Tomato Wars
Rhodesian Kudu
Rhodesian Leopard
The Tomato Wars
I would like to share some memories of events that took place in Wenlock TTL (tribal trust land) in the Gwanda district in August 1978. My PATU stick and I were attached to Karl H and his two detective constables, operating out of the old DC’s camp there. Karl and his men were regular BSAP based in Gwanda. The rest of us were serving one of those interminable call-ups (7 weeks in, 6 weeks back in Civvy Street) that genteelly occupied many Rhodies until war’s end in 1980. Wenlock was familiar territory. I had spent months there during nearly two-years’ full-time national service back in ’77.
My stick and I were assigned a Kudu, but for the most part, my 2 i/c drove that while I rode with Karl in his mine-proofed Land Rover. I was grateful to the former for assuming this duty because kudus—and leopards, for that matter—with their uncomfortable, claustrophobic interiors often left me feeling seasick, or something . . .
At that time there was a glut of tomatoes and women were selling gigantic boxes for next to nothing. They lined the roads, ever hopeful of flogging them to passing masodjas. Temptation overcame us but not out of any desire to eat overripe tomatoes. We had more wicked things in mind. We stopped our little convoy and purchased a seriously large box. These, we split between the two vehicles. For the rest of that day we forgot about waging war on our country’s enemies. The occupants of each vehicle engaged the other in a violent undeclared tomato war.
Each set of protagonists enjoyed advantages and disadvantages. The kudu could only be breached through the small semi-circular opening above the rear door, a difficult target at break-neck speeds on appalling tracks. For Karl and I in the landie -with me as thrower hurling our herbaceous ammo with one hand while leaning out of the passenger side and clinging for dear life with the other to the roll-bar- all we had to do was get up close to the back of the less manoeuvrable kudu.
Although the kudu team could easily pelt our windscreen with volleys of tomatoes Karl and I were immune to direct body strikes. The war continued until all the kudu’s occupants were thoroughly splattered by ripe tomatoes, my pièce de resistance, a direct hit on the back of the driver’s head. The latter, eager for revenge, swung the vehicle wildly off the road, attempting to draw level with the landie’s open doorways, but to no avail. We simply dashed past to safety.
Karl and I emerged the clear victors. I have no idea what his constables thought of the hare-brained antics of these crazy marungus. Suffice it to say they sat stoically in the unprotected rear of a madly plunging, bucking, swerving vehicle until some sense of sanity returned.
Ordinarily, we were all relatively sane, responsible adults. What caused this temporary fling with insanity, I have no clue. Perhaps it was having survived against unlikely odds a couple of days earlier? Who knows? None of us gave a second thought to the possibility of hitting a mine.
The tomato wars came to an abrupt halt at breakfast the following day. Two days earlier our merry throng had survived a nasty ambush by some ZIPRA chappies. By dint of good fortune, we managed to turn the tables on them. The final tally was three-nil to us. Of the latter, one, a political commissar, survived as a capture albeit with a couple of serious ‘oil leaks’. A fourth member of their team escaped, taking off like a devil chasing a crippled saint.
We were greeted like heroes at Gwanda, DISPOL (officer commanding district) having promised us a bottle of whisky although he apparently later forgot about that.
As the DC’s camp where we were billeted was the only fort occupied by our side in the area little detective work was required for ZIPRA to determine where to execute their revenge. During the night following the Tomato Wars, they snuck up near the gate and planted a "can" (landmine) in the driveway. Intaf who were supposed to be on guard duty were obviously sleeping.
It was our great fortune, however, that Intaf elements eager to go about their duties ventured out first in a leopard the following morning. As we indulged in a leisurely breakfast the leopard's right rear wheel found the mine. At that proximity, the blast sounded like Hiroshima and Nagasaki combined.
The leopard’s occupants survived but with neck injuries. They hadn’t buckled up, not expecting to hit a mine so close to camp. The fuel tank, designed to be thrown clear in a mine explosion, landed intact 50 metres away from the rest of the vehicle. Suffice to say, that sobering event brought the Tomato Wars to an abrupt conclusion.
Stewart Wernberg
Port Elizabeth January 2025