Sexual abuse of women in the struggle, it must be told and give closure to it!

Taken from eBook "Meme no cry"

I thank the author Mangosuthu Mbele for his very moving article of today in Bulawayo24 " In response to Cde Rutanhire's Sunday mail article Mujuru exposed" His article gave me courage to publish a capital in my eBook "Meme no cry" to Bulawayo24 as evidence that indeed women were abused during the liberation struggle. Below is the sub-title from my eBook on Amazon, "Daughter Thobekile" hope this will give other women the courage to come up with their stories. The lady in person who tells this story was met by the author at Lusaka Teaching Hospital where they shared a ward and therefore the story is true.

Daughter Thobekile

I was 18 years of age in 1978 when I went to fetch firewood and I met the freedom fighters in uniform. The first question, are there any Rhodesian solders in the vicinity? I said I did not see them.  They told me that I was in danger because if the SSs came they would think you have given some information about us the "terries" Our village, Jambezi, is not very far from the main river Zambezi, it means it made us accessible to freedom fighters from cross the Zambezi River as well as the Rhodesian forces patrolling along the Zambezi river. I was alone. They told me to follow them, I did not think much but followed them. It was not my choice, I was scared for my life. I was scared of the consequences of not following them.  It is not that I feared the freedom fighters more than I feared Smith's forces that patrolled along the Zambezi River endlessly. I was wholly aware of the fact that they were:  the freedom fighters.

We had a long journey together and I wondered why I had to be taken to Zambia in the first place, a liability in the sense of the word. I was just told we are going to Zambia to fight the white regime. It was the crossing of the Zambia that traumatized me forever. I do not even know to date or which part of the Zambezi River did we use to cross over, we did and it was a horror, at night so that the solders do not see us. I felt like I was just an extra burden to them I could not manage to swim the fast running swollen waters. I had to be pulled at times, to get across. We were over the other side. I had only that one dress and one of everything in my body. Everything was wet, soaked. We had to walk and leave the river banks before dawn and go deeper into Zambia, we walked and walked and walked. I was hungry more than I was thirsty, the water I took in during the crossing made no room for thirst. We were met with more freedom fighters, there were ten plus two and I made thirteen. Then came the sex advances after a meal of just meat that was roasted on the bare fire. I can say I was raped because I never consented to sex intercourse as I did not know these men at all but it was sex by just one who may have been the leader of the group.  It was this freedom fighter who did not understand when I told him it's painful and he should leave me alone. In retrospect, he was happy to have met a virgin in his life and he seemed to indicate to other comrades that he was the first. The girl is intact. (Ugcwele) My uttermost secret was loudly communicated to all the men present to appreciate what the leader was enjoying, a virgin and the only woman in the group. It was his trophy of sleeping a virgin and my uttermost pain I had to endure.  After a day we travelled again on foot until we came to a place where there was a camp for freedom fighters and were 40 to 50 of them.

I kept asking the name of the leader who had sex with me and not once but many times. It was just sex in the open and very uncomfortable to me. It did not matter to him that the bare ground on which we slept was rough. I was most of the time silent and not talking as it was a shock experience I had never imagined in my life. I missed my home and my parents and I was sure they were stricken with grief because of my disappearance. He told me his name that was not from Rhodesia, not IsiNdebele name, he said he was Ilya, some Russian name which he may have given to himself after getting his training in the Soviet Union. I held on to the name, would recite it in my head and tried never to forget it. He used a jeep that Zipra used in the liberation struggle. It was him and I in front and the 10 soldiers at the back drove with us to Lusaka.

We passed by a place, his rented room in one of the townships in Lusaka, again where I was supposed to have a night before I went to join the women at VC camp. That evening, I cried and cried until he left me alone. I was paranoid to say the least. I thought I had taken enough of abuse. I was persuaded never to mention it to anybody when I get to Victory Camp. I was received by some elderly woman they all called Gogo Chirwa, (not her real name) who was in charge of Victory Camp.

It was adjusting to the Camp life that was extremely challenging. The food rations were one to two, isitshwala and beans and very rare some meat. But before long, I could not get my periods. I knew I was pregnant. My aunt, ubabakazi, sister to my father told me that if you sleep with a man and you do not get you monthly period it means only one thing; you are pregnant. It was the first time ever to have slept with a man. How do I tell Gogo Chirwa, the camp supervisor for women and girls, and again a strange place, that I am pregnant.  

