My husband, Charl Geldenhuys – a true Zimbabwean in all aspects of life, worked as a farm manager for Mr. Les de Jager on Two Tree Hill Farm, in the district of Makonde in Chinhoyi, Zimbabwe, for nearly five years, before I met him in South Africa.  After our marriage we lived and worked for a couple of years in South Africa.  Charl wanted me to see Two Tree Hill Farm one holiday, and I immediately fell in love with it.  In 1992, Charl got his old job back with Les, we moved to Two Tree and I, a city-girl, became a farmer’s wife.

This farm was paradise.  Apart from growing crops, like maize, soya beans, winter wheat, tobacco and hypericum flowers, there was also a lot of game on the farm.  We had six hand reared baby elephant, we bottle fed six giraffe, eland and zebra were relocated from drought areas, we also had herds of kudu, tsessebe, sable, reedbuck and impala.  In addition we had over 260 recorded species of birds.  The farm has a huge beautiful dam, renowned for its bass and bream, yielding two all Africa records. Instead of shopping in beautiful arcades, seeing the latest movie, going to the theater, my highlights became completely different.  I now was riding the tame elephant, going out onto the dam with a boat or with the canoe, fishing for bass or bream, putting live earthworms on as bait (myself!) and watching game on horseback.  To still be in touch with the other side of life, I accepted a lectureship at the University of Zimbabwe in the Department of Modern Languages. 

Charl did not allow anyone to shoot on the farm, not even birds. All life was regarded as very precious.  We had a very tame eland, which we named Em.  Em was in love with my husband, and I think Charl was a little bit in love with her too.  Every time he passed Em, whether it was on his motorbike or with the pick-up, he had to stop to greet her.  She would put her head on his shoulders and he had to rub her forehead.  Whenever I was with Charl, she would push me aside, looking me straight in the eyes as if she wanted to say this was her special boyfriend and this was her time with him now.

Early in 2000 we sat down together one Sunday night at 8 o’clock, to watch the ZBC news. We both could not believe our eyes and ears as we witnessed the first farm invasion by war veterans in the district of Beatrice, south of Harare. 

Coming from South Africa, I had always commented on the good racial relationships people in Zimbabwe had.  I told all my ex-colleagues from universities in South Africa that the students and lecturers at the University of Zimbabwe were the best I had ever had.  Watching this news, I realized this would have far reaching results.  All of a sudden, overnight, our carefree, peaceful existence on a farm in Africa was something of the past.

On the 26th March 2000 we had our first encounter with the war veterans, invading our farm and lives.  About a hundred of them surrounded the house early one morning, barricading us into the house. They wanted Charl.  My daughter, Resje, then 11 years old, could not get to school.  She had to watch the gates and the fence, to observe if they should get violent.  I was pregnant at that stage with our second child, a very late pregnancy for me, but planned.  All three of us were over the moon with the pregnancy.  I kept telling myself to remain calm, prayed and waited anxiously for the police to resolve this invasion. 

When the police arrived in the afternoon, they produced a search warrant.  Somebody alleged that we had an armory in the house and nine officials (some from Chinhoyi police station, some from the President’s Office and some CIO) searched our house.  Room after room they searched. Charl and I had to stand in front of them while they searched.  They opened all our cupboards and drawers, looked behind paintings and underneath carpets for hidden cellars.  They opened every bag, every suitcase, and every closed container in the house.  They went through my daughter’s underclothes, then through mine.  They pushed my sanitary towels away to see what was under them.  They checked every firearm’s license, then counted the ammunition one by one.  Having had nothing to do with police before in my life, I found this invasion of our privacy very humiliating.  Charl was ashen.  He couldn’t get a word out. 

Then I suddenly thought of the possibility that somebody could have framed us and maybe hidden some firearms in the house or somewhere in the outside buildings.  I could sense that was Charl’s concern too.  I was trying to think how would we ever be able to convince everybody that we were innocent.  In the light of the present political situation, I knew this would be a triumph for them.  But God was good to us.  They found nothing.  They had to leave the farm without arresting us.  Only then could we turn to Resje.  She kept thinking they were going to march us out of the farm and out of her life, and was trying to make plans where she could hide and how she could let somebody know that she was still alive and still in the house.

