The man in the middle
Having counselled Robert Mugabe through war and exile, last month Zimbabwean Jesuit priest Father Fidelis Mukonori answered the call of the generals and talked him out of power
The dirt road to the Chishawasha Catholic Mission outside Harare is so craggy I worry that my molars might become dislodged as we rumble along. The vegetation is thick and matted, and were it not for a few settlements and schools along the way, it would feel as if we were venturing towards the end of the earth.
It is the most unlikely road to take to find the most influential person in Zimbabwe.
But then nothing about Father Fidelis Mukonori is conventional.
Everybody in Harare seems to know who he is — and not because of his day job, which is parish priest and school principal at the rural mission.
Mukonori is known to be a political operator, the man who knows what makes Robert Mugabe tick and the person anyone of significance in Zimbabwe would have on speed dial.
He became a focal character in a series of dramatic events leading to the fall of the hitherto indomitable Mugabe, Africa’s oldest president.
When the Zimbabwe Defence Force began the politest coup d’état in history last month, Mukonori again became the “man in the middle” — a role he was seemingly preordained for, and also the title of his justreleased memoir.
State business
What does it take to be the person who has Mugabe’s ear, the person so central in most of his country’s defining moments, including the Second Chimurenga, Zimbabwe’s war of liberation?
I worry that, after the long journey from Johannesburg to Chishawasha, we might not get to see Mukonori to find out.
These are eventful days in Zimbabwe, with President Emmerson Mnangagwa ringing the changes as he settles in to office, and negotiations continuing behind the scenes about the fate of the old order.
Our little hired car lurches over a big bump before the Chishawasha mission reveals itself.
In contrast to the poor, undeveloped surroundings, the grounds are well-kept with neatly trimmed hedges and pretty gardens. Children are squealing excitedly around the schoolyard during their play break while on the other side of the grounds, the red-brick St Ignatius Loyola church, built in 1901, stands in serene grandeur.
Mukonori is not there when we arrive, delayed on “state business” in town, we are told.
I think we might be in for a long wait but before long a Land Cruiser crunches to a stop outside the house of the Jesuit priests.
Seventy-year-old Mukonori looks like someone who should be singing nursery rhymes to little children, rather than the political player he is. He is rotund with eyes that become slits when he smiles.
I ask him how he has coped with the drama of the past few days.
“It was clear from the beginning how it should end,” he says wryly.
“I know my people and they behaved as such — both the generals as well as the commander-in-chief.”
The vague biblical reference is incidental, it seems. Throughout the interview, Mukonori makes no attempt to project himself as a holy man doing God’s work. If anything, he is unapologetic about colouring outside the lines.
The Jesuits — the order to which he belongs — are known to be the mavericks of the Catholic Church, Pope Francis being Exhibit A.
Father Russell Pollitt, a South African Jesuit who facilitated the interview and accompanied the writer, tells Mukonori: “People think I came here with her to get the formula from you so I can do the same in South Africa.”
Mukonori throws back his head and laughs heartily.
Place in history
Acting as chief mediator during the coup was not Mukonori’s first rodeo. He has cemented his place in Zimbabwe’s history, including by helping the guerrilla army fight the Rhodesian regime and advising Mugabe during 1979’s Lancaster House conference, which led to the creation of the independent republic.
Mukonori did not seek out the Mugabes. The mixture of politics and Catholicism that defined his life and theirs meant their paths were destined to cross.
Mugabe grew up in a Catholic home and when his father abandoned the family, an Irish priest, Father Jerome O’Hea, recognised the 10-year-old as a gifted child and took him under his wing. It was perhaps this first relationship of respect and trust that would bind Mugabe in a lifelong friendship with another priest.
When Mugabe was imprisoned as a freedom fighter, he got to know about a young Jesuit, Brother Fidelis, who recruited young people to fight in the bush war and traversed war zones that were otherwise impenetrable.
‘A person who never smiled’
When Mugabe was released from prison in 1974, his sister Sabina was working at Silveira House, the Jesuit Social Justice and Development Centre, where Mukonori was stationed. Mukonori says Silveira House also served as a location for free political discussions, and Mugabe would come there to address selected people.
“You could see a leader but he was a person who never smiled,” says Mukonori.
When Mugabe went into exile in Zambia and Mozambique, Mukonori became an essential link to his family and country.
During his travels, he could update Mugabe on news from home and helped the family through various difficulties.
Mugabe’s mother, Bona, was distraught when he left for exile, telling him: “My son, there is nothing I can give you to protect you. The only thing I can give you to protect you is God. The only thing I have in my hand is this rosary.”
She gave Mugabe the prayer beads, which he always carried in his pocket and prayed with every day.
“He used it right until he came back home,” says Mukonori.
Bona became depressed, particularly when the Rhodesia Herald ran articles offering $50 000 to anyone who could kill Mugabe and Joshua Nkomo. She stopped eating and suffered serious nosebleeds.
Sabina went to fetch Mukonori, referring to him affectionately as Murumi wa Bona (Bona’s husband).
“As soon as she sees me she brightens up,” Mukonori says, his eyes closed as he is transported back in time. When he asked what she would like to eat, she requested Fanta and tinned fish, which he sent the children to buy while he counselled her. “Why is your nose bleeding?”
“Brother, why do these white people want to kill my son? My son does not lie. My son tells the truth.
“This boy, when their father left, he never gave me problems,” she told Mukonori.
He would relay all this to Mugabe when they met out of the country.
