DERAILED

[JABULANI MZINYATHI]

1.The court room was jam packed. There were thirty of us in the dock. We waited pensively to hear our fate. This is what it had come to. I was trying to come to terms with this harsh reality. We were on trial for refusing to vacate the farm we had occupied at the height of the land occupation exercise.

The court room door was banged thrice. The magistrate , a man of about fifty years of age walked in. Everyone in the gallery stood up. There was a deathly silence. He cleared his voice and spoke. I could tell he had a lot of discomfort about the matter he had to pass sentence in. We had already been convicted for refusing to vacate the farm. We had been told we had no lawful occupation of the farm because we did not have lease agreements or offer letters.

‘There are a lot of issues I need to consider before I pass sentence in this matter. This is not a walk in the park really. The decision I will make will have far reaching consequences. I really have to apply my mind. There are women with children who are suckling. There are old people in the dock. There are young couples too among them. I cannot therefore afford to make a hasty decision. It may haunt me forever. Justice will not have been done consequently.’

This was the second time that the magistrate had said the sentence in the matter was not ready. The thirty of us were drained financially and emotionally after the protracted trial in which we argued that we were deserving beneficiaries of the land reform programme.

The magistrate stood up and walked out. People started talking as soon as he had left the court room. I walked away with a group of war veterans who were also staying at the same farm with the thirty of us. They were not facing any criminal charges. I did not know why they were not arrested and arraigned before the courts like the rest of us.

2. My late father had worked for the Maclean family for all his life. He had died and had been buried in a cemetery near the compound where we lived. My mother had died soon after my father. She too had been buried at the farm.

I had grown up on the farm. This was the home that I knew. I knew of no other home. I had gone to the farm school up to Grade Seven and could not proceed to secondary school. The secondary school was too far and in any event my parents would not have afforded the punitive fees. I had been taken up by the Macleans and had been trained to drive a tractor. I was also doubling up as the foreman.

The Maclean family did not own any other farm. Three generations of the family had lived on the farm. My employer was born and bred on the farm. He used to talk to me about the fact that his family had originally come from Scotland. He talked of how his grandfather had been a fighter pilot in the second world war. He said the farm had been given to him as some form of pension.

3. One Friday afternoon the magistrate pronounced his sentence. He explained that he had taken into account that we had not yet harvested our crops. He said he would not just order our immediate eviction. He said it would be callous and inhuman. He stated that there was need to balance the interests of the new land owner against the majority who would be faced with an avalanche of problems. The magistrate was almost apologetic as he read his reasons for sentence.

‘ The law provides that anyone who does not have lawful occupation of any farm should be evicted. This is your fate all thirty of you. That is the law unfortunately. I am not here to challenge it . My mandate here is to see to it that the law is obeyed to the fullest extent. You will have to leave the farm. To just order immediate eviction will not only be callous. It will be to demonstrate a very high degree of lack of humanity. It will be diabolic. You will need some time to wind up your farming activities as well as secure alternative dwelling places. Having said the foregoing , you are hereby sentenced to six months’ imprisonment wholly suspended for five years on condition you do not commit any offence involving unlawful occupation of any land. You are further ordered to vacate the farm within twelve months of the date of sentence.’

After the passing of sentence, the magistrate stood up and he was ushered out of the court room by the interpreter. People started talking loudly as soon as the door was shut behind the magistrate. The trial had left me with lots of questions. Answers were not forthcoming at all. There was a lot of turbulence in my already troubled mind. I thought of the story of Mbuya Nehanda, Sekuru Kakuvi, Gogo Tenkela and Khulu Siginyamatshe. I cast my mind back to the bloody struggle for liberation. My mind was abuzz with the struggle based on mwana wevhu. I thought of a derailed liberation struggle. I cast my mind to the days of racial land holding where most of the arable land had been taken away from the ‘black’ Zimbabweans by ‘whites’. I thought of the crowded rural areas called reserves back in Rhodesian days. My mind reeled back to the days of the first chimurenga, second chimurenga as well as the third chimurenga which had led to the Maclean family leaving in haste as the war veterans threatened them with death if they did not leave our land. I remembered the words of a young war veterans leader whose claim to war veteran status baffled me. He must have been thirteen in 1980.

He had said, ‘ The time has come for us to take back what is rightfully ours. This is the land of our forefathers. We can’t sit by and watch the whites enjoying our rightful heritage. We will have to decongest the reserves. Our people have no grazing land. They have to eke a living from sandy and rocky places. That can’t be allowed to happen. The blood of all freedom fighters would have gone to waste. The revolution should not be derailed. We shall share our resources equitably. The racial land holding should go. Those that need the land must have it. There is no room for unbridled greed. Down with imperialists and their evil machinations. Power to the landless majority. Black people have been the real farmers. These farm workers at Macleans’ should benefit from this land. It is their land. They have tilled it only for the white master to reap the rewards. Some of them were born here and know no other home. We shall not allow them to be displaced. They have buried their kith and kin here. Why should they not continue to live close to their living -dead. We should respect who we are as black people. Our people should not be hewers of wood and drawers of water. Never again! Power to the people. The means of production should be in the hands of the people. Down with black and white oppressors who suck the blood of sufferers like vampires.’

Here was an orator indeed. I had been truly impressed . I had envisioned a situation where the farm was parcelled out into productive plots for the farm workers including myself. Alternatively we would run it as a co-operative. I however doubted the viability of a co-operative. Many had collapsed just after our independence.

4. I wondered why the magistrate had given us such a long rope. I had heard of other people who had been summarily evicted. I had heard of people who had been chased away by riot police as they tried to resist the evictions. Stories were also abound of people who had been subjected to brutal beatings as they resisted the evictions. I had heard of people who had had their huts torched. It really baffled me why the magistrate had almost apologized as he delivered his sentence and the eviction order. I wanted to find out a lot more about this unfortunate man who found himself in this unfortunate position. I really wondered why this man had so much compassion.

The magistrate had even asked the social welfare department and the district lands officer to prepare reports about how our challenges would be mitigated. He had insisted on comprehensive reports but none had been forthcoming. This had visibly angered him. He had denounced the ineptitude of the officers. He had said the whole system had a foul stench. He said he wondered whether the revolutionary ideals were still on course. He bemoaned the lack of conscientious officers in the civil service. He had denounced the dog eat dog philosophy that had sunk its baobab roots in our society.

I wanted to know more about this man. I would do my research. I told myself I would be patient and find out more about this public figure. It would not be such a tall order.

5.The Maclean family had left the farm in fear. They had been threatened with death if they resisted the land occupation. We were elated when we were told that we would take over the farm and benefit since we were the farm workers who knew the farming activities well. We had done the donkey work anywhere. We had acquired a lot of experience. We had acquired management expertise. We had blended what the Maclean family had taught us unwittingly and what we knew through our traditional farming methods. We looked forward to going on with commercial farming as a farming co-operative.

I was already seeing a flourishing farming co-operative. We would help feed the nation and never bring shame to the freedom fighters who had fought in a brutal liberation war against the obdurate successive Rhodesian regimes of which the Ian Smith one was the most brutal. Smith himself had said a black man would not rule this land, not in a thousand years. He had napalm bombed freedom fighters. He had carried out horrendous raids in Mozambique and Zambia. Bombings had been carried out in Tanzania. Assassinations had been carried out by the Ken Flower formed and headed Central Intelligence Organisation. Many freedom fighters had disappeared without trace. I had

told other farm workers that the only way to honour the freedom fighters, dead or alive was to fully utilize the land and to dispel the myth that black people were incapable of doing commercial farming but were cut out for subsistence farming or could only do well under Caucasian leadership.

On a Saturday afternoon I was seated with my wife and my neighbour. We were having discussions about how we would organize ourselves. I had been appointed the village head. I was assisted by a committee of five. I was waiting for the committee of five to arrive. We had arranged to meet and strategise on a number of issues regarding how we would operate the co-operative.

In the distance I saw a cloud of dust and heard the sound of approaching vehicles. An avalanche of questions came into my mind. I stood up and saw about five big black cars approaching. I had not seen such beautiful vehicles before. I wondered what really was going on. I wondered who had paid us a visit. I thought that the Macleans were coming back to take back the farm and put an abrupt end to our dreams. The vehicles drew closer and screeched to a halt near the compound gate. All the vehicles occupants disembarked. I quickly noticed that all were immaculately dressed. There was a couple that emerged from the back seat of the biggest black car.

After we had exchanged greetings the man who had introduced himself as a government minister said he was elated to learn that we had organized ourselves remarkably well after taking up occupation of the farm. He asked me to organize a meeting of all who lived and worked on the farm. As he gave me this instruction I noticed that the young lady who was with him kept clinging to his left arm. The minister was aged about sixty-five. The woman by his side was about twenty-five years old. I thought she was his daughter. I was baffled when she gave him a wet kiss on his lips after he had asked or rather ordered me to organize what he termed a ‘short meeting’

In a short space of time all the farm workers were at the clearing within the farm compound. I introduced the government minister. He then apologized for coming unannounced. He introduced his driver and said the rest of the men and women were his aides. Lastly he introduced the about twenty-five year old woman as his second wife. She smiled as he said so. He stated that he was a traditional man and was on the verge of paying lobola for the woman once she completed the degree she was pursuing at a foreign university.

‘ The reason why I am here is to announce that elections are around the corner and that this farm is in an area that forms part of my constituency. The campaign programme has started in earnest and each one of us must play their part and defeat forces of imperialism. There are forces of darkness that have been demonizing the noble land reform programme. They have stated that the land is being taken by the ‘haves’ while the ‘ have nots’ have only their hungry wives and malnourished children to show for it. I know you speak well about the noble programme. We have here beneficiaries of the programme. Government will not take this land away from you. There are several reasons for that. To begin with you are following the ideals of Chimurenga. You want collective ownership of the means of production. You are not like selfish bourgeoisie. You are not like rabid capitalists like the Macleans who made you toil for slave wages here.

Secondly many of you were born and bred on this farm. You know no other home. This has been and will always be your home. Some of you here are born of Malawian and Zambian parents. You have never been to Zambia or Malawi. Here we live with you like your own kith and kin. We are closely related. We have even inter-married. We have no reason to forcibly remove you from a home you have known since birth.

Thirdly you have always worked on this land. The Macleans have been reaping where they did not sow. They are like greedy hunters who do not even give the hunting hounds even the bones devoid of bone marrow. Who then should benefit from this land if not you hard working people? You are the beneficiaries. If anyone doubts that then I am here to assure you that the land is yours vana vevhu. This land is sacred. We have it now because some people paid the ultimate price to wrestle it from foreign control. This is our land. We shall ensure that all the landless people get land for them to lead their lives normally. Our freedom fighters have been turned into squatters by obdurate Rhodesians who believe they were chosen by our maker to be masters over us while we live like beasts of burden and be hewers of wood and drawers of water. That we shall never allow’

The men whistled while the women ululated. The minister had the message they really wanted to hear. The young war veteran had spoken just like the minister. The two seemed to have read the same script. It was an impressive script. The farm workers were impressed. The war veterans stated unequivocally that the minister was going to champion their cause in parliament. They sang songs of liberation. They said the minister carried the same vision like freedom fighters like the late Josiah Magama Tongogara and

Lookout Masuku. They said they detected a lot of hope in what he had said. Such unity of purpose would see the coming to fruition of the ideals of the liberation struggle. The last hurdle had almost been surmounted.

