I was not invited by anyone to join the Liberation Struggle, but I was forced into going by the intolerable circumstances in which we lived. The soldiers used to come and take us to a place called Mashambanhaka where they put us in drums full of water and beat us almost to death. This painful routine went on for some time. Even old people suffered in the same way. Indeed, anybody who was suspected of having fed the guerrillas was taken out and beaten and then locked in the keep again. I was tired of being beaten and so I decided I would go out to join the Liberation Struggle. Doing that, I thought, might lead to my death, but as far as that was concerned I was under a constant threat of death in the keep, so it was all one whether I stayed or went. On balance I thought it better to go.
While I was still in the keep some guerrillas arrived at a base called Birimhiri and a message came that we should prepare sadza and take it the comrades. We cooked the sadza[262] and on that day we were lucky for the soldiers had gone off to read their newspapers, and the DA's2 were holed up in a strong point fortified with sandbags which was called zvimudburi, so we slipped out carrying the food, and I never came back. I was with a friend called Kiretti and we just walked saying nothing to each other for there was nothing to say; I mean we had no idea what to expect when we arrived at where we were going. This was all done in a moment, completely unplanned. I had not even told my mother that I was going.
That was my first day to meet the comrades. They were just ordinary people, quite 10 visible, wearing uniforms some of which were plain khaki and some camouflage, and carrying their guns which, I noticed, they never let go of since they might have to fight at any moment. We were a bit afraid at first but soon got used to them. There were ten of them altogether. When they had eaten and were about to leave we told them we were going with them; that we wanted to go to Mozambique because we were tired of being beaten. At first they refused to take us and said they were taking boys only, and that though they had taken girls before, they did not encourage those who were very young to go. But we insisted that we were not going back to the keep to be beaten to death or to be injured, as my hearing had been impaired through the punishment I had received. And eventually they agreed.
When we left there were four girls and quite a number of boys from our keep in the group. We did not know what to expect but I did not regret what I had done. We started our journey at night, around eight o'clock, and travelled to Karimimbika which is still in the Uzumba District. Another group of comrades joined us there and we went on, travelling always by night, going via Mudzi and Area 6, and then straight to the border between Rhodesia and Mozambique. My tennis shoes were soon worn out, and I had to make do with the one dress I had been wearing when I left the keep.
After we had crossed into Mozambique we camped at a base called Mubhanana where we stayed for some time, carrying supplies of arms for the comrades who came from Chambere. Then we moved to Zhangara Camp where there were about seven hundred people, including two hundred who were my age. At one stage there were more women than men in this camp, but in my age group there were more boys than girls, and there were no old people. At Zhangara, as in other camps, we were taught politics. Our instructors told us about the war and its origins and said that we should not think of returning home since we had chosen to come and fight for our country's independence.
For my part I never wanted to go back while things were as they were. Yes, I missed my parents, but I was in a large group of young people, all of whom were in the same boat, and that made it easier to forget about your own problems. Most of the time I was happy because I had friends— Ebamore, Tarisai, Mabhunu and Shingirai. We sang together in the choir; in times of hardship we comforted each other; we plaited our hair and mended our clothes. If we were lucky enough to have needles we made small bags in which to keep personal things out of our old dresses. Discipline was fairly strict in the camp. Girls were separated from boys and we never had boyfriends. If a girl did leave camp to meet a boy and was caught she was punished. It wasn't easy to get out of the camp because the exits were guarded. Pregnancies were rare, but girls fell pregnant when they left camp to perform military duties like carrying arms and ammunition. The most common offence for which one was beaten or made to carry ammunition was escaping from the camp to barter clothes for food in the surrounding villages. Beatings were not carried out in the open and we only saw people being called to report for a beating. In all the time I stayed at this camp I never broke the rules, except on one occasion: my friends and I missed a meal because we had stayed too long at the river where we were getting rid of the lice in our hair. Luckily we were not punished for that. [. . .]
We also did some training with "arms," wooden guns that we ourselves had made. Being educated was a big advantage in the camp, and it was the educated ones who were usually the first to be selected to become trainers. I wasn't considered to be educated but I was good at physical activities so I was asked to help with military training. After we had finished the initial training we were allowed to handle real guns, and were given lessons on the different parts of a gun and on how to dismantle and load them. All this time boys and girls were taught together, and we had both male and female instructors. These lessons gave us confidence and a sense of power, so different from how we felt when we were untrained and unarmed.
The most distressing episode in this part of my life was when Tembwe was bombed 15 on November 25, 1977. On that day people were carrying out their duties as usual but another girl and I hadn't gone to work because we were sick. I had an extensive burn on my leg as a result of an accident in the kitchen. Shingi and I had been to the clinic and on our way back we spotted a plane. We were heading for the kitchen, an area of shelters and large drums on fires in which to cook sadza, but before we got there this plane dropped a bomb right in the middle of it. All those on duty in the kitchen were killed—some by the explosion and others by the porridge from the drums. We ran to the river and hid among the reeds but then soldiers appeared and began shooting towards us and I thought I was going to die. I was hit, and the bullet wounds on my leg were deep, but I survived, though it was three months before my injuries healed.
I had never thought of the possibility of dying in a battle before. During my training I had imagined an exchange of gunfire, but nothing more. I had never seen a dead person, but now I saw so many. As we ran to the river I had stepped on the bodies of those who had died, and the thought of that experience horrified me. People die in war and I knew it then all too fearfully.
Soon after the attack on Tembwe I was sent with other survivors to Maroro where I completed my military training. I was then chosen, together with five girls and nine boys, to carry arms—what we called caches—to the comrades who were in the field. These arms—grenades for instance—were packed into sealed bags, and with these we crossed the border into Rhodesia, protected by an armed guard who knew the way. We entered the Mutoko area in July 1978 and went straight to the traditional healer in that area who gave us the go-ahead to operate there. We had been instructed not to seek confrontation with the Rhodesian security forces, and to hide if we came across any. My one experience of action in the field was in Area G. We were having a meal of sadza when we were attacked. We ran away. But four of our comrades were killed by the enemy in this engagement.