The second invasion took place a few months later, on a Saturday.  Once again, in Resje’s presence.  She had to watch the gates while we were trying to get help on the farmer’s internal radio network.  Once again the police came out later in the day and eventually resolved the matter.

It was my school lift-run duty by the third invasion.  Charl was alone on the farm.  Each time the war vets became more and more aggressive.  By now they realized they had more and more power and the farmers could not do anything. There was a complete breakdown of law and order and we could not trust the police anymore.  This time they tried to axe my husband, but he managed to outwit them.

On the 6th August 2001 a farmer in our community asked for assistance from his neighbors as war vets were trying to enter his house.  His neighbors responded.  Charl was attending a security meeting and could not go.  When they arrived, the war vets stoned and beat them.  The farmers, after months of restraint, reacted.  By the time the police arrived, the war vets were gone. The police asked the farmers to go to the police station in Chinhoyi to file their reports.  Once they were inside the police station they were arrested.  Others who went to the police station later that afternoon to find out what had happened were arrested too.  A total of 21 white men were arrested.   After they had spent 16 days in jail an unrealistically high bail was granted to them, but they were not allowed to return to their farms or the province for four weeks.

On Tuesday, the 7th August, black men beat up dozens of white women and elderly white men in Chinhoyi.  It was as if a racial war had started in Chinhoyi town.  Each time they asked the same question:  “Are you a farmer’s wife?”  Without waiting for an answer, they tripped and beat up the women.  White people were warned on the Community Radio Network not to come to or proceed through Chinhoyi.

On Thursday morning, the 9th August at 5,50 a.m., one of Charl’s drivers came roaring into the workshop on a tractor, shouting loudly.  I immediately knew this was something more serious than before.  I shouted at Resje to put on her running shoes.  I immediately got dressed and put on some running shoes too.  I thought if we had to run for our lives today, at least we should have some good shoes on.  The baby, Charl-Emil, started crying and for the rest of the day I could not put him down for a moment.  He instinctively knew something was not right, and he refused to sleep.  About 10 war vets shouted at Charl to come out.  He went out to the gate, which was locked, and I heard them shouting:   “We want you out. We want you out here!  We want to see your blood flow!  Come out!  Come out here!”  I started praying because I knew that it was only God who could save us now.

Charl tried to pacify them with no success and came back into the house.  We locked all the doors and then Resje had (once again) the task to watch three gates and the fence.  Charl immediately contacted our security firm and the police.  It was 6 a.m.  The war vets had chopped a jacaranda tree down across the only access road so as to prevent us from leaving the farm in our cars.  We called for help on the radio, but because of what happened the Monday with the 21 men, we were afraid that this was yet another planned trap to get more white men arrested. A couple of farmers arrived, but they remained at the tar road, 10 kilometers from the house.   I started phoning our pastor, friends and family to pray for us.  I realized that this was some evil force controlling the people, and that God alone could save us.

The war vets started looting our workshop and sheds, which were 100 meters from our house.  For nine hours I watched young and old men and women and their children (as young as 10 years old), carrying 50 kg. bags of fertilizer on their shoulders, loading it onto our trailers and carting it off with our nine tractors and trailers.  They stayed away about 25 minutes, offloading it somewhere and then returned with more and more people.  Coming back to loot some more, they were getting drunker, shouting triumphantly, becoming more aggressive and wild. .

We were due to leave for our annual holiday on Saturday, the 11th August.  Charl then told me to start packing for the holiday.  He thought if we did get a chance to get off the farm, we should go on our holiday two days earlier.  I did that under much pressure.  Resje saw one man with mad eyes trying to climb the fence. She was convinced he was going to kill her father and mother.  Then, she thought, she would be alone in the house with the baby.  Every now and then she started sobbing and screaming uncontrollably.  I then had to go and shake her to try and calm her.  Charl-Emil was getting heavier and heavier.  My back wanted to break.  My responsibilities were communications – the radio and telephone.  Charl was in a desperate state.  He kept running through the house with a gun in each hand, studying their movements.  Twelve-year-old Resje could not move.  Charl relied on her to keep him informed what the war vets were doing at the gates and potential areas of penetration in the security fence.

