combatants had prevented Comrade Jimmy from shooting to death Comrade Mupaka. It turned out that Mupaka had, indeed, been a ZANLA combatant. Under some mysterious circumstance, he had decided to abandon ZANLA for the sake of joining the Rhodesian military as part of the Rhodesian Auxiliary Forces, a militia of black soldiers. This was a brutal lot that terrorized peasants at the tailend of the Liberation War. Most of the members of that Rhodesian militia, strangely called Pfumo reVanhu, were what we call marombe. These were unemployed and unemployable village louts. As a general trait, marombe can be ordered around to go and kill or get killed and, yet, not even think about the result. It was the like of Mupaka, who I choose not to salute as Comrade, who gathered and trained these village idiots.

While giving us his narrative of how he came close to getting killed by his former protege, and I still wish he had been killed, Mupaka spun an incredible yarn in his peculiar denunciation of the war. He talked of the war as being too long and overly protracted. He did this as he sung. "Zimbabwe ndiyo kwindi!" he would sing in praise of the beauty of Zimbabwe, to which the peasants responded in agreement; "Yemaoresa!" Startling interjections of the rejection of same Zimbabwe interspaced the song that called for the solidarity to free Zimbabwe.

"Zimbabwe is too long in coming," he sang in Karanga.

Again, the cowed peasants responded by saying that Zimbabwe was indeed super.

"I now want to get married!"

"Zimbabwe was indeed super."

As soon as he sensed dissent, he would shout; "Long live the struggle to free Zimbabwe!" Mupaka would punch his clenched fist in the air, the ZANU way. This enlivened the people very much. For the peasantry, it was familiar territory. It was my first encounter with the strategy of destroying an entity while praising it at the same time. In the village we have an aphorism that calls this kuruma nekufuridzira much like a rat does. It is said the rat can chew your toes only to caress the same toes as soon as the chewing starts to cause you some discomfort. I saw that happen under my grandmother's mango tree. This trick was played on us all night long. It was later called pungwe isina morare, because that pungwe meeting was bereft of joy.

The capper came with the denouncing of Joshua Nkomo, Ndabaningi Sithole and Robert Mugabe. Again, this was done through a popular wartime song called ZANU Moto. At this point in time ZANU was clearly identified with the people. To call it fire, the kind of fire that was going to consume the enemy in the process of bringing freedom, was music in the ears of the poor people in rural Rhodesia. The peasants loved the song that called ZANU a consuming fire. It was like a religious invocation. Upon hearing this song, the people were always left fired up with the verve to free Zimbabwe.

"ZANU moto!" belted Mupaka.

"Muchiona," the peasants sang back as they boasted that that enemy had no choice but to hopelessly watch the fatal fire consuming them to ultimate defeat.

"ZANU moto!"

"Muchiona makatitarisa muchiona!"

"ZANU moto!" belted Mupaka.

"Muchiona,"

"ZANU mo-oto!"

"Muchiona makatitarisa muchiona!"

"Mugabe tabhana!" said Mupaka, again taking the peasants by complete surprise. They were not remotely prepared to hear a ZANLA combatant boldly singing about banning and banishing Mugabe.

Almost in whispers, they answered; "Muchiona."

"Mugabe tabhana!"

"M--u--c--hi--o--n--a m--a--k--a--t--i--t--a--r--i--s--a m--u--c--h--i--o--n--a!"

Sensing the great discomfort from the response of the seated peasants, Mupaka shouted the familiar Pamberi-ne-ZANU slogan. It took him doing so a thousand times to regain the confidence of the peasants after which he went back to his bastardized ZANU Moto song. He did not stop from renouncing Mugabe, Nkomo and Sithole. It was Mugabe tabhana! Nkomo tabhana! Sithole! Before the war reached my rural home, I was already familiar with ancient Karanga war songs being sang in praise of Nkomo. During the war, Nkomo was not as much a subject of praise as Mugabe was. When we later learnt that Mupaka had become a mhandu, along with other former ZANLA leaders like Comrade Marx and Comrade Aggrey, we were relieved. We learnt that Mugabe the demigod had enemies. Nonetheless, he was going to prevail. He did.

Then came the Coup of the 15th of November 2017. Now what we never thought was possible, even when treasonous snakes like Mupaka tried and failed, we have Mupaka song of treachery visiting itself upon us again. Today we hear:

"Mugabe tabhana!"

"Muchiona makatitarisa muchiona!"

As for the fate of people likes Mupaka and other member of the Rhodesian Auxiliary forces, unconfirmed reports said they joined ZANU(PF) along with some of the biggest beneficiaries of the Rhodesian repression. Perhaps they eventually succeeded in their Mugabe-tabhana agenda after trying since 1980, or even earlier.

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