‘ Never again will Zimbabweans be homeless in the land of their fore parents. Never again shall Zimbabweans engage in desertification. We shall find grazing land for our animals. The colonial style reserves shall be decongested. I swear by the blood of all our liberators that we shall achieve our goals. The willing buyer willing seller scheme entrenched in the devilish Lancaster house imposed constitution did not yield the desired results. We had to abandon that. The British lacked sincerity. They negotiated in bad faith. We extended the hand of reconciliation. What did we get but scorn?’

The minister and his entourage bade farewell. They left after we were convinced the minister was the man who would take us to the promised land. Most of the people resolved that they would vote for the minister come election time. My mind was in turmoil. I had learnt over the years not to follow the words of politicians hook, line and sinker. I had also taken in the cynicism of one thinker who had likened politicians to nappies and had said they often had to be changed and for the same reasons. I was not really a doubting Thomas but I called myself a man driven by Socratic skepticism. I decided to give the minister the benefit of doubt.

6. The minister made numerous other visits to the farm. He came on all occasions with his entourage that included the beautiful young woman I now knew to be his mistress. She was called Melody. The minister and his aides would visit the farm and tour the farm. The minister donated blankets and clothes to the elderly people who lived on the farm. Most of these people were of Malawian or Zambian origin. They knew no other home. Maclean farm was their home. They had lived on the farm during their productive years. We were most grateful that the minister was providing for them.

By the time the elections commenced we were more than ready to vote for the minister as our member of parliament. We were fully convinced that this was the man who would lead us to the promised land like Moses who had to take the children of Israel from the talons of bondage in Egypt. To speak ill of the minister would be to invite trouble. Here was a man who understood our plight. A real son of the soil was what he was. No one from other parties dared come to tell us of their jaundiced manifestos. They risked being

given a thorough beating. The minister was akin to a ‘messiah’ to us. We almost hero worshipped him.

The minister promised to help us run our farm well. True to his word he brought agricultural extension workers who gave us technical advice on what needed to be done on the farm. We were grateful to the minister. We promised to vote for him. He was truly a God send. We had no other way to thank him but to mobilize and vote for him to represent us in parliament in Harare. Many of us had never been to Harare but we knew that was the city where decisions of national importance were made. We therefore had to have a man with our interests at heart in Harare. Our lives would be in his hands. We trusted him. We had no reason to doubt him at all. We voted for him and his was a resounding victory. He was rewarded by being re-appointed a minister. He headed a powerful ministry which had rural development as one of its many responsibilities or portfolios.

We organised a victory celebration for our minister. I was tasked by the people living on the farm to be in charge of organizing the victory celebration for the minister. The preparations went on well. The women gathered firewood. They fetched water. They did the cooking. In this they were helped by the youths who worked tirelessly.

The minister came to the victory celebrations with his entourage which included Melody. He had also been asked to invite his colleagues in cabinet. He came with several ministers. Never in my life had I seen such a wide range of imported and expensive cars. These were cars befitting royalty. The visitors were all immaculately dressed. We all were enthralled. We toured the farm. We ate, drank and danced. The minister gave a speech.

‘ I stand before you here as a servant of the people. I’m humbled by the victory celebration you have done for me. Like I stated a long time ago as we headed for the bruising elections I will make sure that this farm becomes a success story. You are the real beneficiaries of the land reform programme. We will never discriminate against our kith and kin who originally came from Malawi and Zambia. Colonial regimes tried to divide and rule us. Those evil schemes did not work at all. We all are Zimbabweans. Our people have been in shackles and chains due to constricting clauses in the Lancaster house constitution. Now the land is in our hands. Our people will have the wealth in their

hands. We have enough land for all Zimbabweans. We shall share equitably the land. We shall never allow greed to take centre stage. The settlers were greedy and obdurate and this led to the bloody revolution that turned us from slaves into masters of our own destiny. The land reform programme is the icing on the cake. The people must benefit’

We all went away satisfied that the minister was truly a man of the people who would take us to the promised land. He had reiterated that he would be our servant and not our master. He had preached unity. He had stated that the land belonged to the people who were masters of their own destiny. This was what we wanted to hear. We waited for the coming to fruition of our dreams. We had absolutely no reason to doubt that we were on our way to the land of milk and honey. There was no doubt whatsoever that the land reform programme was the greatest thing that had happened in our lives. Leaders like the minister who was also our member of parliament were the pragmatic men who were there to lead us achieve what had led many to make the ultimate sacrifice and dislodge the oppressive racist settler regime led by one Ian Douglas Smith. The said Ian Smith had been a fighter pilot in world war too. He owned an obscenely large farm where he was rumoured to have had ten thousand cattle. He also had some of the land under a citrus tree project. The land reform programme had moral, legal, social, economic and political justification. Of course there were some among us who did not see it that way. The liberation struggle had also had its fair share of Morrison Nyathi and other traitors. That the land reform programme had its detractors was nothing to fret about. Those forces had not been vanquished by the signing of the infamous Lancaster house agreement. Our leaders had long been skeptical about the agreement that had not addressed the fundamentals of the liberation war. One of the leaders, Robert Gabriel Mugabe had said, ‘ Even as I signed the agreement I was not a happy man.’

We were therefore happy that our member of parliament and others in our progressive government would lead us to the finally victory. The ideal was to share the resources equitably and guarantee the prosperity of our young nation. There would be enough for every Zimbabwean of whatever race, colour, creed, religious, political or other affiliation. Zimbabwe would truly be for all Zimbabweans. Our spirits were high. The blood and bones of our forebearers would now rest in peace in the full knowledge that the fight was not in vain.

7. Rhodesian magistrates and judges were exclusively white. The few black people who were in the criminal justice system were usually court interpreters. It was an uphill struggle to even become a clerk of court. The system was racially polarized. Black people lived in the western suburbs. The white magistrates lived in the leafy suburbs far from the

crowded black townships. They could only be seen in court. Their exclusive clubs were out of bounds for most black people except the black bar tenders and grounds men. To get to know a magistrate well was unthinkable. We now had a new crop of magistrates. These were predominantly black. The majority of the white ones had left the bench. They could not countenance serving a black government. I only knew of Mr Cutler and Mr Butcher who diligently served the black government. The rest had moved to then apartheid ruled South Africa. They could not serve a black government they deeply reviled.

The new crop of black magistrates for one reason or the other largely lived in the former black townships which were now called western suburbs. They were therefore easily accessible. Most did not even own motor vehicles. They simply walked to their work places or travelled on board the overcrowded commuter omnibuses .They, like everyone else had to contend with the unruly commuter omnibus crews. It therefore did not take me too long to know details about the magistrate who had shown a lot of compassion when presiding over the matter concerning our eviction from what was formerly Maclean farm.

The magistrate was a true veteran of the bloody armed struggle that had dislodged the illegal and racist settler regime. That had not really surprised me as I , with the benefit of hindsight ,recalled how he had shown that he truly was concerned about our fate. Here was a freedom fighter who had tried to project the human side of the law. He knew the issues at stake. I realized the source of his anguish. The powerful elites had basically asked him to make a decision that went against the grain of teachings of Karl Marx, Engels, Lenin, Mao and others. These were the teachings he had been exposed to when he went to China for military training during the war of liberation. He had been a political commissar during the war of liberation. He had been to many guerilla camps to spread Marxist- Leninist philosophies.

It now pained him to see the revolution he had fought for come off the rails and devour its own offspring.

8. For a long time I did not hear anything about the Maclean family. I heard that they were living in Harare. I wondered what they were really up to in Harare. I really felt sorry for them. These were people who were used to life on a farm. They now had to live in a city. It surely was a devastating transformation.

Their lives had been about farming activities. Now they had to contend with ties and jackets and working in offices. That is what I thought about life in the city. I had a deep revulsion for it too. I wondered how I would cope in the city if I had to leave the farm and live in the city. For the Macleans it was better because they had shares in several companies that were still doing well in Zimbabwe.

The next time I heard of the Macleans was when our member of parliament told us about a judgment of what he had called a useless SADC tribunal. That judgment had really incensed our member of parliament and the minister of justice. They had described the judgment as a load of trash that the sovereign state of Zimbabwe would not lose sleep over.

Our member of parliament had come to us and addressed us about the SADC tribunal judgment.

‘ That tribunal seeks to reverse the gains of our people. That judgment is far removed from reality. It is influenced by forces of retrogression. There is an unbridled desire to continue to appease the racists who confined our people to arid and semi arid regions. We will never allow that to happen again. Our people shall never be hewers of wood and drawers of water for racist settlers who believe that we are second class citizens in our own countries. The so-called honourable judges in the tribunal have lost direction. They are pandering to western or Anglo-Saxon interests. We will not ratify that load of trash. Never will we betray our people.’

There was a lot of debate about the SADC tribunal judgment in the Mike Campbell case . Some lawyers were saying that the Zimbabwe government as a SADC member state had to respect the decision of this institution. Others said the tribunal was meddling in the internal affairs of a member state which had its own courts and domestic laws to deal with the issue. There were lots of other arguments concerning the SADC tribunal hearing. The debate sucked in academics from the region and beyond. There were protracted debates about international law implications emanating from the SADC tribunal decisions.

9. We were happy that we now had our land. Our member of parliament would occasionally visit us with his entourage which included that young woman, Melody. This was a member of parliament who really cared for his constituency. We always heard of other members of parliament who only thought of their constituencies when the elections were drawing closer. We always boasted that ours had been sent to us by our ancestors and the almighty himself. He would bring donations to the orphans, widows, widowers and other vulnerable members of our community like the old people. What more did we want.

Long before the onset of the rains he came and addressed us. He came with agricultural extension officers. He was with officers from the grain marketing board. Each household received ten kilogrammes of maize seed and two fertilizer bags. We sang until our throats were sore. Most of the songs were impromptu. These were church hymns that were quickly changed to suit the occasion. All were in praise of our member of parliament. The member of parliament and his young woman smiled and clapped hands. After all the singing he stood up and chanted slogans. He then addressed us.

‘ The greatest thing we can do to appease the spirits of our liberators is to utilize this resource well. I speak here of this land. We must liberate ourselves by growing our own food. We used to do it for the white man who would then take all the credit and label us ‘lazy’. We are not lazy at all. We love this land and have always fed the white man in the region and beyond. The seed and fertilizer given to you should not go to waste. I know you will not roast the seed maize. I also know you will not sell the fertilizer or make illicit brews with it. I have tales about such things. You are different. You have been supportive of me all this time. We can never fail. We need to remain the bread basket of the region and beyond. We are not a nation of beggars. We, Zimbabweans are known for our resilience and a culture of hard worker. Let us show our detractors that we are our own liberators.

I have also heard that some are just destroying flora and fauna indiscriminately. When you do that you arm our critics. They will say we came onto the land to cut down trees and sell fire wood. They will also say we came here to get meat and nothing else. We are a lot wiser than that. We will wisely exploit these resources so that present and future generations will immensely benefit. All those who break the law will be severely punished and some of us will never shed a tear.’

The minister and member of parliament suggested that we should organise a group that we would call the environmental police unit. He said the unit would deal with anti-poaching activities. They would apprehend and hand over culprits to the Zimbabwe Republic Police. They would also be tasked with impounding any scotch carts used in ferrying firewood illegally obtained. The member of parliament talked of how some animal species had become extinct and how many more would face that eventuality if conservation methods were not employed. He explained to the people how a programme called the communal areas management programme for indigenous resources operated. Further he explained that he would bring officials from CAMPFIRE and give them the

opportunity to explain the benefits and encourage people to be involved in the programme.

