By Irvine Sibhona
In war, particularly guerrilla warfare, not everything can be planned for. Certain realities cannot be anticipated, no matter how careful the planning and preparations. Fighters are trained to engage: to shoot, to take cover, to survive the immediate encounter. But war rarely follows instruction.
The enemy uses the same tactics. Survival often comes down to who sees the other first and who reacts faster. In that uncertainty, injuries and deaths become inevitable.
During the Liberation War, such moments were frequent. What made them more tragic was that, in some cases, lives were lost not only to enemy fire but to gaps in planning.
One of the most dangerous situations was when guerrillas had to cross the perilous Zambezi Escarpment, with its steep and unforgiving gorges. Many guerrillas fell there, sometimes just before completing their missions. Incidents like that not only require endurance but also call for decisive leadership and careful assessment of next steps.
I recall the painful fate that befell a comrade who broke his leg after falling into one of those treacherous gorges. He was left behind in a ravine as the unit proceeded to carry out a mission at Elephant Mine near Wafa-Wafa in Kariba, then a Selous Scouts training base. The assumption was that he would remain hidden until his comrades executed the mission and returned.
But war does not wait.
When the unit came back, they could not find him. A search later revealed that he had crawled several hundred metres from where he had been left. Alone, injured, and hearing gunfire nearby, he feared capture. He shot himself.
He was found a day later, his gun between his legs, as helicopters and search teams closed in. No one can say what he endured in those final hours. What remains is the question: could this have been avoided? Had the mission been delayed and evacuation prioritised, perhaps the outcome would have been different.
Another incident in DK, an operational area in the Hwange-Binga region, further illustrates this problem. A comrade fell into a steep gorge and sustained injuries. Sadly, his absence went unnoticed, and his comrades pushed on, leaving him behind without support. He attempted to follow his unit the next day, but there was no chance of catching up. Eventually, he entered a nearby village, where an old man offered him food laced with the notorious sleeping herb mligasigoli. After consuming it, he lost consciousness, and the villager alerted enemy forces. The poor comrade later woke up in a Selous Scouts camp, shackled in leg irons.
Had the commander realised his absence in time and initiated a search, this comrade might not have been captured. Certainly, not all incidents could be anticipated, but with better preparation, many could have been handled better.
Improvising Survival: Donkeys and the ‘Gariki’ carts
In 1978, during deployment in a remote corner of the southern operational areas, far from any formal medical support, I stumbled upon a quiet but effective system that had taken shape, not born of genius military manuals, but from the everyday life of the people. I observed that local communities relied heavily on donkeys for daily activities. Donkeys were used for all kinds of transportation, even for trips to the grocery store.
I had previously passed through the same area in 1976, where we were transported overnight in donkey-drawn carts known as ‘gariki’. These carts ferried us to the Shashi River, covering long distances through the night until we arrived and crossed the river. At the time, I did not realise how significant this experience would later become in managing casualty evacuation.
While I cannot speak for all operational areas, in many regions the donkey soon proved to be the most reliable means of transporting casualties, as well as materials such as ammunition and heavy weaponry. The gariki cart was widely used in areas like Nswazi, Toporo, Beitbridge, and Gwanda. Typically drawn by two to four donkeys, it was remarkably efficient and could reach speeds of 30 to 40 kilometres per hour over long distances.
By the time I arrived for operations on the southern front, this method had already been adopted as a practical casualty evacuation (casvac) system. Injured comrades were either transported to temporary safe points or evacuated to Botswana, where hospitals were available. The Botswana government had an unwritten understanding with ZPRA and refugees, allowing access to medical treatment.
The difference between life and death often depended on the availability of donkeys. Among rural communities, donkeys were plentiful and inexpensive, used primarily for draught power. They could be exchanged between regions, taken from Mberengwa to Beitbridge and vice versa, as needed. Their primary purpose, however, became the evacuation of injured comrades.
Experiences from the Field
During my visits to various units, I witnessed firsthand the effectiveness of the gariki system. On two occasions, I observed its use from Mpande Siyoka to Mudemi village, across the Mzingwani River. In some cases, we improvised stretchers by tying two donkeys together to transport the injured.
I recall two severely wounded comrades who had retreated from Maranda after a battle in which we lost nine fighters. The injured required urgent medical attention, and the journey was long, passing through commercial farms. This was not an isolated case. Previously, Commander Gaddafi of Maranda-Namande had also been evacuated to Botswana using the same method, beginning from Chief Siyoka’s area in Beitbridge.
One striking aspect of this system was the involvement of young boys who served as drivers and scouts. They were highly knowledgeable about local conditions and constantly monitored developments. They skilfully altered routes to avoid danger, demonstrating remarkable awareness and bravery.
At Shobi Block, comrades Sylvester and Dandi had established a tactical headquarters that also served as a recovery point for those with minor injuries. Mudemi village, hidden beneath mopani trees, served a similar purpose. It was one of the few remaining homesteads after widespread destruction and forced relocations into protected villages (PVs).
At Mudemi, guerrillas suffering from various ailments, including venereal diseases, received treatment. Medical personnel used improvised remedies, sometimes including penicillin from cattle or horses mixed with methylated spirits. Despite the rudimentary nature of these treatments, many recovered and returned to duty. However, the injections were so strong that they temporarily immobilised the leg, requiring strict concealment in case of enemy detection.
A People’s War
It remains remarkable how donkey-drawn carts could cover distances of up to 60 kilometres within a matter of hours. The speed and reliability of the gariki system were extraordinary. The carts were often fitted with mattresses to support the injured, typically carrying two comrades at a time. Additional materials, such as wooden planks, were used to assist the donkeys when crossing sandy riverbeds like the Shashi or Mzingwani.
The young drivers would often return alone the following day, exercising great caution. Their courage and commitment were indispensable.
This experience underscores the vital role played by local communities. Their willingness to provide animals, labour, and even their children in support of the liberation struggle was invaluable. It made those of us in combat feel supported and cared for.
The people of those regions contributed immensely to Zimbabwe’s liberation. Their efforts deserve recognition and respect. To imagine the evacuation of a severely wounded comrade, sometimes with life-threatening injuries, over such distances to Gobajangwe in Botswana within hours is nothing short of miraculous.