How the bell tolled for the Mugabe era
This picture says a thousand words. But it also captures the end of a brutal chapter
BEFORE signing his resignation letter on Tuesday, former Zimbabwean strongman Robert Gabriel Mugabe, summons a few members of his cabal – real friends who stood by him through even the darkest years of his rule – to his Blue Roof villa in the leafy suburb of Borrowdale.
It is clearly tense and sombre in the room, as if a funeral of a close family member is under way.
Among those present are Father Fidelis Mukonori, his long-time Catholic cleric and confidant, standing to the left, right behind Mugabe.
Former Reserve Bank governor Gideon Gono, the infamous banker who controlled the central bank at the height of the rampant looting of the public purse by the Mugabes and their crooked inner circle in the governing Zanu-PF, stands in the centre, looking sheepish.
To his left is acting head of the notorious Central Intelligence Organisation (CIO) Aaron Daniel Tonde Nhepera, under whom Mugabe’s secret service unleashed a reign of terror on ordinary citizens and activists, and spied on his own comrades.
This picture says a thousand words. But it also captures the end of a brutal chapter of Zimbabwe’s post-independence history.
Sitting on the couch with his eyes seemingly shut, Mugabe is flanked by his disgraced wife Grace, a power-hungry, loud-mouthed lunatic who usurped power from her senile nonagenarian husband.
Mugabe sits there, unflinching and broken. The army, which has held him under house arrest for nearly two weeks, is out of sight, but obviously lurking in the background until its mission is complete.
Looking at the picture, you could say Mugabe didn’t know or fully comprehend the true extent of the events unfolding outside the high walls and security gates of Blue Roof, his $10 million (R140m) private residence. His final moments are sad.
Mugabe, the once mighty dictator, ruthless leader and former freedom fighter, sits there defeated. Next to him, is a government of Zimbabwe file believed to contain his unsigned letter of resignation.
A box of tissues lies next to the file, just in case its needed to dry his tears.
Grace sits so close it would be impossible to squeeze a loaf of bread between them. She tries to force a smile, but manages a tearful grin.
It’s also the first official confirmation that when the coup took place in Harare last week, she was at Blue Roof, the couple’s villa, and not in Namibia as previously reported by some media.
Together with her husband, they have been held here from that day until he finally resigned on Tuesday, in the middle of a process to impeach him, sending Zimbabwe into a wave of celebrations.
Gono, Mukonori and a former CIO boss join them in the picture, their faces equally forlorn and devastated at the end of Mugabe’s era. They stand behind Zimbabwe’s most infamous couple, now former president and former first lady. The same men stood by Mugabe in the days when he was an untouchable dictator who pillaged his country.
They couldn’t believe judgment day would come so soon for a man who boasted he would rule Zimbabwe until Jesus returned; that God anointed him and only him to rule this beautiful country. But when the walls of Jericho came crashing down on the former first family, the Son of Man wasn’t even in town.
Instead, all across town – and indeed Zimbabwe – people had begun to celebrate the end of a painful chapter in the country’s history.
At the Harare International Conference Centre (HICC), just a short way from Zanu-PF’s headquarters, the process to impeach Mugabe by his own comrades in the ruling party and the opposition Movement for Democratic Change (MDC), was in full swing.
Mugabe, the trickster politician and artful dodger, was cornered.
With the army holding him at his house, Zanu-PF and the MDC were putting the final nail in Mugabe’s coffin, while the people of Zimbabwe, aided by the soldiers on the streets, bayed for his blood. He had nowhere to run. Parliament’s Speaker Jacob Mudenda interrupted the proceedings at HICC to read Mugabe’s resignation letter, which had come two days late. Mugabe had been widely expected to resign last Sunday night during a televised speech, but the ageing dictator dug in, refusing to go while the army continued to squeeze him behind the scenes.
That morning, with many Zimbabweans thinking the army had softened its grip on Mugabe and that he would go on for at least a few more days or weeks until the impeachment process ran its course, the dictator had called a cabinet meeting. But when only about five of his ministers turned up, he knew it was game over.
He had lost legitimacy and power had undeniably shifted. He was no longer Zanu-PF’s first secretary and president. Emmerson Mnangagwa, whom he fired at 4pm on November 6, was the new boss.
When Mudenda read out the resignation letter, Harare – and indeed the rest of Zimbabwe – came to a standstill.
While the Mugabes sat there, stunned by events of the eight days, wild celebrations erupted around the world. After 37 years of misrule, Mugabe, the world’s oldest leader and one of Africa’s longest serving presidents, had finally lost power.
A new beginning beckoned for the oppressed, disenfranchised people of Zimbabwe. But if they had hoped for an overnight shift in the politics and economy, the return on Wednesday of its former vice-president, Emmerson Dambudzo Mnangagwa, a man nicknamed The Crocodile for his alleged uncanny nature and ruthlessness, revealed a few unpalatable truths and sent a few warning signs.
After keeping journalists and supporters waiting in the blistering and unforgiving Zimbabwean sun at Manyame Airforce base in Harare on Wednesday afternoon, he arrived several hours later. His motorcade, in Mugabe-style, sped down Samora Machel Avenue, sirens wailing, with police bikes as bridesmaids. The way Mugabe did it for 37 years.
A Harare editor claims Mnangagwa’s motorcade stopped at Munhumutapa Building, once Mugabe’s fortified official offices on Samora Machel Avenue, “just for control”.
It is clear now that Mnangagwa has taken charge and the army has openly become part of Zimbabwe’s politics, a very worrying feature.
Ncube is editor of The Star.