When scribe is victim of political violence

The vehicle after the attack. Picture by Mackson Wasamunu.

JACK ZIMBA

Lusaka

“GIVE me the camera or you die!” shouted one man with a tattoo on his forearm.

I would not have taken his threat seriously, but for his menacing look. His eyes were full of rage like a caged beast.

Besides, our vehicle was already surrounded by four or five men wielding machetes and baying for our blood. Their language was vile.

Another group of about 100 men, some wearing face masks, stood across the road chanting and brandishing their machetes, taunting the police. I saw one man with a pick-axe.

I fumbled with the key in the ignition, but it was too late.

I heard an explosion, and another and then another. Each explosion was followed by a shower of glass inside the vehicle.

My first instinct was to duck and shield my face, screaming. My colleague, Steven Mvula did the same. It was the most terrifying moment in my career.

The explosions sounded like gunshots, and the first thing that came to mind was the police crack squad in two pick-up trucks about 10 metres away.

Were they shooting in our direction to stop the group of men from attacking us? No.

The explosions were actually the angry men smashing the windows of our vehicle with their machetes.

Steven was struck on the shoulder when one man hit the window on the passenger’s side.

The tattooed man opened the door and was trying to reach for the camera.

“Give me the camera!” he demanded.

Steven was trying to hold on to it, but the tattooed man was unrelenting and issuing threats.

I quickly grabbed the camera from Steven and handed it to him.

He then pulled me out of the vehicle, while two other men charged at me with their machetes.

“We are journalists from Zambia Daily Mail,” I tried to explain.

It was no use.

One man punched me in the face and I fell to the ground. I quickly got back to my feet, fearing the machete man might land his blade on my neck or stomach.

The attackers were not done with me yet.

One of them swung his blade aiming for my leg. It landed at the back of my left knee, sending a sharp pain.

Before I could recover from the shock, he swung again and struck me on the same leg.

I only realised later that the blade had actually cut through my trousers and badly bruised my skin, causing a swelling.

What was clear to me, however, is that the attacker had hit me with the blunt side of the blade. Whether it was intentional or not, I will never know, but I shudder to think what could have happened to my leg if he had turned the blade.

The men then went through my pockets and the vehicle for any valuable items.

After they were done with the attack, I rushed back into the vehicle confused. We drove to Kabangwe Police Post to report the matter.

I was later attended to at the University Teaching Hospital. I had two swellings on my leg where the machete had struck me. I had another swelling below my left eye where I had been punched.

Steven had a sore shoulder where he had been struck.

The whole drama happened on the Great North Road at 10 Miles while Steven and I were covering the Katuba by-election, which was heavily contested between the Patriotic Front (PF) and the United Party for National Development (UPND).

It all started around 15:00 hours on Tuesday when we saw three pick-ups driving menacingly full of rough-looking men. Some of the men wore face masks.

My journalistic instinct immediately told me to follow the convoy. A possible big story was unfolding.

Big mistake.

The convoy turned off the Great North Road heading westwards towards Mungule’s palace.

We caught up with the speeding vehicles at a point where a police crack squad had mounted a road block.

Despite their menacing appearance, the convoy was allowed to proceed. We followed behind at a distance.

Two patrol pick-ups full of armed police followed behind, but soon they made a U-turn.

Later, the convoy of three Toyota Land Cruisers had grown to 10 or 11 vehicles. Three of the Land Cruisers appeared new. Most of the vehicles had their registration number plates removed.

The men stopped at Chipeso Primary School, a polling station in the election. Some of the men jumped out and seemed to be looking for something, or someone.

When we tried to ask one of the men what they were looking for, we got no answer. Neither could the police give us any information about the men’s mission at the polling station.

Shortly, they left the place and headed back on the dusty road.

One police officer who had an AK-47 rifle rounded up a group of recruits and followed after the convoy on foot.

At one point, the men appeared to mount a roadblock, parking their vehicles in the middle of the road.

Police kept a distance.

The convoy later drove to Savannah Lodge on the Great North Road. It is where the PF had set up camp during the election. The UPND camp was about 300m away. The police crack squad followed in two pick-up trucks.

Shortly after arriving at the lodge, about 100 men brandishing machetes came to the roadside, interfering with traffic on the busy highway. One man was seen sharpening his blade on the tarmac, sending small flickers of fire as the metal hit the road.

Soon, there seemed to be a stand-off between the police and the men. A senior police officer was trying to calm them down. And I was there, at a distance trying to capture the confrontation.

And suddenly one man pointed at me, and all hell broke loose.

Many questions linger about the attack.

Why did the police crack squad not fire any shot, if only to scare off the attackers? Why did they not make any arrests when the men who attacked us did not flee the scene, but walked right back to their positions with our belongings?

The biggest question that many people have asked me in the wake of the attack is who funds the criminals?

I have been a journalist for over 15 years and I have read stories about political violence; I have seen pictures of political violence, but this was now me at the centre of it.

Of course, I never wanted to be part of the story. People seldom plan to be victims, especially where they risk losing their lives.

I was merely following on what I thought was potentially a big story – something that I thought was inimical to my country. I wanted to show something the country must bring to a stop.

I lost the images on my camera, but the harrowing image of men branding machetes and pick axes remains engrained in my mind. The image of a man swinging a machete at me will haunt me for a long time.

At least I lived to write the story, but if this political anarchism is left unchecked, next time someone may not write their story.