There was applause for the minister. The people sang and danced and could not conceal how elated they were to be led by such a brilliant and people oriented man. He joined them in song and dance. He was such a nimble footed dancer who could hold his own against a lot of dancers. The fact that he danced with the common people made us feel very close to him. Here was a true man of the people.

Melody could not be outdone by the minister. She stood up too to dance. The women clad in their party regalia and several youths sang revolutionary songs. They performed a dance called ‘kongonya’. Melody like the minister was a very good performer. She wiggled her wholesome butt with her firm ripe breasts threatening to pop out of her body top exposing a tempting cleavage. It was a such a mouth watering exhibition. Seeing his body guards’ eyes almost popping out of their orbits the minister held Melody by her arm and they sat down and rested. They later bade farewell and a cloud of dust was all that could be seen as they drove off.

10. During the trial the image of Melody dancing kept coming back to my mind. She had really danced well. I had always associated dancing with bliss. She had exhibited a lot bliss as she danced. Maybe deep inside her mind she knew why she was dancing herself to a stand still. She was celebrating a victory most if not all of us could not fathom. She had danced until her lover had jealously wrenched her away from the lust filled eyes of his body guards.

‘ You have no offer letters. The land rightfully belongs to the person with the offer letter or lease. Your worship, that these people have lived on this farm all their lives is of no consequence. The basic issue your worship is that the acquiring authority has allocated the piece of land to Melody. Anyone else who thinks they can own this land on the basis that they have lived here since time began is mere wishful thinking that does not help anyone. That someone has known no other home apart from this farm is neither here nor there. That someone continued to stay on the farm after the Macleans left does not translate into an offer letter. These people should be found guilty and evicted to make way for Melody who has demonstrated that she has a valid offer letter and not one of

these people can challenge that. They must be grateful that she has repeatedly helped them’

These were the words of the prosecutor as he addressed the court persuading the court to find us guilty of unlawful occupation of the farm formerly owned by the Macleans. I did not hate the prosecutor at all. I was filled with righteous indignation. I felt that Melody too deserved more of pity than punishment. I kept wondering what she would do with the vast tract of arable land that had sustained our lives.

11. The magistrate had adjourned the case for a month in order for him to make a decision. I knew that pleading not guilty was a futile exercise. We did not have offer letters or a lease agreement. The lands committee had given Melody an offer letter. We really were not the lawful occupiers of the land. We were not the lawful owners. That we had known of no other home since birth was of no consequence. That the other erstwhile farm workers were of Zambian and Malawian descent was neither here nor there. I was convinced that the magistrate was in a quandary about what to do with us. He surely knew that the war of liberation had largely about the land. Freedom fighters and the general populace had addressed each other as ‘child of the soil’.

The magistrate had no problems in arriving at the verdict. We were clearly not lawful occupiers of the land. The lawful occupier was Melody who had proudly waved her offer letter. They were guilty of unlawful occupation of the land. They had to be evicted. This is the part that through the magistrate’s mind into turmoil. This is the part that had made him with hold his decision. This is the part that made him think of his commander in chief , the late great Josiah Magama Tongogara. Tongogara had repeatedly talked of how he was against a racial system. He talked of how he wanted black and white to share the resources and live in harmony.

‘I look forward to… to a… a system where … black and white children will live…live together as one…’

These were the words that haunted the ex –guerilla turned magistrate. He wondered what had now led black people to derail the ideals of the liberation struggle by corruptly taking vast tracts of land at the expense of the deserving masses. The noble land reform programme had been derailed by a few who thrived on political patronage. The magistrate was at a loss as his mind focussed on how Melody took precedence over the farm workers who were now being labeled ‘squatters’. He wondered whether the ideals of the liberation struggle were now not being derailed by opportunists most of whom had been in hiding in European university corridors or had overtly and covertly supported successive oppressive and racist regimes.

The magistrate knew he had no option but to find the former farm workers guilty of illegal occupation of the farm. Melody clearly had a legal right of occupation of the farm. The magistrate knew that his war veteran status was not to take precedence over legal principles. He had to uphold the law or quit and leave decision making to others whose consciences would not be pricked. He wondered why he had not recused himself in this case. He knew he had to forever bear the load of the aftermath of his judicial decision. He had decided to preside over the matter. He stated that he would tamper justice with mercy. He knew he had to make a legal decision. The legal decision would not be devoid of the socio-political milieu in which he would have to make it.

‘I’m better placed to deal with this matter. I’ll not recuse myself and leave these people at the mercy of my brother and sister magistrates who may not appreciate the sensitive nature of this matter. I’ll do what I have to do. I’ll not cowardly run away from making a decision. I have been there with the struggling masses during trying times. I’ll stand by them still. Some day someone will sit up and read between the lines. Someone will understand the reasons behind the decision that I’ll arrive at in this and other matters of a similar nature to the present one.’

The days preceding the passing of judgment and sentence were psychologically trying for all of us who lived on the farm. Some were lost in their thoughts and remained in their huts and houses at the farm compound. Others like myself would sit in groups and talk of the emptiness that would bedevil us after our departure from the farm. Our future really looked bleak. There was a lot of uncertainty that awaited us. We did not know where would pick up the pieces of our broken lives and carry on normally. We could see a lot of anguish in the faces of our children who knew what we would go through. It was maddening to see some of them go on with their games while oblivious of the uncertainty that awaited us.

12. ‘ What do you want me to do for you my love?’

‘What is it you want to do for me?’ asked Melody.

‘ Ask and considered it done, my sweet heart’ said the honourable minister and member of parliament.

‘ Thanks very much my dear. I also need a farm of my own. You have a lot of farms yourself. I also must have a farm.’

‘ Which one have you identified? Just point it out and you’ll have it. But please don’t point out my own.’

Melody laughed heartily and patted her lover on his back. She looked him in his eyes.

‘Now you are giving me conditions but you said I can have anything I want, my love?’

‘ Yes I have put just one condition. Any other farm in my constituency you will have. What exactly do you want?’

Melody finally told the minister that she was interested in Macleans farm. She went on to say that the minister was heading for a protracted battle with war veterans and former farm workers.

‘ I don’t think you know me well. I have waged battles before. I’m no push over, woman. You wait and see. I don’t take kindly to people who stand in my way. What I want I get. Are you forgetting that I am the honourable minister and member of parliament. I’m a very senior party official. The lands committee will give you an offer letter and you will therefore the lawful occupier of the farm. Those that remain on the farm after we get the offer letter will be evicted. That is the law, my dear. You think I don’t know what I’m up to. Am not a stupid country bumpkin. Take a closer look at me. Have you forgotten that you are in love with a man who is richly endowed intellectually. Mark my words. You shall have all you desire. You are not the honourable minister’s lover for nothing.’

‘ Oh darling are you sure you will successfully wage a war against the former farm workers and the rogue war veterans? Be careful that you may be killed. I don’t trust those people. I need the farm but tread with care. If we can’t have the farm let us think of an alternative farm. I however am interested in the Macleans’ erstwhile farm. I have been there countless times. I will do a piggery project with my brother and father. They are currently doing it on a small scale. We need to empower ourselves. What do you think?’

‘Woman I long told you that I will give you what you want. You deserve that farm. You have always made me happy. You have really rejuvenated me. They say a young woman is balm for the bones of an old man. You have lived up to be balm for my bones. Am not very old though but you have really rejuvenated me. Have you seen how my aides lick their lips whenever am with you. Why shouldn’t you have the farm. It’s yours. You shall not talk to me about alternatives here. I don’t go into battle when my chances of success are less than seventy-five percent. You will have Maclean farm whether the so-called war veterans or farm workers want. I will not fail to do such a thing for you. You have not failed to do what I desire. I have not failed to do what you desire. Why should I fail now? I bought you a range rover. Is that not so? Did I fail to give you a posh suburban house? Don’t doubt me. You just wait and see.’

13. Melody was a young woman of angelic beauty. She was a curvaceous beauty who could beat them hands down on any ramp. She had a perfectly sculpted body. Melody was a woman of mermaid beauty. At twenty –five she was in her prime. I always

wondered why she was always by the side of a sixty-five year old man. Melody was too young for the old man. I always wondered whether what she had for the old man was love.

I heard that she had dumped a man who was her lover. The story about her was that she had thrown his engagement ring at him and told him that he was not her type.

She had said, ‘I have no time to waste with your kind. What really is it you can do for me. You are a mere primary school teacher. You can’t even afford yourself a decent pair of shoes. I regret having had any feelings for you. You could only afford a fake diamond ring for our engagement. You can have it back and give it to a girl who is in your social class. You are not my type. I was mistaken all along. Get away from me. You know nothing about caring for a woman like me. I now have a real man who can care for me. I don’t wish to die poor. I’m not as poor as a church mouse feeding on bibles and unleavened bread. It’s all over between us. Get a woman of your social class. Stop dreaming about me. The affair between us never happened at all. It was just an illusion or maybe a delusion.’

With that she had thrown the wedding ring at his feet and had walked away without looking back. Her ex lover could not hold back his tears. He picked the engagement ring and walked away. Someone remarked, ‘Don’t fret yourself over that gold digger. She will some day meet her match.’

14. Melody’s illicit affair with the minister was talk of the town. The minister’s wife was the last to know. She went into a depression and had to seek psychiatric treatment. When she recovered she felt the urge to exact revenge. She gathered details about where the minister usually went to have what he termed quality time with his young lover. She told her daughters of her plan.

The minister was walking arm in arm with his lover when his wife pounced form behind. She was with her two daughters. The minister took to his heels and left his lover at the mercy of his angry wife and equally angry daughters. The lodge staff and some guests stood by and watched the unfolding drama.

‘ What are you doing with my husband young girl. Can’t you see he is old enough to be your dad. You slut deserve nothing but death. Today I’ll teach you how to get a man who is your age and stop chasing after old married men. You will know that married men should stick to their vows. You’ll learn this lesson well.’

Melody was pummelled by a torrent of blows and kicks by the irate woman and her two daughters. Her hair was pulled. Her blouse was torn leaving her attractive pear shaped breasts exposed. They continued hitting her until the swelling crowd felt enough was enough. The lodge staff helped by covering her breasts with a big bath towel. She was

taken to hospital for treatment. She had a laceration on her upper lip. Also she had a bruise on her back. Her right eye was swollen.

For sometime she kept in doors. The minister somehow handled the matter well. He did not however terminate the illicit affair with Melody. It seemed like the assault on her had spurred him on to love her more. She vowed never to leave him.

‘ That hag must know that I feel sorry for her. I can actually influence the minister to divorce her. I have his mind wrapped around my little finger. She is old fashioned and she stinks. She doesn’t know that I feel sorry for her because she is prone to depression. She may die in a psychiatric institution if she pushes her luck too far. The minister is a good man wasted by that old hag and her daughters who should know better than to meddle in their father’s affairs. They are too daft to realise that I give their dad a lot of bliss. Their mum is past her prime and I’m told she almost always complains of a back ache when the minister wants his conjugal rights. I give the minister inner satisfaction. He is mine. I’ll never let go. Never !’

15. Melody wanted the Macleans farm. She had told her father that she was going to get the farm for the family. They would engage in a variety of farming activities. What was on her mid was a piggery project. She was happy about what her father and brother were doing on a small scale. The war veterans and farm workers could go to hell for all she cared. She was well connected to the man who would help her get an offer letter or a ninety-nine year lease.

