Photojournalist Becomes Eyewitness: Beaten by Police in Zimbabwe after Prayer Vigil

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My own ordeal started as I was driving in Highfields with my colleague, Tendai Musiyazviriyo, on that fateful day. The whole place was deserted, shops having been ordered to close by the police around 8:00 am. The police presence was heavy on the streets. We were eventually stopped near Cyril Jennings Hall.

Six armed police officers asked us to identify ourselves and we immediately brought out our valid press cards. For the record, I am fully accredited with the Media and Information Commission as a freelance journalist and have been accredited since 2003. Upon presentation of the cards we were pushed to the ground and told to lie down and then they suddenly started beating us.

I remember trying to reach for my cell phone which was lying on the tarmac. It was smashed to the ground by a woman police officer who then kicked me in the mouth. I started to bleed from the mouth and the nose. The beating suddenly stopped. I was told to surrender the car keys before we were handcuffed and thrown onto the back of a police truck. As we drove to Machipisa Police Station, heads down, we were accused of being sellouts and puppets of the West and also of working together with the political opposition.

When we arrived at the police station we were told to get out of the police vehicle and to join about ten people who were lying on the ground in the station grounds. We just stood there in utter disbelief. We were shoved to the ground, handcuffed and the beating started again. I have never experienced so much pain in my life and I honestly thought I was going to die. After the beating, which was mainly concentrated on my back and buttocks, they removed the handcuffs.

I remember seeing a police officer bringing our smashed camera equipment and dropping it on the floor in the charge office. An officer began to take details of our particulars and equipment. I could not talk as I was in so much shock and pain.

Morgan Tsvangirai, the president of the Movement for Democratic Change (and best known political opponent of President Robert Mugabe), was brought to the police station, accompanied by William Bango, (another prominent member of the MDC). They were ordered to join their supporters who were lying on the ground in the fenced area of the station.

Tsvangirai was the first to be attacked, being set upon even before he was ordered to lie down. Our details recorded, we were ordered to go out and join Tsvangirai and the others. I remember entering the fenced area and seeing Tsvangirai being struck several times with batons. He did not scream. I thought I was dreaming, as I could not imagine this was happening to such an important and respected man in Zimbabwe.

He just lay there and tried to raise his hands to defend his head from the blows. He kept on uttering the words, "Chii nhayi? Chii nhayi?" (What is this? What is this?).

For the next hour or so we were subjected to the most excruciating torture I have ever experienced in my life. I felt sorry for Sekai Holland who was brutally assaulted several times and also for a one-legged MDC supporter on crutches who was repeatedly beaten. I remember him crying out for his sons, thinking he might never see them again. Grace Kwinjeh was lashed with a whip. A belt with metal studs caught her on the ear. A part of her ear nearly came off. When the beating stopped we were told to get back onto the truck. The vehicle had been parked in the open exposed to the sun for hours.

I remember very well from the temperature reading in my car that it was around 36º C (about 97º F) on that day and to be told to lie down on the metal floor of an open truck that had been parked in the sun was like jumping into a frying pan.

A cool breeze of air came as a relief when the truck started to move. Our first stop was Harare Central Police Station where we were told to get off and again lie on the tarmac for about another hour. A senior police officer instructed that we should go to a water tap, two at a time, to wash the blood from our faces and elsewhere on our bodies. I don't know whether this was done out of sympathy or whether they wanted us to remove the bloody evidence of the beatings which we had experienced.

I remember helping Tsvangirai to his feet; he could hardly stand up. But he collapsed. Someone brought a cup of water to pour on his face after which he regained consciousness. Everyone who could walk was given a chance to wash themselves. Then they started taking down our names. Blood continued to ooze out of my nose and mouth.

The washing did not stop the bleeding from Lovemore Madhuku's head or from the large cut on Tsvangirai's head. Blood flowed freely from an open wound below the knee of Tsvangirai's bodyguard. The blood clotted eventually. It was obvious most of the injured people needed to be rushed to the hospital. This did not happen, however. Instead we were ordered an hour later to get back onto the police truck.

As I write this story Beatrice Mutetwa, my lawyer, is involved in a battle with the police as they are refusing to release my car and broken camera equipment. Since I entered the world of photo-journalism at The Daily News in 1998, this was the worst experience of my career.