Mukonori also had a close relationship with Mugabe’s first wife, Sally, who he worked with to rehabilitate young women guerrilla fighters and empower them with leadership skills.
When Sally came back to Zimbabwe after independence in 1980, she did not go to church. He asked her if she was a practising Catholic.
“Kind of,” she responded. “But I’m angry with God.”
Sally’s only child had died in her home country, Ghana, while Mugabe was in prison. He was not allowed to attend the funeral. She was also traumatised by the brutality she encountered during the war.
“The bombs were big. She had to assist other girls to gather human flesh to bury,” says Mukonori.
He pried open the pain she carried. “Where the bloody hell are you, God?” he inquired.
She nodded.
“You missed your husband for 11 solid years and then your only child died. I understand why you are really mad with God.”
Mukonori says he wanted to see her undergo the biblical conversion of Saul to Paul.
When Mukonori returned to Zimbabwe two years later, after studying abroad, he was surprised to see Sally attending mass. They joked about her Damascene conversion. She had been sick while he was away, undergoing an operation that left her with a quarter of her kidney.
“She died a good Catholic, receiving communion three to four times a week,” he says, referring to her as “the mother of the nation of Zimbabwe”.
Mugabe, too, still carries a rosary, with which he prays daily, especially while flying or driving, says Mukonori.
‘Political debauchery’
I ask Mukonori whether he gave Mugabe spiritual counsel during the tense days of the coup. “Why should I counsel him spiritually when he is a political guru?” he asks.
It is a strange response. I ask what they talk about.
“We discuss issues of the moment. We discuss deep issues. Life, land, joy, sorrow, good governance, bad governance, evil, sin, hell, heaven. The other day during this doom, we were discussing anthropology and sociology.”
So what brought about the “doom”, I ask. Mukonori falls silent in deep thought. “Political debauchery,” he responds eventually.
“Political division within Zanu. Sizing each other up for power. Slicing each other’s character. Trying to position each other for power.”
I realise how deeply pained Mukonori is by what happened and that there is concealed resentment towards those who were power hungry.
He explains the evolution of the factional battle between Lacoste, the group around Mnangagwa, and the G40, which had planned for Grace Mugabe to succeed her husband.
“When Emmerson Mnangagwa was dismissed, that broke the camel’s back,” he says.
I ask about Grace’s role in getting Mnangagwa fired. The affection and admiration that was evident when he spoke about Sally is now absent.
“It may be good to ask her why she was attacking Mnangagwa. Why was she angry with him,” Mukonori says. “Maturity tells you where you vent your anger with your opponent.”
He says he sensed something big would happen after Mnangagwa fled to South Africa.
Army tanks began rolling out into the streets between 3am and 4am and, two hours later, Mukonori was called to the army barracks to meet with the generals.
“They told me that what was happening within Zanu was not acceptable. The issue of corruption, the purging of war vets, the mudslinging against soldiers, especially generals, was not acceptable.”
The priest had to convey all these grievances to Mugabe and, over the next week as the world watched, he acted as mediator between the president and the generals.
‘I didn’t see any anger’
He facilitated discussions between Mugabe and Mnangagwa, and sat in on the meeting with the South African envoys, Defence Minister Nosiviwe Mapisa-Nqakula and
State Security Minister Bongani Bongo.
He spent 16-hour days shuttling between the army barracks, Mugabe’s palatial residence known as the Blue Roof, and State House, which was used as a neutral venue for the negotiations. He would still make the 25km journey along the wretched road to and from Chishawasha.
“I would come back here and find two kids at the school fighting: ‘He took my shoe!’ That’s part of the fun.”
When thousands of Zimbabweans took to the streets to demonstrate in support of the army, Mugabe watched on TV.
Reality dawned.
“I remember him describing that crowd. ‘These are our people. They are saying what they feel. They are saying what they believe.’ He was accepting that they were coming out against him. I didn’t see any anger,” says Mukonori.
Throughout the negotiations, the generals were mindful that Mugabe was the only surviving founding father of the nation.
“His legacy would not be allowed to disappear.”
I ask what would happen to Grace.
“I’m sure that people would do justice to her.”
Almost four hours into the interview, I get around to asking whether Mukonori is an apologist for Mugabe’s ruinous presidency.
He says he used his proximity to Mugabe to make strategic interventions.
“If you want to be popular in Zimbabwe, criticise Mugabe. If you want matters to be done, they can be done quietly . . . I don’t do things for publicity purposes. I do what is just to individuals and the nation of Zimbabwe.”
People think I came here to get the formula from you so I can do the same in South Africa Father Russell Pollitt Director of the Jesuit Institute South Africa
Unfinished business
He tells me about his meetings with Movement for Democratic Change leader Morgan Tsvangirai. Tsvangirai requested help to open discussions with the new president. People across political parties trust him, says Mukonori.
“I don’t leave anybody outside.”
Mukonori is impassioned about the land issue, which he and Mugabe have discussed endlessly over the years. He previously said Mugabe would not leave office until the issue was finalised.
“He did wish to see the land issue done as best as possible,” says Mukonori.
He resigned after 37 years in power, leaving the land question as unfinished business.
“He sure wished it had not ended up this way. So do I.”
But it was Mukonori who told Mugabe: “Mr President, it is time to rest.”
He agreed.
As Mukonori waves us goodbye, shards of light from the afternoon sun break through the storm clouds, casting an ethereal glow over him, the mission and the surrounding fields.
“Tell President Zuma I said hello.”