Melody also wanted to also engage in a poultry project. She said that the poultry project and piggery project would do well together. She also had plans to do a market gardening project. The farm was just big. She was making plans to fully utilize the farm. She kept prodding her lover to make sure that she got the farm.

The minister was indeed a tough man but he knew he was up against a formidable foe in the form of the erstwhile farm workers and war veterans. The war veterans were the ones he dreaded the most. He however said they could not do anything once Melody got the offer letter or a lease. He assured himself that she would get it. He would pull the strings.

16. I was surprised when after a very long time the minister came to my residence and asked me to announce that there would be an urgent meeting. This was not how we used to do things. There was no agenda. I said as much to the rest of the former farm workers and freedom fighters. The whole farm was awash with speculation regarding what the minister wanted. It was unusual for our minister to just state that there would be a meeting without specifying what it would be about.

When the day came the minister came with melody and his usual mean looking aides. He was not wearing his usual smile. Melody too was unusually quiet. The minister did not

immediately address the gathering. He broke into revolutionary songs about how anti-revolutionary forces had to be trounced. He spoke vehemently. I wondered what he was about to say. Sweat trickled down his anger creased forehead. He chanted slogans and we responded accordingly.

He called one of his aides to bring his elephant hide case. The aide brought the case. The minister opened the case and took out a letter. He then chanted more slogans before he addressed the mesmerized crowd.

‘ Comrades I have a grave matter on my hands. The letter I have here says it all. I’m aware that among you there are some who have gone off the rails. A train is no good when off the rails. We call that a derailment. Am sure you know the consequences of a derailment. People get hurt. Property may be destroyed. There may be gruesome deaths. I have heard that some of you have been to the lands committee offices to try and block the issuance of the letter. That is engaging in acts of lawlessness. It is an attempt to engage in acts of jealousy and to be counter-revolutionary. That kind of conduct cannot be tolerated. Why should we be unreasonable? Why should we not se sense when confronted by harsh reality. We should stop our evil machinations. The ring leaders will face the music. Others will learn their lessons well. Mark my words. That time of weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth is at hand. Don’t be found on the wrong side of the law’ , he said to a mesmerized crowd.

The minister said what he had was an offer letter in the name of Melody who had been given Maclean farm since she had demonstrated that she had the acumen to start meaningful projects. He said she was going to create employment for former farm workers and war veterans. She was a worthy recipient of the farm. He said those that tried to resist the legal occupation would face prosecution and could possibly be jailed for their intransigence.

There had been a deathly silence as he spoke. An old man of Malawian extraction raised his hand and said he was not a spokesman for the group but wanted to know where he would go to since it was now clear there was an offer letter in the name of melody. He stated that the only home he had ever known was this farm and that it was difficult if not impossible for him to establish a new home.

The minister said the old man had asked the right questions to the wrong man. He said he had come to introduce the lawful occupier of the farm and spell out that those who resisted moving to give room to the lawful occupier would be prosecuted and without doubt convicted and sentenced to lengthy jail terms. He said the offer letter did not specify where the illegal occupiers of the land were supposed to go.

As the minister spoke Melody was just smiling. She knew she had triumphed. The minister looked at her as he went on addressing this crowd which was seething with

anger. I could almost touch the thick anger. The minister was well aware of the anger. He stated that those who resisted moving from the farm would be defying lawful authority and their property could be destroyed and that they could get hurt.

I knew that this was the start of a protracted battle not because we wanted this but because it was necessary to fight to the bitter end. Was this the brighter and better future we had been promised?

It dawned on me that melody had succeeded in manipulating the minister who in turn had manipulated the land allocation committee. She was now the proud owner of the land that we had known as a home for a very long time. What future was there for us and our children. I was worried; very worried. I had reason to be worried. For too long I had lulled myself and others into believing we were the landless and deserved to be the lawful occupiers of the land. We had been told that we were not to worry as we would utilize the land as we were its rightful owners. I was way off the mark. I was very wrong! I however knew the road was going to be long and energy sapping. Melody was determined to have the land. We also wanted the land. The war veterans wanted it too. The minister wanted melody to have her way. Was she not his lover?

After the minister and his entourage had left we had our own meeting. Many of us had really been taken aback by what the minister had said. He had said brute force would be used against those that resisted moving from melody’s land. He had really given a stern warning. Some of us were very afraid. Their fear permeated those at the gathering and beyond. They said they were ready to move than be subjected to terror. Others said they were ready to fight to the bitter end. They said they had nowhere to go so they would stick around and wait for the end. The war veterans said they were not cowards and they were ready to expose the minister’s machinations. They said people like the minister were counter-revolutionaries that were hijacking the struggle and riding on the backs of the working class on their way to unbridled wealth. They said some of the farms were being taken b people who did not deserve the land but were holding onto vast tracts of land for speculative purposes. They said they hoped they would be given title deeds over the land and sell the land at astronomical prices. They said some of the ministers and other people with influence were calling back the white commercial farmers to utilize the land and pay large sums of money. The war veterans said they knew the head of state and government and commander in chief of the defence forces was a man of peasant stock who wanted the land issue addressed in favour of the landless majority. They said there were hawks around him who were bent on derailing his plans. They said they would approach their association leaders and ask as to the way forward. This sort of talk raised my hopes. I however was getting skeptical. The minister had espoused all sorts of revolutionary talk but all that was now forgotten because melody had taken control. That was a fact. She had achieved what she wanted. She had really been victorious. Her father

had every reason to be proud of his daughter. I had heard that the family were to do a poultry and piggery project on a massive scale.

17. The war veterans vowed that they would never move from the farm. The stated that some of their colleagues had died fighting for the land. They stated that they had been hit with napalm bombs. They stated that the lives lost at nyadzonia , chimoio and other places in Zambia and other neighbouring countries had not been lost in vain. They stated that the land occupation was a continuation of that struggle and so they would not betray the souls of their colleagues who had died fighting to dislodge the successive racist regimes the last of which was that of the obdurate Ian Douglas Smith. They said that the land occupation exercise was meant to provide land for the landless and to heal the wounds caused by the compromise Lancaster house agreement that had left many a liberator disheartened for it had left the vast tracts of arable land in the hands of the few who had it merely because they were white. The war veterans vowed to fight the corruption that was rife and which was clear in this case in which the minister’s mistress was taking precedence over those that needed the land.

I was beginning to doubt whether the land reform programme was still on course or whether it had been derailed by the piranhas , crocodiles and sharks like the minister and others in the upper echelons of power. I asked myself whether we now had given our leaders the mandate to dictate to us the way our lives had to be run. My mind was engulfed by many questions and not a single answer. Why were some people seemingly personalizing the people’ struggle and in the process defiling the sacrosanct blood of our fallen heroes? Were we not still bound by the son of the soil rallying point? What had happened to the ideals of Joshua Mqabuko Nkomo and others? What had become of those men and women and their trade mark revolutionary hats? Had the people’ struggle been derailed by those who had fought on the side of the Rhodies to keep the racist regime intact?

18. The district administrator visited my home. He asked me to organise a meeting. I asked him what the agenda was. He said he would disclose at the meeting. I knew he had no good news for us. I still went ahead and called for the meeting. The war veterans who lived on the Macleans farm were conspicuous by their absence. They had told me they had had enough and were not interested in meetings that yielded nothing for the people. They said the district administrator was the minister’s parrot. He danced to any tune the minister played. They said he owed his rise to the minister and would never be on our side.

The district administrator came in the company of the members of the lands committee. They were accompanied by the district commander of the police force. There were ten members of the police support unit. There were two other men clad in navy blue suits.

Before the meeting started I noticed that they kept calling the district administrator aside and talking to him away from the hearing of others present.

The minister said that he had an announcement to make in his capacity as the district lands committee chairman. He said what he had to say was not subject to discussion. He said it was a misnomer really to call the gathering a meeting. He said what he had to say was not going to take long. Except for the occasional cough the rest of us were stone silent. I could only imagine what was going on in the minds of the people. The same atmosphere had engulfed the farm when the minister had come addressing us. The district administrator was apparently speaking from the same script as the minister.

‘ I’m here to spell out to you in no uncertain terms that this farm has now been offered to miss melody. The committee has vetted her and has come to a unanimous decision that she is a worthy recipient of the offer letter. She has already been notified as you may be well aware. She already has signed papers for a ninety-nine year lease. She has been doing a piggery project which is quite successful. She will soon be embarking on an extension of that project and also start a poultry project. These are projects of national interest. You are aware that she will employ a lot of people. She will also be one of those people who will make sure that our consumption of genetically modified chickens becomes a thing of the past. We are a proud people. We have been subject to substandard chickens from neighbouring countries. Miss melody and her family have the capacity to do well. Their bank statements show they will plough a lot of money into a vibrant project.

You will realise that we have made a decision that is in the best interests of the generality of Zimbabweans. Miss Melody will therefore have vacant possession of the farm. I have therefore come to tell you that you have to leave the farm. Miss Melody will from now on be the lawful occupier of the farm. Anyone who will stay here will do so at her pleasure. Anyone else who will be here a month from now without her authority will be deemed an unlawful occupier and will face the full wrath of the laws of Zimbabwe. You therefore have to make arrangements and move accordingly. Like I said this is not a meeting and what I have said is not subject to debate. I’ll not answer any questions therefore. Thanks very much for your understanding. I hope we all will comply with the laws of Zimbabwe. To do otherwise will be to invite trouble. I’m sure no one wants trouble.’

The district administrator left us dumbfounded. He had been one of those men whom we had counted on. He had repeatedly visited us and assured us that we would be supported in our bid to do commercially viable farming activities. He had stated that we would not be moved from the farm. He had stated we were deserving beneficiaries of the land reform programme. We had really been elated by the succulent words of hope that he repeatedly said whenever he came to meet us. Now our hope was fast dissipating. We were all of a sudden people of no consequence. No one seemed to be on our side. Now

our hope lay with the war veterans. They had said they would not be moved from the Macleans farm.

19. My mind was like a feather in a violent whirlwind. It was engulfed by lots of questions and no answers. I knew I was not without company in my misery. The atmosphere at Macleans farm was really sombre. It was a funereal atmosphere indeed. It was so thick that one could touch it. It stank such that one could really smell it a mile away. Our hopes had been dashed. We were mere shadows of our former selves. We had been pregnant with hope but now we faced the gloom of a miscarried dream. The dream had turned into a night mare.

The men, women and children could be seen moving about listlessly at the farm. They also could be seen in groups talking about the turn of events and the looming uncertainty. The usually boisterous people were immersed in turbulence. I knew what they were undergoing. I was in the same situation with them. Do the wise not say ‘He who feels it knows it’?

This was not the Macleans farm that I knew. The farm that we had thought would be our home for generations to come. I had a lot of questions. Was the present scheme not a derailment of the struggle? Were we still on the same wave length with people like the minister and melody? Was politics about duping people or selfish interests? Were we pawns in a game that we hardly understood? Did people like the minister and his lover have our interests at heart as they had repeatedly stated at various meetings? Did they care at all about our children and us? These were some of the questions I repeatedly asked myself until I doubted my own sanity. My mind was befuddled.

I hardly slept at night. I would stare vacantly into space. I was losing my appetite to live. It pained me to think of my children and the uncertainty. My wife tried to comfort me. She was a christian who firmly believed that the almighty would bring forth a solution. She told me the story of Job. She said I was not to despair to the point of almost doubting the existence of the creator. This would soothe my soul but still my worries intensified especially during night time.