Whenever we go on holiday our Cook cares for the dogs.   I was concerned about how we could leave without the Cook’s having the keys to access the fridge for dog food.  We had 2 big Boerboel dogs, 3 Australian Cattle Dogs and 8 puppies.  It was impossible to put them in the car too.   I then suggested to Charl to go out and shoot all the dogs.  He kept saying he could not do that in Resje’s presence.  Resje had been hysterical so many times by then that I thought she would have to get over this one too.  Eventually Charl shouted at me asking me what I thought the war vets would do if he started firing shots.  That brought some reality to me.  But then I thought maybe it would be better for our dogs if we slit their throats than leave them at the mercy of rampaging looters.  Charl was horrified by this suggestion.  Then I thought, I would have to do it.  I’d get a knife and go out and slit the throats of all 13 dogs.  I waited for the opportune moment.

At 11 o’ clock one guy came right up to the gate and shot at one of our dogs with a catapult.  I saw that and wondered what was going on.

In the meantime, we kept phoning the police to find out where they were.  We told them things were getting out of hand and we needed help urgently.  They kept saying they were on their way.  The police station is about 50 kilometers from the farm – 25 minutes traveling time! 

At 12 o’ clock the same man with the catapult and another man came right up to the gate.  This time he had an axe in his hand instead of the catapult.  With one quick movement he axed the lock and the gate flung wide open.  Our Boerboel dog, the one which had been shot at earlier, challenged the intruders.  The man discarded the axe, drew out a pistol and gave her one shot.  She fell dead instantly.  Resje and I both screamed at the top of our voices that the gate was open and that they had killed our dog.  Charl unlocked the back door and ran out to face about 70 war vets.  He shouted at the top of his voice:  “Get away from here!  Get away! Get away from this gate!  Get away!!”  I ran to the door, and shouted at Charl to come back into the house immediately.  As he turned to come back, the same man fired a shot at him, missing him.  I thought 70 war vets were going to rush in and kill us all. 

I called Resje and explained to her that the reason why we live is to die one day, and that day was today and in a short while we would all be together in heaven with God.  Nothing and no one can take us away from God.

The gate remained wide open for the next three hours, the dog lying dead in her own blood, 70 war vets walking up and down right next to the gate.  Yet, nobody even attempted to set a foot into the garden.  I am convinced an angel of the Living God prevented them.

Charl took me aside and told me to start packing what was important to me, because he anticipated that they would start looting the house next.

Packing for the holiday already took my last bit of sanity.  It was an impossible task to pack what was important to me.  I opened Resje’s cupboard.  All of a sudden I could not choose a dress that was more important than the other.  Everything in that cupboard was important to me and yet, nothing was important.  The only important thing in this world, at that stage, was for all four of us to get off the farm alive.  I left all the suitcases on the floor, empty.  I could not do it.  It was mad to think of packing some goods, while 70 war vets could storm the house to kill us at any moment.  On top of that, I had a crying baby, a hysterical daughter, a shouting husband, a ringing telephone and a calling radio. 

In any case how do you pack up your life of 46 years in a suitcase?

At 3pm, 9 hours later, the police arrived.  Not alone.  Minister Chombo, Mr. Philip Chiyangwa, a Member of Parliament, and Governor Chanetsa accompanied them.  With them were a couple of journalists with clicking cameras and ZBC with their video cameras.  I was immensely relieved.  I thought that at last ZBC could show the world what really happened here today.  I ran out of the house with Charl and Charl-Emil on my hip.  Charl asked Resje to stay behind to man the radio.      

Minister Chombo took a seat on a heap of looted fertilizer bags and prepared himself to look good on camera.  He told us to sit down, but there were only looted fertilizer bags and neither Charl nor I wanted to touch it.  Mr. Chombo’s first sentence highlighted the harsh reality of a sick Zimbabwe.  He pointed at Charl and accused him of being responsible of what had happened here today.  I could not believe my ears. His next accusation sent shivers down my spine:  “So, you shot at this innocent man here, missed him, and killed your own dog today”.  I immediately recalled the man with the catapult at 11 o’ clock, and realized all this was planned.  This was an orchestrated, planned and rehearsed devilish scheme to scare us off the farm. 

