Title: "Even though I was scared, I kept on taking notes like the dedicated newspaperman I am!"
Author: Fungi Kwaramba
Category: Media
Date: 10/21/2014
Source: Daily News
Source Website: www.dailynews.co.zw
African Charter Article# 9: Every individual shall have the right to receive information and express their opinions.
Summary & Comment: In this first-person account, Zimbabwe's Daily News senior reporter Fungi Kwaramba describes a recent event in which Grace Mugabe, wife of Zimbabwean president Robert Mugabe, threatened the media - and the Daily News in particular - at a ZANU-PF rally. "Even though I was scared, I kept on taking notes like the dedicated newspaperman I am," Kwaramba writes. BF
http://www.dailynews.co.zw/articles/2014/10/21/i-feared-for-my-life
Daily News Senior Writer, Fungi Kwaramba gives a personal account of the day in Marondera that the First Lady Grace Mugabe instilled the fear of God in private media journalists.
The tense atmosphere at the rally was almost palpable, and the summer sun intense was punishing as I and a group of other journalists sat silently as we received the mother of all shellackings from First Lady Grace Mugabe. The day was Friday, October 17; the venue Marondera's Rudhaka Stadium. The "auspicious" occasion was Grace's final so-called "Meet the People" rally. Earlier in the day, some visibly inebriated Zanu PF yobs had been separated from each other by the police. And for reasons best known to themselves. They went out of their way to make it hard for me as a journalist to gather the facts around these disturbances.
"Pasi neDaily News, pasi neGamatox" (down with the Daily News, down with Gamatox), chanted the provincial chairpersons of the Zanu PF youth wing. And all of a sudden, the private media was accused of advancing the interests of a "certain faction" of the party.
My heart started pounding as the youths made these inflammatory slogans, unwisely taking some comfort in the fact that the First Lady, who wants to be seen as the mother of the nation, as well as a coterie of government ministers, were in our midst. My fears were well-placed, bearing in mind what had happened in Manicaland a fortnight ago, when Zanu PF youths had engaged in fierce running battles among themselves. In Marondera, it had taken the vigilant police to save the day.
Thus, it was clear, given these unsavoury intra-party violent clashes, that the Zanu PF youths would not think twice about harming a mere Daily News reporter like me. I made a mental calculation of the number of steps that I would need to take to get to safety, in the event that I got attacked by the hired thugs.
A little bit of a confession here: I was determined in that event to run as fast as possible, to take cover under the legs of Jonathan Moyo, the minister of Information, who was seated close by! But as frightening as the drunk yobs were, they were nothing compared to the nightmare that was to come.
As we continued to sit half-dazed and pensive where we were, taking fitful notes like the diligent and hard-working journalists most of us aspire to be - at the same time silently beseeching the Good Lord to push the hands of time forward and therefore end our mental torture - the main actor on the day was planning her assault on us. I watched her in utter shock as she exchanged unpleasant words with Mashonaland East provincial chairman Ray Kaukonde, following the furious gestures with growing bewilderment.
At the top table, emotions and tempers were evidently high, I observed, pointing this out to distracted friends. We took note of that. And then finally, Grace took to the podium and launching a diatribe against the so-called factional leaders. Most surprisingly, however, only one camp in Zanu PF was in the firing line. As she got into her rhythm, she tore into the cancerous corruption scourge that is eating at the heart of our nation. I prematurely uttered a barely audible Amen to that, silently praying for names.
Disappointingly, she offered none, leaving the gathered reporters to reach their own conclusions and to interpret her sensational but cryptic allegations their own way. In all this unfolding drama, I was sitting directly across the high table, watching in awe as Grace, who happens to be my home girl from Chikomba District, flex her muscles - leaving little doubt in the minds of both her opponents and supporters that she was the all-powerful wife to what the Italians refer to as the Capo di tutti Capi: the boss of all bosses.
Suddenly, and without warning, she left the corrupt politicians, rowdy party youths, and the other not-so-topical issues and turned her spotlight on the news hounds. And just like that, I became the subject of her speech, unwittingly finding myself at the mercy of thousands of prying, curious eyes. At this point dear readers, I discovered, to my embarrassment, that I was sweating.
"Ndiudzei anonyepa ndeupi? WekuDaily News ndeupi? Hona varikutarisa pasi. Daily News ndeupi?" (Which one here is from the Daily News? Look now how embarrassed they are? Which one is from the Daily News?" she enquired menacingly.
As she thundered, I tried my hardest to look down at the grass, fearful of looking up and scared to bits that I was being left open to possible violence. And of the horror of all horrors, that I could actually be forced to stand up by over-enthusiastic party apparatchiks. I have to admit that I have never felt so small and so scared in my whole life. I felt exposed and vulnerable, imagining what the blood-thirsty drunken youths, who were chanting the anti-Daily News slogans could do to me.
Remember dear readers that I have seen people being bludgeoned at political rallies before, and as the First Lady roared on, I actually wished that the ground could open and swallow me up. Of course it didn't, silly me. I listened further as the now not so-amazing Grace claimed that I earned a measly $200 a month, and that I was being bribed by unnamed politicians to denigrate the Mugabes. Can anything be more serious or "treasonous" in Zimbabwe?
Now, the drunken yobs looked seriously pissed off with me (excuse the French), with some of them threatening to mete out instant justice on me. I attempted to join my State media colleagues who were engaging in nervous laughter, but it wasn't possible. Judith Makwanya, that veteran and most "loyal" ZBC correspondent, looked at us, chiding me for continuing to write notes as Her Royal Highness addressed me. For even though I was scared, I kept on taking notes like the dedicated newspaperman I am! Well, it was just about the only other thing I could do actually, apart from looking at the grass!
"Let's not love money that way. Sure unganyorere kupihwa $200 chaiyo wondisvibisa kudaro (How can you be bribed with $200 to tarnish my image)," Grace rumbled on.
While you are internalising all this dear readers, please pray for me, bearing in mind that Mrs Mugabe has already boasted that she successfully prayed to God for the death of Heidi Holland, an author who allegedly cast her in bad light in a book, Dinner with Mugabe. As a journalist though, I try to understand the world and make sense of it. And to use Grace's own words, we interpret what those in power say in their speeches. Despite the threats, and my fear of the First Lady's death-inducing prayers, I am still determined to pursue the truth, and to help make heads and tail of what people like Grace say or plan to do in our beloved country. And after her tirade against me and the Daily News, I quickly concealed my notebook and pen in my trouser pocket and went to the top table, partly to exchange pleasantries with some politburo members I knew, and also to disarm and dissuade the baying youths from showing any more interest in me. Then it was off to the safety of our offices in Harare, and home. What a close shave. The question that I'm now wrestling with is what it is that can ever make me forget that horrible day. And what does "Amai" think of it, if it even registers in her presidential conscience?
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