The shrill of cicadas that I used to consider a harbinger of rain I considered discordant and maddening. Even the barking dogs at night would make me shudder. The farm was now devoid of the laughter of children as they went about their games under moonlight. The braying of donkeys I had never minded before mad me sick. I was becoming easily irritable. I was angry with everything and everyone. There was darkness everywhere around me. I was so angry such that even the crowing of cocks drove me into a mindless rage. I thought of wringing the necks of the cocks!

I knew we were heading for a bruising battle or war. The war veterans had said they would not move. I was skeptical. It pained me that we were now on the verge of fighting

against each other over the land. I said to myself that land holding in Rhodesia had been on racial lines and that this was not right and had resulted in a bloody war. I said land holding in Zimbabwe was now turning out to be on political connections and class lines. The ‘haves’ were grabbing all of the arable land. The ‘have nots’ could go to hell and no one would shed a tear. That was how it was going to be. So we were now on the verge of starting another struggle. So we would end up taking up arms against each other. Was this what we were bent on doing?

It hurt me deeply that we were not treating each other fairly. All talk of ‘son of the soil’ I was beginning to doubt . Had all our heroes during the liberation struggle died in vain. Had they died so that the liberation struggle would be claimed as a personal possession by a few greedy hogs? Had they died so that rulers would get all the arable land for themselves and their cronies instead of empowering the emasculated masses who were still wallowing in abject poverty in the reserves. Yes our people were in the reserves were they were eking a living from the tired sandy soils. We were still in reserves because the Rhodesian system was yet to be totally dismantled and our hopes were fast dissipating due to the actions of people like the minister who danced to the tune of his lover melody and not the people who needed the land.

I do not know why I had deluded myself into believing what politicians say. Little did I know they were chameleonic. Little did I know that they were masters of double speak. They rarely mean what they say. They rarely say what they mean. My mind flashed back to he minister and the many promises that he had made us. I wondered how he could soundly sleep at night after breaking the many promises. I reached the conclusion that the minister like many other politicians did not have a conscience. To have a nagging conscience would be a serious liability. A conscience would have made the minister desist from making a decision that would bring untold suffering to the inhabitants of Macleans farm. My mind was in turmoil as it raced through the events that had happened and were still unfolding at the farm. There was a looming catastrophe. Was there anyone who could forestall it. In the high offices where we thought we would get help there was a deafening silence. These were birds of the same plumage. The extent of rot was unimaginable to say the least. We were marooned in the middle of nowhere. Everywhere a watery abyss threatened to suck us into oblivion. That was the reality before our very own eyes. I could feel the vibrations of violence in the vicinity. I knew what the system was capable of. I had detected the vibrations of violence in the minister’s talk and also in the district administrator’s voice.

20. For some time I thought that Melody and the minister’s plans for the Macleans farm were a ruse. I was beginning to have a false sense of security. I thought other people at the farm were also saying our fears were unfounded and that lie would go on as we had planned.

From a distance one day I saw a cloud of dust. I wondered what was going on. It did not take me time to realise that there were big trucks approaching the farm. Still I did not know why there were these trucks. Had they come to ferry us and our goods away. I doubted this. No one would come and ferry our goods away when push came to shove. They would simply ask us to pack our belongings and leave unceremoniously. I now knew their callousness was beyond human contemplation. So if they were not coming to move us and our goods what was going on then?

I was not the only curios one. Other villagers also came out of their houses and huts. Some stood under the eaves. Others stood in their doorways. The more daring ones moved towards the trucks as they ground to a halt near my residence. Melody jumped off the cab of the leading truck. She greeted me.

Melody told me that she had brought materials for the project I well knew she was pursuing. She said since I held the position akin to that of a village head I was to take care of her property. I was dumbfounded. I could not understand the audacity of this young woman. What was she taking me for? A dim wit? An automaton with nothing between two ears? I could not say a thing. The attack on m integrity had been sudden.

Before I could say anything she directed her workers to offload the poles, asbestos sheets, bags of cement and other materials. As the workers offloaded the materials my mind was plunged into the turmoil that had started to dissipate. I could tell that melody’s plans were not a ruse. She was serious. Here was a strong willed woman who wanted to see her pans come to fruition.

She was moving about giving instructions. She was clad in a navy blue work suit. Her tight , light blue T shirt revealed a wholesome bust. I could not help but gaze at this beautiful piece of creation. I had caustic admiration for her as she worked. She was a beauty at work. She was a curvaceous beauty doing her own thing. I wondered what this beauty had up there in her brain. I was sure of one thing though. She did not care a hoot about anything as she pursued her goal with maniacal zeal. She was not in the company of the minister this time around. This was her project as far as I could tell. She was totally in control as far as I could tell.

‘ I’ve no time to waste. You guys have to move fast. Put those poles over there close to that shack. Come on I need to go and get more timber from Mutare. I also do not have time to waste. These trucks cost a lot of money to hire. You also expect me to pay you. Hey you sluggards move your back sides. Come on move it or I will do the work by myself. You men have always called us the weaker sex. We are not weak by any stretch of imagination. I can do what any man can do. If you think you are special forget it. I need the work completed. This project must be on full throttle in the next one year . I

have no time to waste. I have jobs to create and so that I play my part in making the land reform programme succeed. This is not kindergarten stuff.’

I watched dumbfounded as melody drove the workers like beasts of burden. They worked as she commanded. They had no choice. In no time they were done. Melody athletically jumped into the cab. She wound the window down and told me to make sure nothing went missing. I was thunder struck. Inside me I was saying ,‘What does this woman take me for? Does she think I’m here to be her security guard? What does she really take me for? Here she is destroying my dream and adding insult to injury. She thinks I will go down on my knees and beg her to employ me in her stupid venture. That will never happen.’

21. Melody brought load after load of materials. Within a short space of time the fowl runs and pig styes began taking shape. The workers were working at a pace I had never witnessed before. I marvelled at their work rate and the quality of work they were doing. I gathered from some of them that most of the materials they were using were imported. I was not surprised since most industries had closed shop.

Melody’ s materials had not been tampered with at all. It was not because I was guarding the property at all. I was not guarding the materials at all. Deep inside me I had wished that some should be stolen. I wanted to see what she would do. She had not employed me to be her guard. She had just attempted to challenge my manhood. She had not succeeded at all. She would have seen my dark side if any of her property had been stolen and she had dared question me about it. I was ready for a show down.

As the fowl runs and pig styes came up Melody put up squalid shacks. Later these shacks were occupied by some men. These were her guards. She must realized that I was not her guard. Maybe she thought that her materials had not been stolen but that her project could be ruined by mischievous vandals. She brought her guards to the farm.

If anyone had doubts the speed with which her workers were putting up structures cast away the doubt. The construction drew various reactions from some of us. I was pinning my hopes on the defiant war veterans. I had adopted a wait and see attitude in fact. What could the war veterans do against the formidable force that we had seen. One government minister had described the war veterans as squatters and vagrants. He had said they were directionless rogues. This had shocked us. The war veterans had demanded a public apology. The matter had been widely reported in the newspapers.

Various editorials had backed the war veterans’ stance. They had echoed the demands of a public apology. The minister in question had said he had no apology to make. He said he stood by what he had said. He said if there was anyone who had to apologise the war veterans had to apologise since they had become a law unto themselves and were

stubbornly clinging to pieces of land they had long been told would be allocated properly by the ministry responsible for land.

The war veterans had demanded for an apology but there had been nothing but a deafening silence. They had said the minister had overstepped the mark by desecrating the blood of their comrades who had been massacred by the racist Rhodesian regime. They even insinuated that the minister had been a Rhodesian spy trained by the Selous scouts. They said it was clear that he had just joined the gravy train after independence. No one took heed of their sentiments.

That was why I was skeptical about what they would do to stop being evicted from Macleans farm. Some people on seeing melody’ structures coming up just demolished their huts and took away what they could. I do not know where they went to. What I knew though is that no one had made alternative arrangements for them. I only concluded that they had gone to join their folk in the already crowded reserves or rural areas as we now called them. I also thought that some decided to join the not so great trek to the urban areas. I realized that only thirty of us remained. We remained with the war veterans who had said they would not budge.

The war veterans made us sign a petition which they said they would take to their leaders. The petition was strongly worded. It spoke about the evils of imperialist and capitalist machinations. It denounced the black petit bourgeoisie. It questioned the slogans that made reference to power to the people. It stated that it was clear that the people’ struggle had been hijacked by some opportunists who were now riding on the backs of the people. The petition further stated that the revolution had come off the rails and it was now eating up its children without any shame at all. The war veterans demanded that melody and all those claiming occupation under her should be moved from the farm.

Nothing came out of the petition. There was not even a reply from the war veterans offices. There was a thick blanket of disillusionment over all of us who had pinned so much hope on the war veterans. It seemed as if the petition hastened melody’s take over of the farm. The district administrator came to the farm with the local commander of the police. They stated that we would not be served with any notice to vacate the farm. They said there was a high court judgment which stated that once another person had been given an offer letter, permit or lease they were the lawful occupier and anyone else staking any claim would have to vacate and stake their claim in the appropriate forum. We were told that we were to leave the farm within forty-eight hours or we would face the full wrath of the law. I knew what this meant. I think most of us knew what this meant. The question that loomed large in our minds was: where would we go? That had always been our major worry when we realized that melody was taking over our profound dream. We were now engulfed by this nightmare we were not ready to come to terms with. At times it seemed so real. At others time is seemed like an illusion. I thought

that one day soon someone would just come and tell us it was one big joke. Time was running out. No one came to tell us it was all a joke.

22. The forty –eight hours elapsed on an overcast and cold day. There was a deafening silence at the farm. Even the village cocks seemed to sense that something would go wrong. Our children who had gone about their lives without a care in the world seemed to have sixth sense that there would be a cataclysm that day. A tsunami was looming on the horizon as we were later to find out.

We wondered what would happen. We had been told the full wrath of the law would be invoked. We waited for what seemed and eternity. My heart was pumping at an alarming rate. My wife did not my life easy at all. She had become irritable.

‘ We must leave now. We will go to my village. My father and mother will welcome us. These people are serious. You may get killed or maimed. Did you not hear those warnings. We should have long left. This is not worth dying for. Those who left have now started new lives. Even the snake has to shed its skin at some time. We should have left this uncertainty a long time ago. You are such an obdurate man. I don’t know why I ever married you. You have a death wish. You seek to be a hero. It is better to be a living dog than a dead lion. We have to leave now,’ she said.

I had no words to say in reply. I was just dumbfounded. I was sweating profusely. I stood in the doorway and stared vacantly ahead. I was dazed like a chick in the talons of a murderous eagle. My children maintained a deathly silence as their mother rattled on. Another one started crying. I snapped and just told her to shut up. I was becoming irritable too. My life was disintegrating.

All of a sudden I heard the droning of trucks. They were moving very fast along the dust road leading to the farm. These were not Melody’ s trucks with more materials. These were grey police trucks clearly emblazoned ‘police’ on their sides. A cold sweat dribbled down my spine. My wife was rattling on and on. I could not make out exactly what she was saying. I was of the mind to slap her mouth shut but I had no strength to do so. I had never done so. My patience was wearing thin though. I stood transfixed in the door way like a goat under the hypnosis of a python.

