Home Politics Remembering 27 June 2008

Remembering 27 June 2008

by BustopTV

By Trevor Makonyonga

“Hondo, Hondo here. Hondo, hondo here. Hondo.”

This song rings in my mind everytime I pass through certain areas near Katanga shopping centre on my way to work. It is a song which brings pain and invokes some memories that I wish to forget.

The year 2008 was like a real flip of pages from hope for a beautiful nation to horror a suffering that is beyond comprehension. It was a year in which I witnessed heinous acts that I never thought were possible.

It all started with the rumours that people in rural areas were being terrorised, tortured and killed for their dessociation with the ruling party ZANU PF. Of course this was after ZANU PF had lost an election to MDC so as part of consolidation of power, terror reigned and also rained on the people. Being in an urban area, Norton to be precise, nobody was really acquainted to the happenings of the times especially in the rural areas. Zimbabweans have generally adopted the “I am not my brother’s keeper” philosophy especially in times of terror. The same terror was soon to descend on us.

A base was set up in my ward, Ward 11 at a said war veteran residence and then ZANU PF member called Ndiya. The famous youths were popular at that base were one called Garapo and another called Taribo. These two had gained a ‘reputation’ by being evil. This other day we were standing on the corner, Ndiya came with his cohort of demons like the devil would do. He questioned us on why we were on that corner and not at the base. We dispersed instantly. To be honest I never set my feet at the base but my uncles did involuntarily. My uncles were beaten and it is their account that I will use to describe the base.

My uncles were involved in a serious accident which claimed the life of my young cousin. One of them was seriously injured and was always home. So the youths came home and summoned every young person. They even forced my bedridden uncle to go with them. Upon arrival, they were flogged with logs, not listening to the cries of the already injured man. Fortunately, he did not die and lives till this day. He would later tell me that there were girls who were forced to come to the base and made to cook for the “comrades.” There is a possibility that some were raped too as, according to my uncle, every now and then screams were heard off a room that only the “base commanders” would enter. The madness then transformed from forcing people to destroying houses.
When going to Katanga, I would wait to listen for the “Vaudze vavhotere pamasvingo Hondo hatidi” running choir in my ward. Then I would move fast when it was safe to do so and then would repeat the same ear detection in Ward 9 before I did it last time at the rank. To avoid these listening parties, I had to leave very early. It was a terrible week and a half which changed lives forever.

Come voting day, people had to go to the base with serial numbers of their ballot papers. It was very terrible. June 27, like August 1 and virtually everyday these days, is a day of pain and all we can say is Rest in Peace to all those we lost. The only question is was all that necessary? Or maybe it was yet another moment of madness like the Gukurahundi that change the course of life in many families.

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