Poignantly, the book asks the question: "How did a country with so much promise—a stellar education system, a growing middle class of professionals, a sophisticated economic infrastructure, a liberal constitution, and an independent judiciary—go so wrong?"
In their own words, the victims recount their experiences of losing their homes, land, livelihoods, and families as a direct result of political violence. They describe being tortured in detention, firebombed at home, or beaten up or raped to "punish" them for voting for the MDC.
Stories of exile
"Those living abroad in exile or forced to flee to neighbouring countries recount their escapes, of cutting through fences, swimming across crocodile-infested rivers, and entrusting themselves to human smugglers. This book includes Zimbabweans of every age, class and political conviction, from farm labourers to academics, from artists and opposition leaders to ordinary Zimbabweans: men and women simply trying to survive as a once thriving nation heads for collapse," said a statement from the publishers last week.
One of the victims, identified only as Alice, was a grassroots political organizer for the MDC before her nightmare began in 2008. Now in her 40s, she lives undercover in an unnamed neighbouring country while she awaits the uncertain outcome of her asylum application. In the book, she recounts her experience of abduction and rape, sexual violence as political retribution. The following is her story, excerpted from the book.
"My neighbour said, 'I heard they are coming to get you today.' I said, “I’m tired of running. If they want to come and get me they can come.” Less than an hour later, they came. In winter it gets dark early. It was some time after 6 pm when three cars full of people arrived at my house. This was the 7th of June, 2008. When I heard the sound of cars, I looked through the curtain and saw that it was bad. There was nowhere to run. They were wearing camouflage, the Zimbabwean army uniform, and they were armed with guns.
They all got out of the cars. Some jumped over my gate and some went round to my neighbours’ house where I used to go to hide. My house is a typical ghetto house – each one is attached to the neighbours’ houses. In one bedroom, they found my stepson and his wife sleeping. I’d given my stepson the spare keys to my bedroom but he could not get the door open. He was trying to insert the key but I was inside holding the other key. When I realized that they were beating him, I unlocked the
door. I said, “Please don’t beat up my son. I am the problem because I am a member of MDC.”
They said, “Are you showing off with your MDC?”
I said, “No, I’m not. You are hurting someone who has done no wrong.”
They said, “Ok, open your bedroom. Why were you locked inside?”
I said, “I was afraid. I’ve never had visitors bring guns before.”
They went into my bedroom and started searching. They found twenty Morgan Tsvangirai posters and two posters for my MP, and flyers and The Zimbabwean newspaper – I had piles of them for distribution. They searched my house and took some money that I was saving, 300 US dollars and 150 South African rands.
A brutal attack
They told me to carry all the stuff out of the house and they took me in their open truck, a cream-colored Mitsubishi. I was sitting in the back, in the middle, and they were surrounding me, sitting on the sides. They were kicking me and hitting me with sticks and fists. Some wanted to throw me into a dam. Another car stopped and someone inside said, “Did you find her?” and they said, “Yes we did.”
They wanted me to tell them where the MDC MPs lived, the MDC youths’ houses, the councilor’s house. I refused to tell them.
They said, “So you are being like Jesus who died for others? Are you going to die for those people?”
I said, “No. Whoever showed you my house should have shown you all the other houses.”
They said I was rude. They beat me up so badly. After that they said, “Take off your clothes.”
When I removed my clothes, just before we got to the Methodist church, they stopped the car and started taking pictures of me, naked. They carried on beating me as they were driving around. Then they stopped somewhere else in the dark and there they raped me. There were many soldiers. I don’t know how many raped me because I passed out. I think they threw water on me because I became conscious when we got
to the police station. They said, “Get off and carry your stuff.” I got off the back of the truck but I couldn’t even walk. I fell down and they said get up and I did.
Inside, when they got behind the counter in the police station, they threw a bullet at me and said, “Kiss it” and I did and they said, “That bullet is yours.”
Post published in: Arts