Between December and January, most of the answers were vague; I noticed there was a modicum of guarded optimism among discussants; they still thought that, this time around, things would be different.
They can be forgiven for that, because there were encouraging signals. President Robert Mugabe was preaching peace at every turn. So was Prime Minister Morgan Tsvangirai. Even thugs like Jim Kunaka of Chipangano fame and Joseph Chinotimba were singing from the same hymn book.
I had an interview with Tendai Biti, who predicted “blood on the floor” in 2008. His optimism was telling, maybe a bit unsettling. He said while there would be pockets of violence, this year’s elections would be free and fair.
Then came the confluence around the referendum, and talk of peace and harmony among top politicians.
But my gut told me it would be only a matter of time before the beast came out into the field. In fact, in my column, As I Please! I invariably warned of the “illusion of peace” and the prowling red-eyed junta.
Now the police are arresting not only human rights activists, but their lawyers too. It is a very bad omen when a government arrests lawyers as they are doing their job to defend clients – whom the law declares are innocent until proven guilty.
It is no surprise that attention is now turning to the media, which the police, CIO and army have always seen as a criminal profession for its capacity to tell the world how bad they are.
On Monday this week, the securocrats fired a warning salvo, forcing The Zimbabwean staffers to vacate their offices and withdraw hastily into the underworld.
It started early in the morning, when I was alerted to a mysterious man who wanted to talk to one of our reporters who had written last week’s article about Constantine Chiwenga, the Zimbabwe Defence Forces Commander, reining in a CIO agent who had reportedly pointed a gun at a senior prisons officer.
Basically, the story says the prisons officer was frustrated by police failure to arrest the CIO boss, leading to him to approach Chiwenga, with whom he worked at one time. Chiwenga then reportedly promised him to deal with the aberrant officer.
I called the man, who claimed he wanted to give us extra information about this story. I immediately smelt a rat, because in September 2002, Crispen Makedenge, now a Superintendent with the Law and Order section, but an inspector then, used the same trick to arrest me when I penned a story titled “Chihuri must go”. He got my number from an unsuspecting receptionist and called me several times begging to meet me so that he could give me a “juicy” story as a follow-up.
Fast forward to 2013. One of our staff members came to my office, panting, saying a man had called her saying he was close to our offices and wanted to meet the reporter who had written the story because he wanted to give him “an article”.
I immediately evacuated the office and locked myself inside. Up to 5pm I was holed up in there, without food or cigarettes – in virtual detention because if I stepped out, I would walk straight into the jaws of the sharks waiting outside.
The caller continued to pester our reporters, and at one time claimed he was from New Ziana and wanted to know how he could meet me. Unbeknown to the raiders, there were several people right under their nose who gave me regular updates. They told me there was an army truck, two twin cabs, one of them without number plates and another with police registration numbers outside the building. My informants also told me that there was a marked army truck and more than 10 suspicious men in plain clothes in the vicinity.
Whenever some of them entered the building, my informants would tell me and I would hear footsteps and harsh knocks on the door. As time ticked by, it became clear that they were not sure I was in there. Some of them had been told that we had moved.
In the meantime, I sent out alerts to several media and human rights organisations, as well as my boss and one or two strategic friends. The alerts were splashed on social media and online news publications, as I sweated and pondered my fate.
Memories were still fresh of how they had reduced fellow journalists, the late Mark Chavhunduka and Ray Choto, to squirming cabbages back then.
I could also hear police officers chatting in the car park close to my window. I could tell they were cops because they kept talking about this and that docket, court appearances and crime. I am not sure at what time they drove away.
I was relieved when I was told that the soldiers had left, but I still had every reason to pray for a safe passage because several guys in dark suits and glasses remained outside in parked cars. Two of them, I was informed, entered the building and I heard impatient knocks on the door. After a while, I heard car doors banging and a car driving away.
But watchers said a Vitz remained with two men in dark glasses. These also came and knocked on my door, but drove away at around 4.30pm. Time to knock off! As it got darker, I became quite afraid and reinforced my plea to the Zimbabwe Lawyers for Human Rights for help – who responded and conveyed me to freedom.
I was heartened by the moral support I got from MISA, ZUJ and several others throughout the day. As I write, I have decided to play it safe and lie low, away from the madding shenanigans of the security sector, and have advised the reporters to do the same, particularly the one who wrote the story. I am not sure, though, if this is a case of having allowed myself to be afraid or a prudent decision.
In my younger days, I would have walked straight out of my office and confronted the strangers. Yes, I used to be like that. But I guess age brings with it wisdom, and I chose to be wise.
Post published in: News