How am I going to tell them it's the comrade on my way to Zambia who forced me into this? I broke down and cried and some women came to my emotional assistance. I told them I was pregnant and how it happened. I was told that abortion was forbidden in the Camp. I had to have that baby. I went berserk, I cried. The women took me far away from camp where Gogo was residing and they told me that if I want, I could try and terminate the pregnancy. I had to agree to terminate the pregnancy at once without even asking them how they were going to do it. They told me that they were going to assist me by inducing the bleeding and then I would be sent to the hospital to complete the process. I did not eat that day because of the anxiety. I went into the tent where this particular woman slept and she pushed some medication tightened into a cloth through my vaginal opening right into my womb. I was supposed to lie down to let the medication work, it did. Later the next day the medication started to effect. I cried and cried, and cried and cried until Gogo the camp supervisor came to the tent we were in. She organized the Zipra jeep that took me to the university hospital in Lusaka, it was already an emergency. I was admitted and was taken to the ward were I was given anesthesia so that I be operated on without delay. I woke up sometime in the afternoon and was told that I had miscarried. I stayed at the hospital for about 6 days recovering and was discharged back to the camps. I was able to tell that they were accustomed to such occurrences of women freedom fighters coming for abortions in the hospital. As if it's not enough trauma, Gogo Chirwa asked me whether I was already pregnant when I came to Zambia. I said no I was abused by a comrade on my way to Lusaka.

She wrote everything that I said down, she was kind to me. She asked the name of the comrade or if I could identify him if I saw him I said I could. I kept on mentioning Ilya, his name but it was obvious that the name was fake as she gave a dry laugh showing signs that it cannot be a name from the comrades. She told me she was going to report all that to the President, when he visits the camp next time. Gogo treated me kindly and I was grateful for the kindness I needed so much. Abortion shook me and my confidence too was shaken.

I never thought in my maddest senses I would have such life experience, the sin was that I went to collect firewood in the bush that alone would change my life upside down. I started to gain some confidence in the camp. There were schools in the camp. I attended school too to catch up with the grade seven educations I did not finish. Life at the VC had its ups and down. It could be a cornucopia of delightful events sometimes; the dances in the evening, the groups of women sharing their life experiences, plating of hair in the afternoons, the laughing and normal camp duties kept us going. There was no time when the camp life was boring, there were so many activities that kept us going. It was getting to know the right friends to spend your time with and the time to go to school too. The only disadvantage was the reports about male visits at night, by comrades solely for the purpose of sex. Children were born in the camp in very unfortunate circumstances. There were children without fathers.

Then one day the President came to visit us at the camp. We had made preparations to welcome him, we danced, sang songs that boosted our morale equally:

 Nkomo, uliqhawe, qhawe le Zimbabwe uliqhawe
Nkomo, uliqhawe qhawe lama qhawe uliqhawe
Wamthathu Mzorewa
Watshukatshuka wamphosele mangweni wathi khona le

********
Bazobuyela ngezinyawo
Labo Simithi ebikithania
Nkomo vhulela, Nkomo vhulela
Vhulela
Angene amabutho e Zimbabwe

Ambuya Chirwa who asked me together with other girls in similar situation, to come and meet the President and tell him firsthand about the abuse of women and their experiences when they meet freedom fighters and how they are sexually exploited on their way to Zambia. I was touched when the President gave me a hand and told me that it was not the values of the party to abuse young women but it is some men who take advantage of young girls and sexually abuse them. I have heard about him, the big man, Joshua Mqabuko Nkomo and to be so near him and giving me a hand of apology, humbled me inside.  The man vibrates all that it stands for to be a liberator, educator and father of the nation! He was going to go to FV Camp for men and talks about such practices, reproach them, that there was zero tolerance of sexual abuse in the party of Zapu. I was happy about this apology and since then I never held any personal grudge even against the man who abused me. I considered the matter closed and moved on like all other women and girls in the camp.