Charl and I were not given an opportunity to defend ourselves, or to talk.  The journalists and interviewers were obviously told not to ask us any questions or to have any contact with us.  We both stood there, shaking our heads.  His next set of accusations shattered all my hopes for a politically stable country.  He accused Charl of burning the war vets’ houses and grass and of chasing their cattle into his own paddock.  Charl was not given opportunity to deny these false allegations.  He then told Charl that the government of Zimbabwe had placed the war vets on our farms, they were there legitimately, and if Charl had a problem with them, he should go to the government or to him personally, and not take it out on these law-abiding citizens.  I thought I was going to wake up from a terrible nightmare.  I kept thinking, ‘Charl is a Zimbabwean citizen.  The government of a country and most definitely the police of a country are supposed to protect their citizens, not falsely accuse them.  Why are they not helping Charl?  Why are they against their own citizens?  We love this country.  Charl works so hard on this farm to produce food for the people.  Why do they not appreciate him?”  

They kept trying to aggravate Charl.  I kept praying for Charl to remain calm.  When minister Chombo eventually stood up to go, I had the feeling that they were very disappointed in our behavior.  They wanted to create a scene, and had all the cameras there to film our response.  They did not expect Charl to remain that calm.  As they left, the minister turned around and said they would leave us two policemen to protect us from any harm.  His final words were:  “See, how good we are to you”.  Two minutes after they left, the policemen said they had to confiscate all Charl’s weapons.  It took them a very long time to collect all the weapons and check all the licenses.  They left with all the weapons to return immediately, saying that the minister instructed them to remove all the ammunition too.  With that they departed, leaving us all alone, disarmed, with hordes of criminals and war vets lurking in the surrounding bush.  It was 4 o’ clock. 

I called on the farmers on the tar road to come and help us to remove the tree and get us off the farm. Two farmers were with us within 5 minutes, while a third was standing watch at the tar road.

I thought now was the time for me to re-think packing my important things in, however we realized that the war vets were regrouping for further aggression.  We threw our holiday suitcases in the car, locked the door, and gave instructions to the foreman and the cook, who had miraculously appeared after our interview with the minister.  It took us 15 minutes to pack and load. 

I ran up the stairs leading to the garage and thought that in a million years I would never ever have thought that I would one day have to flee for my life.

We drove off the farm with our two vehicles, our holiday clothes for two weeks and a farm pick-up with a motorbike on.

We spent the night in Chinhoyi and left on Friday morning for South Africa.  On Saturday we heard that they not only looted the house, but also trashed and completely destroyed it.  Not a single piece of furniture was left in the house.  The piano was chopped into pieces.  All our books were put in the centre of the one room and were burnt.  They removed not only the windows but the frames as well.  Doors were cut out of their frames with axes.  They removed the roof completely.  They demolished the toilets and basins. 

Every cent that Charl and I ever earned went into the house, the books, clothes, paintings, shoes, CD’s, sports equipment, furniture, bedding, curtains, kitchenware and everything else. All of this was taken from us in one day, by a horde of criminals, supported by the police, and instigated by members of the government of Zimbabwe.

I keep wondering why I did not think of my Master’s thesis, why not of all our photographs, our birth certificates, our wedding pictures, our degrees and diplomas, our Bibles, my jewellery, my diary, the record of our daughter’s 66 operations with photo albums showing her progress.  I   remember then how I had walked through the house for nine hours, praying out loud:  “Jesus, help us!  Jesus, save our lives!  God, have mercy on us!  Jesus, stop them from stealing further!  Oh God, please make them go away!  Jesus, help us!  Jesus, help us!  Jesus, help us! ” 

I guess I was too occupied with our lives, than to think of the things that gave meaning to our lives.

Going back to Two Tree after our holiday showed me the destructive nature of evil.  While I was walking from one empty room to another demolished room, this vast nothingness dawned on me - it is as if we no longer have a past. 

Maybe that is how Em, our Eland, felt when they slaughtered her.  Maybe she also felt that she never existed. 

Tertia Geldenhuys

This article was published on the Zimbabwe Situation website on 6 November 2001

http://www.zimbabwesituation.com/old/nov6_2001.html#link1

Update:  The elephants and the last eland on Two Tree Hill were moved to Friedawil farm and the last eland was killed in 2009.  Charl and Tertia emigrated to New Zealand