One purple afternoon, a man, his wife, and his two sons are seated on a dirt floor of their home in Lupane District, Zimbabwe. In their hamlet, one doesn't have to search too hard to find civility. A parcel of cornmeal in a tin plate is communally eaten by this family, and despite the hardships of the rural populace, each member of the family is too generous to eat more than is fair. Their conversation is interrupted by awkward silences and timid gazes.
The hamlet has been spared the brutality of ZANU-PF militias, due in part to it's reclusion from the district's core, the A8 road, and the Gwayi River. The Zimbabwe African National Union - Patriotic Front sponsors militia training camps. In these camps, men aged 16 to 35 pay the equivalent of $1 USD per day. In return, they are fed maize, trained, and brainwashed with propaganda. They are the strong arm of the ZANU-PF against the MDC-T, the Movement For Democratic Change - Tsvangirai. To the histories, and apparently to the ZANU-PF, you could not be elected without a gang of thugs to protect their leader and deliver violence to political enemies in and around the legislative infrastructure.
The soft, metallic clanks of slamming car doors are heard. The man of the family peers around the door. Nothing is seen. He signals to his family, with his palm forward, to stay put. The curious father wanders nonchalantly to the rear of his home. Nine militias are approaching the hamlet, leaving behind two off-the-shelf civilian vehicles parked on the road. Both drivers stay behind to guard their vehicles.
The leader of the detachment sends four of his men off in another direction. The five, with rifles not yet aimed, push the man against the wall. One militia, breathing smoke into his face, grabs him by the shirt.
"How many live here?"
"A few families."
"Which party do you support?"
"ZANU."
Whether or not the man had any political affiliation was irrelevant to the militias.
"What have you done for your leader?"
The man replied with no answer. His resilience withered into fear. His eyes and mouth opened in anticipation.
With no answer to give them, shouting is heard from where the four militias were sent. It erupts into automatic gun fire, yet the perpetrators make little notice of it.
"Just kill him", the leader says.
One gunman remains. The rest dispatch into the house. He fires on automatic into the man's chest. Bullets rip through his body and through the makeshift walls. They would have passed through the widow and the orphans inside, except that by the time the militias entered their home for reasons best known to themselves, nobody was inside.
The next day, a white 1996 Mazda Bongo arrives. Coincidentally, it parks in the same convenient spot the militias parked in.
The passengers disembark. They are a team sent by Civil Observers Zimbabwe, a civil watch organization operating in the area, tipped off by survivors.
Tsepo Modise is the team's leader. He is a diplomat, with degrees in international relations and economics from the University Of Cape Town.
John Titheradge is the team's doctor, with a PhD from the University Of Sydney.
Jordan Day is the team's agronomist, with degrees in food science and agriculture from the University of Saskatchewan.
Paul Orengo is the team's bodyguard. He served in the Kenyan Defence Forces from 1996 to 2008, and now works for a Kenyan-based private-military-company.
Charles Sibanda, a Zimbabwean national, is the team's guide and interpreter.
"My grandmom used to bake cornmeal muffins for us back in Australia."
"Sadza is our national dish. You will like it."
The team investigates the hamlet, taking photographic evidence and statements from survivors. Only raped and physically tortured women and children live to tell the horror, which is only a slice of crimes perpetrated all over the country. On their way back to their office, a truck follows them a few hundred metres behind, but fails to arouse their suspicions.
Back at the team's one-room office, an entry is written and saved on a hard drive. For the survivors, their lives will never be the same. For the team, their experiences are all in a day's work.
They congregate in their office for their final meal before leaving the area. The men, each with their own serving, are impatient.
"How is the Sadza?", asks Charles.
"It's good. Thanks. I was starving", replies John.
"Whenever we can't find any restaurants, Charles cooks.", says Jordan.
"Maybe we should leave right after this, I don't think it's safe with the militia here", says Paul.
"Okay, just let me take a nap, it's going to be a long drive to Bulawayo", says John.
"Can't you sleep in the car?", asks Paul.
"Not with you guys."
"I think we can all use a little rest", says Tsepo.
After the meal, Tsepo is on the laptop. Charles is listening to the radio. John is in a chair with his feet on the desk, and Jordan is in the car. Paul leans against the wall outside the door. He is wearing blue jeans and a buttoned shirt. Tucked and concealed in his belt is a chipped and worn Beretta 92.
As the minutes drag on, he becomes more and more anxious. His co-workers may not have the discipline to move out when they need to, but Paul is compelled to not overbear on them.
Four off-the-shelf trucks race down the main road and bounce to a halt in front of the office. Twenty-seven Zimbabwean militias dismount, but Paul is unable to count.
Manhandling Paul inside the office, eight militias enter while the others remain outside. Tsepo and Charles snap upright but make no sound. John awakens shortly after. Their rifles are at the low ready.
"Who are you?", yells one of the militias.
"We're from Civil Observers", replies Tsepo.
The militias notice the team's equipment: a laptop, a camera, clipboards, a road map.
"Go tell the Lieutenant", says one militia to another. A short while after, the militia unit's lieutenant enters the room with two other men.
"Who is in charge?" he asks.
"I am. My name is Tsepo."
The lieutenant turns to the section commander and says, "Break this ****".
"Yes sir."
The militias smash the laptop and destroy the team's equipment. In one minute, months of work are lost.
"Go back to your organization and tell them not to come here again. Sergeant."
"Yes sir."
"Take the rest of these men to the trucks. They're ours now".
Tsepo, realizing that his team is now captured by the militias, refuses to leave without them.
"Wait. Please let my team go. We just want to distribute food. We don't want to bother you."
"Where your team is going, they won't have to worry about food anymore", replies the lieutenant.
The militias grab the NGO team and push them towards the door. Paul tries to orient himself toward the corner of the room.
"Let them go! I won't leave without my team" says Tsepo.
The lieutenant grabs an AK-47 from one of the militias. "Shoot them, but don't kill him. Let him go back to his organization" says the lieutenant, pointing at Tsepo.
The militias push and kick Charles and John to the left side of the room, with Paul to the other side. The militias strafe-fire the left side of the room on automatic, firing from the hip, killing Charles and John.
Three militias face Paul. In the miliseconds after the gunfire, Paul pulls his pistol out from his belt. With a ten round magazine, he kills all but one. The last remaining militia being the one his lieutenant took his rifle from. With no rifle to shoot Paul with, and no rounds left for Paul to kill him, the militia runs out of the office alerting the rest of his platoon.
Discarding his pistol, Paul grabs a PK machinegun from a killed militia. He signals Tsepo to follow him and exits through a window. Looking back, he notices that Tsepo is frozen still. Before Paul can snap him out of shock, the militias spray bullets through the office from their trucks. Tsepo is killed and falls to the ground.
With an eighty-eight round belt, Paul maneuvers to a position further down the road, onlooking the militia's position. He is in the prone, looking around the corner of a building. By the time he gets there, he observes one group of militias by the trucks, and another group approaching the side of the office door slowly and cautiously. From less than fifty metres, Paul opens fire on the militias crossing the road. They are easily killed, and Paul slides back behind the building and evades the return fire.
When the fire stops, he hears truck ignition and squealing tires. Returning around the corner, he observes the remaining militias swerve away down the road.
Catching his breath, Paul slumps back against the wall placing his weapon at his side. He hears another truck speeding down the opposite end of the street. Anticipating a counter-attack, but not having enough time to react, Paul scrambles behind his commandeered machinegun in the prone so as to open fire at first sight.
The truck turns around the corner. It is a 1996 Mazda Bongo. Jordan leans out the window and says, "Paul! Let's get out of here!"