I told myself again and again that if I go back to Zimbabwe my main project would be to advise young girls about the danger of non-clinical abortion methods. My experience of non-clinical means of abortion nearly cost my life. There are many women in the VC camp who lost their lives using those very means I used to abort myself. To campaign against abortion would not only be a moral issue but mostly a health one. It is the pain I went through, I do not think I wish that experience of pain to my worst enemy. When I arrived at the hospital I was floating between life and death that was caused by some silly man who took advantage of me and he played with my life.

The excruciating pain I had to endure was a pain like no other. I would find it fitting to tell any other girl never to engage in unlawful abortion, it can be very dangerous. I was lucky to have survived that ordeal ever but would always be a reminder of the life situation women have to go through. If indeed in my campaign for anti-abortion, there is a moral dimension in it then so be it.  Campaigning did not mean telling women what to do to their bodies. I would be telling them about aborting using non-clinical means that can put their lives in danger. I would be giving myself as an example of how it happened and I was nearly declared for dead if I did not go to the hospital in time. One wonders why there are so many records of abortions in the country when there are plenty means at our disposal to avoid unwanted pregnancy in the first place.  

We would be told time and again that there is a head of state coming to visit the camp. Preparations will start, we would then practice songs that we would sing to welcome the head of state in the camp. I remember two heads of states that came to see us at the camp; President Kaunda and the President of East Germany, Mr. Erick Honeker. Several organizations visited us at the camp, it was assistance in form of education and skills that we received from them. Our food improved and we had more than enough clothes to wear. Eastern and Scandinavian countries sent a lot of assistance to the camp because our camp was a civilian camp. It was 1979 in September we were told that the war is over and we are to leave Zambia and go back to Zimbabwe. Women and children cried and cried the golden tears. Nobody ever thought time would come for the refugees to go back to a new Zimbabwe. We packed the little items we had and were sent back by trucks and buses back to Zimbabwe. We sang the songs of joy!

We thank the people of Zambia
We thank the entire cabinet and parliamentarians, we thank the President Kaunda
We are going to leave you now
We are happy, we are going home, but we are sorry we are going to leave now
We are happy, we are going home, but we are sorry we are going to leave now  
We thank the people of East Germany
We thank the central committee, we thank the solidarity
We are going to leave you now
We are happy, we are going home, but we are sorry we are going to leave now
We are happy, we are going home, but we are sorry we are going to leave now
We thank the people of Soviet Union
We thank the central committee, we thank the solidarity
We are going to leave you now
We are happy we are going home and we are sorry we are going to leave you now!
We are happy we are going home, but we are sorry we are going to leave you now

We sang on our way and when we crossed the Victoria Falls Bridge most of the women cried, really cried. We remembered many of our comrades who died in Zambia, who were no longer with us on this final journey to the free Zimbabwe. It was how I was going to go back to my home in Jambezi when I arrived in Bulawayo. We were put up in Zapu homes. I was given money to go back home to Jambezi. I took it but did not go home as I had nothing to do in a village then. I decided to stay in Bulawayo and look for a job. I got the job as a shop assistant at Hyper Supermarket right in the city centre. After working for about 6 months I decided to go home and show it to my parents that I was not killed in the raids that occurred in several Zapu camps. Even Victory Camp was not spared in the last days of the struggle. When I arrived my mother cried very much.

My parents had taken me for dead long back and were surprised that I was still alive. I told them about the work I got in Bulawayo and that I just came to see them and assure them that I was still alive. It was out of the realms of good senses to tell my mother about the sad experience I had in Zambia. When they asked me about my journey to Zambia I told them everything, and everything but omitting the abuse and the subsequent pregnancy and abortion. I told them about my experience of meeting the President Joshua Nkomo and I shook hands with him. My parents who were Zapu members received this good news as a performance to emulate. How they wished to see him just near them, in a rally perhaps, they have heard many stories about him, they needed to see him personally.  

I was taking a break outside Hyper Supermarket when I saw a comrade wearing an army uniform pass by. He noticed me at once and he came to greet me that was Ilya, the man who abused me on my way to Zambia. I was disgusted and I did not give him much chance. I had moved on so much that I did not want to be identified with him again for whatever reason. The problem started, he wanted to claim me there and then that I was his wife and he was looking for me anywhere. I would have believed him if I was stupid, but having gone through all that experience of abortion and near death, he comes into my life telling everybody he has found his wife from Victory Camp in Zambia was just out of Dickens.