The police trucks ground to a halt. The police details jumped off with the dexterity of monkeys or baboons. They were armed to the teeth. They had crow bars, rifles, batons and many other weapons. They did not say much except to say we were to get out of our huts and houses. We just took outside what we could. We knew what these men or automatons were capable of doing. We stood in the quadrangle at the compound. The sight of children tugging at their mothers’ skirts made my tears flow down my face involuntarily.

The armed men commanded us to leave the farm . We just stood transfixed where we were like animals bitten by a venomous snake. It was then the armed men man handled some us and threw us on board their trucks. They then demolished our huts using an assortment of tools. The huts fell to smithereens. They torched the huts. They were not saying anything to anyone. In no time smoke was billowing. The whole place seemed like a battle field. Even the mangy dogs had their tails between their legs.

The women and children were wailing as their husbands and fathers were bundled onto trucks. Some were attacked with truncheons as they resisted. It was a terrible sight. Many sustained dislocations and fractures. Others sustained deep gushes on their heads. They were bleeding profusely. There were others who managed to flee with the policemen in hot pursuit. These men meant business indeed. The way they carried out their mission reminded me of the brutality of the Rhodesian forces during the war of liberation. In my mind I was asking myself as to where the train had come off the rails. My mind was engulfed by a flood of questions. No answers were forthcoming.

I noticed that the armed police details did not go to the section of the farm where the war veterans had built their huts. I wonder why that was so. All in all thirty of us were arrested. We were taken to the police station. Many of us were bruised and battered. After the paper work had been done we were thrown into stinking police cells. There was a foul stench of human excreta. I kept asking myself where we really had gone off the rails. In my mind I also kept hearing my wife’s voice. I asked myself whether I had done the right thing by not listening to here advice. I wonder as to what kind of a man I would be if my father-in-law provided a home for me. I thought that was something I could not allow myself to dream of.

The cells had a foul stench. There was some dampness. The toilet in the cell was brimming with human excreta. The maggots were writhing on the floor. There was darkness in the cells. A little light permeated the cells from outside. I asked myself as to why and when we had learnt these lessons in brutality. Were these lessons that we learnt from the racist regime which we were now using against our own people? Was this a manifestation of a culture of violence? Here I was in cells with others. I had only heard tales about lice and mosquitoes and red blankets. I was now experiencing it first hand. I wondered whether those in the criminal justice system knew about such inhuman and degrading conditions. If they knew about this how were they able to go home and sleep at their homes . Were they men and women with consciences? Were they workers of iniquity who wine and dine with the devil? These cells were a hell hole. This confinement in this unholy place made me miss my family.

Time was inching forward slowly. I kept thinking as to what would happen in court. We had been told we would appear in court. I looked forward to that. I hoped that we would be treated differently. I also looked forward to being released or going to prison. I had

been told it was better in the prison cells than in police cells. When we had first been put in cells we had not been able to talk at all due to the foul stench. As time inched forward we started talking. I concluded that the human mind is a strange phenomenon. We generally have a lot of resilience and can withstand adverse conditions and get acclimatized to them. Those that had sustained cuts and were bleeding had not been allowed to wash off the clotted blood. I wonder as to what kind of mind could preside over such a system and never care. I concluded that only a sadistic mind could do this sort of thing without a care in the world.

My mind shifted from thought to thought. It flew about like a bat trapped in a hut. I thought about my wife and children. I thought about my friends and relatives. My mind drifted to the war veterans. I asked myself what they were up to. I asked myself why they had not been attacked too. My mind drifted to melody and the minister. When I thought about these two, I felt like throwing up.

My mind then moved to the liberation struggle and events leading to it. I thought about Ndabaningi Sithole and how he had renounced the liberation struggle. Joshua Nkomo, Leopold Takawira, Herbert Chitepo, Jason Ziyapapa Moyo, Alfred Nikita Mangena and others came like a flood in my mind. I thought too of the late great general Josiah Magama Tongogara. In my mind the words ascribed to Ambuya Nehanda came to my mind. Were my bones going to arise too. Was this a new struggle where brother and sister would be locked in deadly combat against brother and sister? The land issue which had united us against a rabidly racist regime was now causing deep chasms between us. It hurt me deep inside. It worried me deep inside the very marrow of my bones.

I asked myself questions without answers. My mind was abuzz with many issues. It was like a restless bird. It racked up the story I had once read in the newspapers about Churu farm. There had been a lot of controversy surrounding Churu farm. The papers stated that Reverend Ndabaningi Sithole had resettled land hungry people on his farm. This had earned him the wrath of the government. It was stated that the settlement was an illegal one. It was said there would be an outbreak of diseases in the unsanitary conditions the people were living under.

Reverend Ndabaningi Sithole had argued that he was a son of the soil who was doing his bit to give land to those who needed it the most. He said he was being vilified for doing what the government had dismally failed to do. His arguments were crashed. People were evicted from Churu farm. I read somewhere that brute force had been used. This was the sort of brute force that had been used against us. I heard that those who had been settled at Churu farm had been dumped by some road side and that their fate was unknown. The newspapers that had carried the story about the illegal settlement at Churu farm maintained a deathly silence about the people that had been labelled squatters.

My restless mind moved on to land holding in colonial times. This was based on racial lines. So-called white people had most of the arable land. So- called black people had been dispossessed of the land and were eking a living on sandy soils or rocky soils. I thought of the Svosve people and the revolution they had triggered as I read in the numerous press reports. With what I was going through I said to myself the land was now being held on class lines. In fact it was held on the basis of political patronage. I predicted another revolution that would have black people at each other’s throats. My mind raced back to the Macleans and the likes of one Mr Campbell who had approached the SADC tribunal. What were they thinking about us and how we were now engaged in fratricide. I was certain that they were watching from the sidelines as we exhibited unparalleled greed. I knew that the status quo they had tried to maintain too was unsustainable. Joshua Nkomo had long stated that the whites were to desist from selfishness and share the land with the landless majority or there would be a bloody revolution. Indeed the land reform programme had initially been bloody. Some white farmers had been killed. Others had been maimed and bore deep physical and psychological scars. If only they had heeded the prophetic Joshua Nkomo’s words the blood spilling would have been averted. I elevated myself to the same prophetic status and said the greedy blacks were to brace themselves for another bloody revolution. They were now owners of multiple farms. They had not taken heed of the Charles Utete report. They had brazenly ignored that candid report. There would be an implosion and explosion in the country. The supposed beneficiaries of the land reform programme had largely not benefitted. Strides had been made but a lot had not been accomplished. The landless were still crammed in the reserves now sanitized and called rural areas. They were the same seething cesspits of abject poverty.

23. The cell door was flung open by a mean looking police officer who was wielding a long, black baton. He asked us to get up. Some of us were already on our feet as soon as the sun rose. He announced that we were to be taken to court that day. I almost jumped with delight. I looked forward to leaving the stinking cell and also wanted to appear in court. I was of the view that there we would be treated with some dignity and our side of the story would be heard too. I hope that I was not wrong.

The officer said that since we were to be taken to court we were to shout who we were and state the offences we were facing. He said after shouting our names and offences we would walk past him and jump into the waiting police truck.

Among us were those charged with robbery, theft, rape and other offences. I noticed that all those who shouted these common law offences were struck with the mean looking long black baton. When it was my turn to shout the offence I was being charged with I stated that it was about the land. The officer shook his head and let me pass. He did not strike me with the baton like he had done with those facing rape, robbery, theft and other charges. My fellow villagers were also not struck with the baton. I wondered why we

were not beaten too. Maybe the officer decided not to batter us again. Some of still had open wounds from the battering that had gone on before. I later learnt that the exercise of calling out one’s name and offence was routine business and so were the beatings.

I could not concentrate on this manifestation of police brutality. My mind was per-occupied with the desire to be taken to court. The police details made entries in their detention books , charge office diaries and other books. After all the formalities had been completed we were then taken to court.

24. The young prosecutor vehemently opposed bail. We however were all granted bail ultimately. There was a lot of jubilation when the magistrate pronounced his decision. The matter had attracted a lot of attention. I saw journalists with their note books. There were women with children on their backs when we went out of the court room. I saw male and female war veterans. My wife was there with our baby girl on her back. With tears streaming down her face she smiled at me.

I felt sorry for the young and boisterous prosecutor. I was not at all angry with the prosecutor. He was merely doing his job. He had been booed by many people in the court room. The magistrate had not made life easy for the young man. He was not just playing to the gallery . He was seeing to it that justice was done. We had apparently made the prosecutor angry when we stated that we were not pleading guilty. He had said he would oppose bail if we denied the charges. I thought it was not proper for the prosecutor to try and cajole us into pleading guilty. I did not have a legal mind but I had always thought we had a right not to plead guilty and be duly tried by the court.

As I walked away from the court house I saw the minister and Melody. They were in the company of an old man whom I concluded was Melody’s father. I thought they had come to listen for themselves what was going on. They clearly had an interest in the matter. I knew they would follow the matter to finality. I had earlier seen them in the gallery as we walked into the court room from the holding cells.

25. I was free. I was free from the lice, the pungent and acrid cell smell. I was free from the police brutality meted out to fellow citizens who had a right to be presumed innocent until proven guilty. I was free from the overzealous prosecutor who wanted us to plead guilty. I was however still very far from freedom.

My wife with the baby still strapped to here back came and hugged me. Tears were still streaming down her face but these were mingling with a smile. I wiped away the tears from her face with my calloused hands. She stared at me with her tear filled eyes. I turned my attention to our baby strapped on her back. I kissed my baby girl on the forehead. My baby giggled. I was touched by my baby’s innocence.

My mind was a cacophony of mind deranging thoughts. I knew what my wife was going to suggest. She had long said it. Here father would give us somewhere to live and raise our family. My wife had long said I was an obdurate man. I was beginning to believe that. I had pleaded guilty in defiance of what the prosecutor had stated. I was of the mind of going back to the farm. I however knew this was a tough one. I had seen brutality at close range. My fellow villagers had bruised backs, broken arms, dislocated arms and all sorts of injuries after the ordeal. Melody was determined to get the farm for her family project. We were up against a formidable foe. She had state machinery on her side. The aspirations of the former farm workers, war veterans and others were of no consequence.

What man would I be to go to my father-in-law with a begging bowl in hand to ask for somewhere to live. That I was not prepared to do. As the flood of thoughts assailed my befuddled mind my wife began talking.

‘ Where does our future lie? There is surely no way you can get back to that farm. This time they will kill us. I suggest that we go to my father. He can get us a piece of land. We will be able to build huts and also till the land for our survival. Give up thoughts about going back to Macleans farm. The politicians have their way. They have the state machinery on their side. They get what they want. You know it too well…’

‘ Woman , let me be. I will not go to your father’s home. You did not pay lobola for me. I do not wish to be eternally grateful to your father. My forbearers will turn in their graves if I set this kind of precedent. Let me make my own decisions…’

‘ I have always said you are a stubborn man. My father loves you. You are his son. I know you love him too. You two relate well. He truly loves you. He understands what is going on. You will not be indebted to him at all. He is…’

‘ How many times will I tell you that I am not willing to be a charity case. Do you want me to change my surname and be your father’ son not son-in-law. You may go and stay at your father’s home. I will find myself another home. This country is my home. We cannot let the likes of melody have their way. We have to remind the system that the war of liberation was based largely on restoring our dignity. What dignity do landless people have? The Svosve people in their heroic act sought to decongest the reserves. They were driven by the now seemingly derailed spirit of chimurenga.’

