CAUGHT IN THE CAUGHT IN THE CROSSFIRE Patricia Chater LLS -7 Caught in the Crossfire Patricia Chater ZIMBABWE PUBLISHING HOUSE P.O. Box BW-350 Harare, Zimbabwe (il; Dedication To the people of St Francis and in memory of Basil Nyabadza and all those who died in the liberation struggle. Zimbabwe Publishing House (Pvt) Ltd, P.O. Box BW-350 Harare, Zimbabwe ©Patricia Chater 1985 First published by ZPH 1985 ISBN 0 949932 82 5 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system oT transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publishers. Typeset by Colorset Printed in Zimbabwe by Zimpak * 0 z N 2.4 -6 bL II 2. -e 0 cm 0 -0 0 CL nc> cl -4 0.>- -~ 1: cl -4 0~.>-4 0 0.> - CO 0 Q 2.~ 0 CO 0.> CI) ~ 0.> OJ c E L ~ OJ LO '-4 0.>0.0 0 COt Q -4 -I ~0 - CO 0.> LO -4 0 0 .4 - CO c~C 0 -4 0> 0 co LO -4 -é 0.>c..> .0 0.> E > LID c INTRODUCTION 'In the eastern operational area terrorists have murdered a wellknown African businessman, Mr Basil Nyabadza, aged 53 years and married from Makoni.' Part of an official communique issued by the Rhodesian security forces on 4 April, 1977. I started to write this book just a few weeks after the murder reported in such a detached way in these lines. I wrote sitting up in bed in a little room at the back of the Nyabadzas' house, only a few metres in fact from the spot where Basil fell when the hail of bullets directed at him found their mark. Other members of the community of St Francis were crowded into the house to sleep too. We were twenty kilometres from Rusape, on the road to Inyanga, in what was officially termed 'the eastern operational area' and we felt that it was no longer safe to sleep in our separate houses more distant from the church and the main yard. A knock on the door at night could mean a summons to death, as it had for Basil. A few minutes before his murder, the soldiers had knocked on the door and banged on the windows of the small house I normally shared with Mavis Nyagumbo, but we lay low, and no-one will ever know whether they had intended to kill us too. During the long curfew evenings that followed I recalled and wrote down the events of the past twenty years. I remembered my first visit here, cycling up from St Faith's where I was working then, and the wonderfully warm welcome I was given by the people of St Francis. Then I wrote about how and why I left St Faith's to come and live here with the Sisters, and my ex- perience as the only European in an African community. I was anxious to include what I had learned over the years of the history of St Francis Church, much of it from the recollections of the older people, and to tell the moving and inspiring story of how the community started under the leadership of Basil's father, Francis. I wanted also to pay tribute to Basil himself, for I was sure that when the story of the struggle for an independent Zimbabwe came to be told, he would be one of its heroes. Basil was only twenty six when he assumed the leadership of the community on his father's death in 1951. During the following years he struggled to develop the economic life of the community while caring for the spiritual side, and was at the same time wholeheartedly committed to the African nationalist cause. Writing quietly at night I completed the story up to the early 1970s and the start of the armed struggle. There I had to stop. Having friends whose houses had been searched by the CID, I felt it was too dangerous to put down on paper the part which Basil had played in helping the freedom fighters. It had led to his imprisonment in 1975 and to his murder by the security forces two years later - for, as we all knew at the time, in reality his murderers were not 'terrorists' at all. The manuscript was put away, unfinished. But after Independence, in 1980, it was possible to finish the story and to bring it up to date. I have been greatly encouraged by Professor Terence Ranger, who visited us in 1980/81 during a sabbatical leave. With his considerable knowledge of African independent churches, he feels that the early history of the St Francis community is of general interest and should be written down, as should the story of Basil's life and death. During his visit to Zimbabwe Dr Ranger spent much of his time reading in the National Archives in Harare. There he found a small amount of material about the controversy which led to the breakaway of St Francis community from the Anglican Church, and we agreed that this material confirmed what I had already written. I am very grateful to him, and to Professor Adrian Hastings and his wife, Ann, who have given me helpful advice and hospitality. I would also like to thank the members of Zimbabwe Publishing House who have taken the trouble to visit St Francis and whose suggestions have, in consequence, been all the more valuable. This book is offered as a small tribute to Basil Nyabadza and thousands of others who gave their lives in the struggle. I would also like to put on record my immense gratitude to the St Francis community for accepting me as one of them and for their never-failing love and generosity. St Francis of Assisi, Rusape, Zimbabwe. Chapter 1 It was a hot day even for October, and the sun beat down on us as we cycled through the European farms. My companion was a young African woman, Margaret Shumba, and we were on our way from St Faith's Mission, where we both worked, to visit her friends at St Francis Church. It was uphill most of the way and often we had to get off and push our bicycles through the thick, loose sand. After an hour and a half we came to the main Rusape/Inyanga road and by this time we were hot, dusty and tired. We paused to brush ourselves down before crossing the tarmac, and then a short dirt road brought us to the archway and main gate of St Francis. A notice proclaimed 'ST FRANCIS OF ASSISI - THE AFRICAN CHURCH'. This was my first visit and I was immediately struck by the beauty of the place: to the left the long thatched church with its arched porch and rounded bell tower, and on two sides of the well-swept yard thatched dwelling houses, some round, some square. In the centre was a huge gum tree, which with the other gums surrounding the yard gave cool shady relief from the harsh sun. We were welcomed by Margaret's friends in the typical Mashona way with enthusiastic hand-shaking. Our bags and bicycles were taken from us, and we were ushered into a little house near the church. We sat down and clapped as we exchanged greetings: 'Makadini?' 'How are you?' 'Tiri wadi kuti muri wadi wo.' 'We are well if you are well.' 'Wakadini Baba na Mai?' 'How are Father and Mother?' 'Wakadini wa pwere?' 'How are the children?' Unhurried exchanges, formal, yet heartfelt and sincere. I immediately felt at home. We were in the tiny sitting-room of the priest's house and while we waited for Father Basil Nyabadza we were entertained by his elder brother, Simon. A slightly-built man of about fortyfive, he had recently returned from South Africa and was now working in Rusape. He spoke excellent English and told us something of how the community of St Francis had started. 'My father, Francis, was a wonderful man. He was a great preacher and he also had the power of healing. People flocked to his services and loved to listen to him.' 'Where did he hold these services?' I asked. 'He first worked on the other side of Rusape, in the Chiduku villages. Then he was stationed at St Faith's Mission and later on in Rusape. So many people came to him from other Anglican churches that the priests got jealous. And they didn't like him because he preached strongly against beer drinking and some of them were heavy drinkers themselves. They made so much trouble for him that in the end he had to leave Rusape, and he came to live here at his home.' I wanted to hear more, but then Father Basil came in to greet us and we went through the formal exchanges again. A big, strong, generous-looking man with a wide smile, he was friendly but somewhat reserved, and left it to his brother to do most of the talking. We sat around drinking tea while the Sisters and other members of the community came in to greet us. The few chairs were soon occupied, and most of the women sat on mats on the floor and on the doorstep. Presently Father Basil said, 'Let's go in to church,' and I realised this meant that mattins was about to start. I was struck by this informal and relaxed approach to church time-keeping! We walked up the path with Father Basil, now in his black cassock, and Simon took Margaret and me into the church and up a steep staircase to the gallery where we sat with the six Sisters who made up the choir.