I charged at him and told him that I would report him anytime if he misbehaved. This was evidence of self empowerment of women who went to the freedom war. They as liberated as daringly speaking their minds and fearless, they knew their rights well and articulated them as such. They spoke their minds without fear of retribution. He had no power over me anymore, but somehow he thought he could control me and make me his woman once more. I told him there at the front gate of Hyper Supermarket how he sexually abused me against my wish and he has the hide to charge and tell the people around that he has finally reunited with his wife meaning me.  How I wished I would have reigned down insults right there at the front door of the supermarket accusing him of rape. I found myself refrained from telling him he raped me many times on my way to Victory Camp.  

There was a serious problem in the psyche of many women who went to the war in Zambia. The way they joined the liberation movement was not always voluntary. They had to leave, mostly abducted for many reasons. The Smith's forces usually killed many villagers around the river Zambezi if they did not cooperate with them about the whereabouts of the "terrorists." Again, the freedom fighters depended on the villagers for their upkeep. Villagers and mostly women were caught between a rock and a hard surface. Women cooked for the freedom fighters and gave them somewhere to sleep during the night. The women, mostly young women, would be conscripted unwillingly to join the war. It was then noble if they found themselves at the other side of the river, in Zambia and they would then say we came to fight the in the freedom war, we want to be part of it, in most cases it was not true.

The Bush War in Rhodesia was the most brutal and savage war ever to have happened in Southern Africa. It was adrenalin-demanding exercise ever to imagine women fighting that war effectively to bring regime change or rather a revolution. Alone crossing the Zambezi River was the most challenging exercise ever to imagine it by good sense. But again it is a fact that some of them did indeed fight together with men folk. Women are indeed courageous people. The irony of it all is that when the war ended, the very former freedom fighters never wanted to marry girls who came from the Zambia or Mozambique, from victory Camps. They knew what was happening in this camp, Victory Camp. They considered them to be loose in their morals. Loose morals indeed! These women were talking about socialism and equal rights to men.

It is indeed the irony of time. These very freedom fighters wanted to marry women who have nothing to do with the freedom war, good women, timid women, silhouetted personalities, women who still know traditions that say you can never be as good a man. You are less, you need to love and obey the man irrevocably, bow down to him and adore him so that you get respect. Respect in a woman is always attached to marriage and never single. Those were the women they wanted, most of these women freedom fighters became "women-headed family units" without husbands. The women freedom fighters became negative social niches that were no longer suitable to be married. That these men, these former freedom fighters were also loose with the very women freedom fighters it is no longer said, it is not in the vocabulary to term a man loose, it is a term referring to women only and always. It is no longer asked, who were they loose with?
But again it would be these women freedom fighters again who would tell all that, when we were in Zambia that "woman had several abortions, please do not marry her!" They would be telling it all to potential men who dared to engage with these fearless women freedom fighters. Because women are enemies of each other, they would compete and destroy each other by sleaze and backbite to gain men acceptance in the society. Their memory is very selective, how many times did the President Joshua Nkomo intervene, went to the Victory Camp/FC camp to put sense into the freedom fighters who raped women in the camp?

Several women were sent to Lusaka University Hospital almost half-dead when they found themselves pregnant, decided to abort, the abortions went wrong and were sent to the hospital at the point of life and death. These pregnancies resulted from these sex escapades that took place in the camp from male freedom fighters. To say much about the war would appear unpatriotic in light of the gained independence, never invite insults. But the women paid the highest price, physically, psychologically and socially deemed as misfits in the new dispensation by virtue of their being women. Women still are in fear of telling it how it was in the freedom war. They would rather they concealed the truth to remove insults. The truth is folly, who would like to hear it? In the final weighing, the war had a more devastating effect on women and children than on men. It would take another woman to tell her true story about the Bush War, especially those who were actually occupants of Victory Camp until the end of the war; they would tell us all, what actually transpired without fear and favor.

#This Flag  #Asisesabi  #Tajamuka  #Hatichatya