My wife remained mum. She started wailing. My baby bawled. Tears started streaming down my cheeks. People outside the court complex just watched us. I was confused. I did not know what to do. I told my wife that I would go along with her idea. Deep inside me I felt I was betraying my fellow villagers who had nowhere to go. My mind was gnarled and knotted. I was deeply stressed. I thought I would suffer a stroke. I had long been diagnosed a high blood pressure patient. I had been told to avoid stressful conditions. I had asked myself how this would be possible. Stressful conditions were the normal living

conditions for people like myself who could not do anything about the rich and powerful who had hijacked the revolution.

26. The trial did not take place until after a period of six months. We would go to court and spend hours on end basking in the sunshine or seated on the hard benches. We would sit and chat about our circumstances. Most of the time I would be quiet. I felt I had betrayed my colleagues who were now squatters. They were of no fixed abode. They would be hounded repeatedly by the police. Somehow they religiously adhered to the court dates. The matter finally took off when our lawyer complained to the magistrate that justice delayed was justice denied.

I usually remained quiet because it was tortuous for me to talk about how I was staying at my father-in-law’s home. Thoughts of where I was staying brought a dark dank cloud into my mind. I felt I would wind up in a psychiatric ward some day. At times I felt so emasculated and contemplated ending it all with a piece of rope. I hardly talked to my wife. I even experienced erectile dysfunction. I was really traumatized. I wondered if my life would be normal again.

My father –in-law truly loved me. He would make efforts to reach out and make my stay at his home easier. He could read my mind. He was a wise man indeed. My mother-in –law had long passed away. I wondered how I would have stayed with her at the same place. It is not good to speak ill of the dead according to my culture. My mother-in-law I knew was a chatter box with a sharp tongue. At times I used to think the almighty had called her to spare my father-in-law the agony of staying with such a querulous woman.

I tried avoiding my father-in-law by getting up very early in the morning and coming back late at night. He knew where to find me. He had allocated me my late brother-in-law’s garden. He would come and chat with me for hours on end. Many a time I would answer his questions and not ask any myself. I was feeling empty inside. How could I sustain any conversation. My father in law would read my mind and assure me that life is not all gloom and doom.

‘ Don’t worry yourself to death. My daughter and your children need you. You will some day get your own piece of land. I know how you feel about being here. You will not be here forever. I know you are not here because you want to be here. You are here purely out of grim necessity. That is why you are here. I will do all within my power to help you get your own piece of land.’

That was how my father-in-law used to comfort me. I knew he loved me. he wanted me to be happy. At that time I had no happiness. My world was collapsing around me. I thought of my colleagues and how some of them were in a worse of situation than mine. It was particularly bad for those who had married women of Malawian extraction like themselves. They simply had nowhere to go. Home was the Macleans farm. That is all

they knew of. That home now had been invaded by poisonous desert scorpions in the form of melody and her family. These were the people who bore the full brunt of the avarice shown by the minister and his concubine. These were the people whose lives assailed my dreams. I had been their leader and had assured them that the farm would be our home forever. I had told them that the minister was a good man. I had campaigned vigorously for him. I had forgotten that most if not all politicians are like chameleons. I had forgotten that they have only permanent interests and no permanent friends. Why had I been so naïve as to think that the minister would turn out to be different form the rest of them. I cursed myself for having been such a dim wit. These thoughts of bitterness would rob me of sleep. I would be on my back staring at the grass thatch of the hut my father-in-law had made available as my bedroom. My wife would try and reach out and soothe my troubled soul but all was in vain.

27. Melody, her father and brother followed the proceedings with keen interest. They would be incensed too each time the matter was postponed. We would be incensed too but for a different reason. We were emotionally and financially drained. We were worried about our crops. We were worried about how we would produce food for our families in future. We were worried about the fragmentation of our lives. We were worried about our children’s education. In short we were a bundle of worries.

After the passing of sentence melody approached me when I was with my wife. I wondered what she wanted from me. she smiled at me. I interpreted this to mean she had been victorious. When she extended her hand to great me I did not extend my hand in greeting.

‘What do you want? Have you not caused us enough trouble as it is?’

‘I’m sorry that you feel this way. I want you to come and work for me at the farm. I know how hard working you are. Please, come I will give you a good salary. You will occupy the servants’ quarters. I know you love being at the farm. Please, come and work for me. Please,..’

She did not finish the sentence. I smacked her across the face with a back hander. Instantly she bled from the nose and mouth. People rushed to the scene and stopped me from hitting her again. She was now shouting at me and calling me a good for nothing dim wit who did not know what was good for his family.

She reported the matter at the court post. I was immediately arrested. I was taken to the police station. The docket was quickly prepared after I indicated that I was admitting the assault charges. That same day I was brought back to court. I pleaded guilty. I was sentenced to pay a fine of one hundred dollars or face a jail term of ten days. I asked to be granted time to pay the fine. This was duly granted.

After my trial Melody kept shouting at me that the minister would deal with me. She also said she would sue me until I remained with nothing to my name.

My wife was pleased by what I had done. She stopped short of ululating . She said the foolish woman got what she was asking for. She wondered how she could have the cheek to insult me as she did. My wife was not alone in this. Some of the war veterans present said I had done the right thing to put that slut in her place. She deserved all she got and what she was about to get. They regretted why they had restrained me. There were lots of suggestions about how I was to have inflicted more pain on her. They said she had caused more than enough misery and had the temerity to try and change me into here lap dog.

28. My mind was a semi-arid region akin to region five in Zimbabwe. There was nothing growing here but cacti and thorny bushes of deranging thoughts. There was nothing but the sandy soils of anger and righteous indignation. There was nothing but gloom and doom filling my mind. Hope was fast dissipating. The soothing thoughts of hope were nowhere to be found.

Sleep deserted me many a time as I travelled back in time. Had that train come off the rails. Had the track and coaches been mangled beyond recognition. What remained were the charred bodies of the passengers. Had the train driver and crew jumped off. Had they also been engulfed by the fiery fires which were the aftermath of the derailment. If things went on this way I would be confined to a mental institution. Was I alone in seeing this fire that threatened to gobble whole villages, towns and the whole nation. Had we learnt well and perfected lessons in brutality.

The tell tale signs were there. It was all disgraceful. I read daily about the many protracted court battles over the spoils. There was this story in the newspapers where a top ranking army officer had shot dead a civil servant when they quarrelled over ownership of a farm house and farm workshop. It baffled me that two able bodied men were fighting over a house as if they could not build their own huts or houses. I wondered what was going on in the mind of the erstwhile farm owner on hearing such news.

I later read that the army officer had been granted bail. The farm house had been converted into a clinic. Nothing was said about the family of the dead man. At the back of my mind I could see that trouble was brewing. This was particularly so when I heard of villagers who were axing each other’s cattle. One group was claiming that the disputed piece of land was owned by its ancestors before they were forcibly removed by the new owner after the second world war. The other group said its paramount chief had been dispossessed of the land as punishment for refusing to tow the line of the new rulers.

I followed the matter with kin interest. I heard that the matter was being handled by the minister of local government who was having torrid time trying to find out the correct position. The minister said the records had been destroyed by the white settler regime on

the eve of independence. Later I heard that a consortium of Harare business men had been given a ninety-nine year lease after submitting plans for a bio-diesel plant. I read that they had created employment for some villagers from the two feuding villages.

I was a keen reader of newspapers. I had a befriended the headmaster of the local school. He was privileged as he got the newspaper daily. The bus crew of the only bus which plied the route brought the daily paper. Articles on the land question usually caught my eye first.

There was this article where a group of black commercial farmers had been asked to move away from a ranch in order to make way for a crocodile farming venture. They had made representations that they were busy trying to rebuild the severely depleted national herd. They were told by the powers that their matter would be attended to since they had noble ideals. The crocodile farming project was started.

The crocodile farming project was so successful that employment was created for many youths who lived in close proximity to the ranch. Many who had tended herds for the black ranchers took up employment too. Most of the ranchers slaughtered some of their cattle. Their matter was yet to receive attention.

My analysis was that the selfishness of the white settlers had bred the bitter war of liberation. The few white settlers had held onto to vast tracts of arable land leaving the landless majority wallowing in poverty in sandy and rocky areas. Some were menial workers crowded in townships now called western suburbs. They had thought they would be invincible. They had believed in their military might to the extent that one Ian Douglas Smith is reported to have said that majority rule would not happen, not in a thousand years.

This made me think of one national hero- Josiah Magama Tongogara who had grown up at Ian Smith’s farm in Shurugwi. He was to later become a vicious guerrilla leader against Ian Smith. They had met and joked at the Lancaster house conference. The impossible had become possible.

My mind raced to the present. The obdurate settler regime had been dislodged by the determined landless majority rallying among other ideals the dying declaration of the heroine Ambuya Nehanda who had declared her bones would arise. She had been hanged for leading the first Chimurenga. She had refused to even dabble in apostasy and had stuck to her religion till her last breathe. She had not followed sekuru Kaguvi who went to his grave as Dismus. Child of the soil had been the rallying cry.

It was sad that the train had been derailed. The destination had not yet been arrived at. There was now a black upper class that owned vast tracts of arable land. This class held land even for its unborn children and grandchildren. It is the same class that shouted

‘Land to the people!’ People like the minister and his concubine belonged to that class. They were the ones who wanted to acquire farm houses and workshops. They were the ones who had harvested fruits and flowers but had failed to find the overseas markets after the erstwhile farmers had pulled the strings on seeing the status quo slip through their fingers like mercury.

I thought that there would be a bitter struggle between the landless majority and those holding onto land for speculative purposes. The Charles Utete report would have to be fully implemented to avert blood shedding. The avarice had to be eradicated. The derailed train would have to be put back on track. The words of Ambuya Nehanda would be re-interpreted in the new circumstances. Ambuya Nehanda had been arrested by the lap dogs of the settlers who also had taken away her snuff container. She had been sentenced to death by a settler judge. Her vengeance knew no colour therefore.

29. My mind was always laden with the land question. I knew that this was a problem in South Africa as well. I knew they had a ticking time bomb too. Maybe the Afrikaners would learn a lesson or two from the Zimbabwean experience and realise that the poverty in the slums of south Africa would explode. I shuddered to think of how much blood would be shed if the matter was not urgently addressed. The ghost of apartheid was looming large over the land of extreme riches and extreme poverty. Maybe the Afrikaners would adopt the concept of enlightened self interest advocated for by a former Zimbabwean cabinet one Nkosana Moyo. Many South Africans were beginning to question the willing buyer willing seller clauses regarding land. The youths were ready to take the revolution to its logical conclusion. They were beginning to talk about constitutional changes as they were saying the current provisions were constricting and were being used to maintain the status quo which had made Umkhonto we Sizwe guerrillas take up arms alongside their ZIPRA counterparts and cross the crocodile infested Limpopo river to fight for the liberation of their country. Racial discrimination had been particularly acute in South Africa where apartheid policies had confined black people in slums and the so-called home lands.

Were the South African elite going to be like their Zimbabwean counterparts and leave the intended beneficiaries of land reform homeless. It hurt me to think of how our dreams had been shattered.How many more African dreams were going to be shattered. I knew of some African countries that had given land to Americans to build military bases. It saddened me to know of such betrayal of the landless majority. I wondered who was responsible for such horrendous decisions that made a mockery of the aspirations of dead and living heroes.

