Cries Without Tears - The Journey Begins (Chapter-1)

Look at this picture of my daughter Tracy, Can you believe that I was once this age?

Cries Without Tears - The Journey Begins (Chapter-1)

Just when I was doing grade 3, I was told to write an English composition entitled, "Myself".

'My name is Solomon Mondlane.' I would normally begin.

'I was born on 31 July 1976, in Chinonaquila, Boane as Domingo Tshekefane Mondlane. Chinonanquila is a dusty location found in the outskirts of the city of Maputo. It is 16km south of Maputo city.

I renamed myself Solomon, after I discovered that my original names had to do with the spirits of my encestors. My father said those spirits lived in me. Swazis too could not pronounce the names Domingo or Tshekefane.

I am the sixth born child of my mother, Verah Stengile, who happened to be the fourth wife to my father, Vicente Mododweni Mondlane.

My mother was of the "Xhosa tribe" found in South Africa, who migrated to Mozambique during the apartheid regime. She was one of the ANC members who were found in Maputo.

My father was of the famous "Makhambane tribe" found in the Gaza Province of Mozambique in an area called Manjacaze.

I was brought up in a polygamist family. My father was a tailor by proffession and a priest of a family Zion church.

I was brought up in a home of violence. Even though my father was a priest, he would beat up his wives and his elder daughters as a way of restoring discipline within the family.

My mother was the worst victim of domestic violence.

Quarelling amongst my father's wives occured frequently, and he had no control over it. In fights would normally broke up which sometimes ended up involving the whole family, and children defending their mothers respectively.

The house we lived in was the biggest house found in our community. It was a nine room incomplete block house. Our family was very big; it comprised of sons and daughters; grand sons and grand daughters, great grand sons and great grand daughters, nephews and nieces, aunts and uncles.

We normally had services every evening at our house. Most of the members of the church were family members.

My father normally led the srevice and preached what we called the family gospel. He would talk about events in his family and how he wanted his wives and children to behave. He would pick on certain scriptures to second his teachings and close the service by singing his favourite song, 'Jesus is coming back.'

My father had goats. My elder brothers and nephews were given the responsibilty of taking care of the goats. My sisters would be helping the mothers in doing house chores.

My father was a very busy man. His proffession was demanding. He had many clients who normally wanted their clothes to be made to the standard of their choices. They came from far and from near. Some were locals and some were foreigners mainly from South Africa who normally called my father their brother in law.

I was one of the youngest sons of my father; I was found all over the neighbourhood and by the community military camp which was a short distance away from home. I had a soldier friend who was also a commander of the army. He liked me a lot, and would normally visit my family now and then. He normally brought food and fish for my family. Soldiers had enough supply of food from the government.

The name of my soldier friend was Tomas. This is the man, who for the first time in my life introduced me to an AK47 gun. I was 8 years of age by then, and I would carry it around the military camp like a soldier ready for war, like most soldiers would be doing in the camp. I didn't know that it was a revelation for me of what was yet to come in my life.

I was brought up in a country of civil conflicts. The government was fighting what was seemed to be an unending war against the rebels. The news of the people dying in the northern part of our country were heard all over, and the country was going through a severe famine. Starvation was felt all over the land. Long queues would be found in every shop in the community; people hoping to get something to eat. They would queue from the very first hour of the morning until mid-day. Some would end up going home empty handed.This war lasted for 16 years.