It blew up and engulfed a lady comrade who stood nearby.
Her war name was Pedzisai.
After the raid, all we recovered from her remains were her two scalded palms.
She had melted into napalm, literally.
Rhodesians used napalm against us, in blatant violation of international law.
We lost 27 comrades in that raid.
Still, war has its lighter moments.
Our base was sited close to Mudzingadzi River. On that day, Mudzingadzi’s wooded valley saved most of us.
After Rhodesian sorties, we emerged from our hiding places, wending our way back to the camp to witness the horror the Rhodesians had wrought on us, to help the wounded and to bury our dead.
As we crossed the frothing Mudzingadzi, we saw an object floating. On closer examination, we recognised it as Mayor Urimbo’s signature hat.
The late Cde Urimbo was our Political Commissar.
Downcast, we concluded our legendary “Tete VeMusangano” had met his fate in that raid.
In keeping with our tradition of honouring fallen comrades, we lined up, rifles raised, to sing our mournful dirge, “Moyo Wangu Watsidza Kufira Zimbabwe”, for our dear departed, “late” Cde Urimbo.
Then we resumed our march back to the devastated camp.
As we did so, we caught sight of a figure running towards us.
Short in height, dark in complexion, he bore the dust and tatters of a battle survivor.
He had no cap on his head, as was customary with all comrades.
Near enough, and in line with ZANLA’s tradition, he announced himself through a string of slogans:
Pamberi NeHondo!
Pamberi NeChimurenga!
Pamberi neZanla High Command!
Stunned and awestruck, none from our group responded to the slogans.
But we all recognised the husky voice as that of the “late” Mayor Urimbo, our “slain” Political Commissar.
In an instant, we all scurried for cover, in abject terror.
Our “dead” Commissar had rejoined us as a ghost, and so soon after his death!
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