My mind turned to Macleans farm. I wondered what was going on between the war veterans and melody. I was actually wrong to be pitting melody against the war veterans. melody had merely benefitted from her love affair with the minister. The battle was

obviously between the war veterans and the minister. I knew that even if the minister was a formidable foe against the war veterans he would have to be shrewd indeed. The issue with the war veterans was a politically sensitive matter.

I was waiting with bated breath to find out what would happen. When I met a war veteran friend of mine he had said the minister of lands had said the matter would be dealt with at the appropriate time. I wondered what that meant. My friend also said he did not know what the appropriate time was. He said he was going nowhere and melody and the minister could go to hell. I wondered how long the war veterans were going to be on the farm.

30. My father in law knew I was not happy to be at his homestead. He fought tirelessly to get me a piece of land of my own. It was a difficult mission indeed. He was a close friend of the village head, headman and also the chief of the area. He eventually was able to get me a piece of land. It was indeed a small piece of land. I was grateful even though I had parted with some money to oil the process. I felt very bad having to grease palms for the land. I was desperate. I abhorred the whole scheme that was corrupting everyone. I how we would weed out corrupt tendencies.

‘ My son now you can have your own piece of land. I know it is small but surely you now have somewhere to live’

‘ Yes father but this love for money is killing us all. I feel dirty that I had to part with some money for state land’

‘ Well it is not corruption my son. You were simply thanking the powers that be. It is for our own good. Everything has a price my son. That is what you should know. You said the minister gave his concubine your home. That is the price that he had to pay. You mattered little once the woman had him wrapped around his little finger.’

‘ Is this how we are to live? Maybe another revolution is needed. We have to come out of this morass. We have become rotten to the marrow.’

‘ That is so my son. There are several factors to it. There are these artificial shortages that drive people to be corrupt. There is enough land for all of us but the way it is managed is such that some have more than they need. They are driven by greed. They hold land for speculative purposes. They get it for their political connections. They take it for their relatives. Through corrupt means they get long leases, permits and offer letters. Maybe you are right that there is need for another revolution.’

‘ Dad this land question will tear this nation apart if it is not handled well. It has already reduced us from being the bread basket of the region to a basket case. I am not saying black people cannot be productive. Students from agricultural colleges should have been

considered in land allocation. Former farm workers should also have been given land and supported accordingly. The government has able agricultural extension officers to impart good farming methods. Surely not all of us can be farmers. There was and still is need for careful planning.’

‘ You are right but what do we see on the ground. Even those who were not able to tend a single vegetable garden have vast tracts of arable land. These are the same people who are busy poaching. They are chopping down trees for firewood. They are killing wild animals and selling meat in the townships through their proxies. It is sad, very sad indeed.

Have you heard that these are the same people who are inviting the erstwhile farm owners to come back and utilize the land. They just reap where they did not sow. That is what they do best. I know many who took up citrus producing farms. They harvested the fruits left by the erstwhile farmers. After that they could not do anything productive. The fruit trees have now wilted. I know this very well.’

After our discussion we reached the conclusion that righteous indignation was building up and would somehow find expression. It would be inevitable. Successive Rhodesian regimes had never imagined that the landless would take up arms and dislodge oppressive and insensitive systems.

31. ‘ I am most grateful to my father in law for having found somewhere for me and my family to stay. He is a good man indeed. Forever I will be indebted to him. I mean it.’

My wife said, ‘ He did what he had to do. He is my father. He can’t let us all suffer. He knew what was going on in your mind. He knew of your bruised ego. You can be very obdurate.’

‘ It is not a question of being obdurate. It is about principles. I usually don’t compromise on matters of principle. I was brought up to be self reliant. I loathe appearing like a charity case before my father in law. It is not my way of doing things.’

‘ I understand you well. At times it is good to compromise. You must learn to swallow your pride. The pride you have may kill or destroy you.’

‘ Woman you don’t understand me at all. I still think my home is at Maclean farm. I still harbour the thought that one day I will be back home.’

‘ That is mere wishful thinking. Melody is in total control. She is a powerful woman. She has the minister wrapped around her little finger. You know it too well.’

‘ Maybe you are right but some day she will lose. Am told she has started feeling the pinch already after some initial success.’

I told my wife that there are times when one feels sorry for the wicked. That is the way of human nature. I had heard that the piggery project was doing well. I however felt we would have been equally productive if not better. I told her that pork is very expensive and is not consumed by a lot if people anyway. Some loathe the meat for a variety of reasons including religious ones.

I heard that the poultry project had been dealt a telling blow by cheap chicken imports. Due to the cost of her inputs she could not afford to lower her prices to compete with the genetically modified chickens that were being imported by some top dogs. I was told they were at each other’s throats as they debated the issue of banning the imports. I was informed that Melody’s lover was vehemently for the banning of the imported chickens. Initially they got their way but then when they could not meet the demand it was back to square one. The government allowed the importing of chickens and eggs. This hit people like Melody where it matters most. I truly felt sorry for her. On the other hand I felt it was just deserts for her since she had deprived us of our home.

32. I always knew that a war was looming between Melody and the war veterans. It had always been simmering and it would surely explode. Melody would never share the farm with the war veterans. She had dealt decisively with the former farm workers. She had scored a resounding victory. I waited to see what would happen to the war veterans and how she would take on them. She had a powerful man wrapped around her little finger but the issue with the war veterans would be something else.

I knew Melody wanted the farm to herself. She was however aware that the issue regarding the war veterans was a sensitive one. As sure as the rising of the sun in the east she would take on them. She was a tenacious woman. She knew how to get what she wanted. Macleans farm was now hers. She had a lease. I had little knowledge about the law but I wondered how the war veterans would continue staying at the farm if she took them to court.

The war between the war veterans and Melody came sooner than I thought. It was triggered by an unfortunate incident. I heard that a fire had broken out somewhere near the place where the war veterans were staying. They tried to extinguish it but it was in vain. The windy day did not help matters.

The fire spread as far as the section where Melody had her fledgling poultry project. Her workers battled with it. They were only able to extinguish it after it had destroyed some fowl runs and about one hundred egg layers.

A sombre atmosphere engulfed Macleans farm when Melody came clad in her tight fitting denim trousers. I heard she had breathed brimstone and fire.

Heard that she had said, ‘ I’ll get to the bottom of this. This is a case of arson. Someone is sabotaging me. They will know that I am made of sterner stuff. I’m no push over. There are many of my enemies around here. I will get rid of them. I have a lease. Who do they think they are. They should leave this farm. The earlier the better. They will know that the minister means business. Saboteurs will face the full wrath of the law. This time they have gone too far. They think we are toothless bull dogs. Now they will know that I am a real tigress.’

I heard that Melody had berated her workers for not having been quick in extinguishing the fire. She was said to have indicated that some of them were acting in cahoots with her enemies. Further she was said to have indicated that all of them would be quizzed by the police. She threatened to fire the whole lot of them.

The police had reacted swiftly. They had interrogated every farm worker. They had done the same with the war veterans. They had not come up with any suspects. They had reached the conclusion that perhaps someone had inadvertently started the fire by throwing away a cigarette butt. No arrests were made. This had deeply displeased melody. She was reported to have said the war veterans had started the fire as they had an axe to grind with her. She was reported to have said the war veterans were sympathizers of the erstwhile farm workers who hated her. It was reported that she had even suspected that I was behind the fire. I had not been interrogated. I heard that the farm workers had not seen me at the farm on that day or even the week before. I was not in the least surprised by this.

When I heard she had suspected the war veterans of sabotage I knew what was on the way. She had now drawn the battle lines. She had called the war veterans a gang of lawless bandits. She said many of them were in any event thieves, robbers and rapists who had not gone to the war out of patriotism but were fugitives from justice. She said some were not even genuine war veterans but were opportunists who had just gone into the assembly points because the real war veterans feared being taken as sitting ducks by the racist regime forces. I also heard that the police had been too soft by not arresting all of them and locking them away in stinking cells.

Melody had vowed to deal with the war veterans. I also heard that the war veterans had said she was to be prepared for a bruising encounter. I waited with bated breath to find out what would happen. It was indeed going to be an energy and mind sapping encounter. The war veterans had long vowed that they would not leave the farm. They had said the war of liberation had been about the land. They said the war of liberation was not a personal possession for the likes of Melody and the minister. They had vowed that their plans would not go off the rails. They said it was not just for the likes of Melody to take all the arable land and leave the landless majority wallowing in the reserves. They said justice is what had driven them to take up arms and force the racists to abandon racist

based land allocation policies. They said they were now ready to tackle the black petit bourgeoisie that was now acting in the same way the racists had done.

33. Surely Melody was not worried at all about the lives that had been thrown into inexplicable turmoil. She cared less about the irreparable damage that was being done to the environment. The erstwhile farm workers were not living but just surviving. They had lost the very foundation of their lives. They were homeless. They were fast losing their sanity. No one seemed to care. They were living in a squatter camp.

I was deeply hurt when I heard that they had been treated like vermin when there were preparations for what was termed the Commonwealth Heads of States and Government meeting. They were hounded out of their hovels by policemen who were armed with AK 47 rifles. I wondered whether the liberator’s gun was now the weapon of repression. I heard that the erstwhile farm workers and their families had been beaten and told they were an embarrassment to the government.

They were told to move back to their original homes. It was said they were an eye sore. There were very important people who were not supposed to be exposed to such filth. They were beaten to pulp when they pointed out that they had nowhere to go. They were told to go back to Malawi and Zambia where their great grand parents came from.

They joined the swelling ranks of the urban poor. They played cat and mouse games with the police. They were pushed far away from the venue of the commonwealth heads of state and government meeting. Very important people were not to be exposed to such extreme poverty.

The national newspapers were awash with stories of people who were resisting being resettled. The newspapers said the people did not want to be in rural areas but were bent on living in towns and sought to subsist on begging. The government was reported to have stated that it had zero tolerance for beggars and squatters. Everyone who genuinely needed land would be resettled. All the enemies of land reform who were masquerading as squatters would not be treated with kid’s gloves.

34. There was no way I could stop thinking about my fellow former farm workers and war veterans. I was on the verge of losing my sanity. The only therapy that I needed was the knowledge that those who needed land would get it and lead normal lives again. The homelessness was wreaking havoc on fellow human beings.

35.

The freedom train now lies derailed

It is now one mangled heap

The freedom train is now a gravy train

Opportunists and sycophants having their fill

Concubines and mistresses galore

Cronies descending down there like vultures

The landless still wallowing in their misery

Buried under mounds of poverty, ignorance and disease

Many losing their sanity with alarming rapidity

Roaming the streets and feeding from garbage cans

Some turning to panga wielding robbers

Others turning to prostitution out of grim necessity

Still many harbouring thoughts of revolution

Another Chimurenga being brewed in those hearts and minds

Fire and brimstone for those that stole the revolution

Those that ride still on the backs of the people

Those that eat and drink on behalf of the homeless

Those that ignore the voice of enlightened selfishness

This ant prophetic voice will bring that message

The message of a revolution still on course

The revolution that defeated the racial land holding

Now ferociously taking on land holding on cronyism

Their football pitch size pantries full to the brim

Their bellies full like they are pregnant women

Their garbage cans full to the brim with left overs

While they hold onto the land for reasons of avarice

The enemies of the real land reform programme

Now masquerading as its ardent supporters

Turning the arable land into picnic places

While the once renowned bread basket nation

Becomes head of the class of international beggars

Bickering over contents of a begging bowl