The build-up to this Test had been sad: one of our brightest batting prospects, Trevor Madondo, passed away after a bout of cerebral malaria. His funeral was a very moving affair—he was buried in his full Test kit, with his national cap resting proudly on his chest. I feel Madondo's death gave the team a lesson in how cruel life can be, and also a renewed sense of purpose and vigour—you never know what's in store just round the corner. Sporting black armbands, a very focused Zimbabwe team took to the field, not only to win a Test, but also to play for a good friend.
After a good start, with Watambwa dismissing Badani in the fifth over, all our resolve was called upon very early. Watambwa pulled a hamstring and left the field. At drinks, our physiotherapist gave the terrible news that he wouldn't be available for the rest of the match. Already one bowler down on what looked like a very good batting wicket wasn't the ideal start for us. However, the rest of the bowlers willingly took on the extra workload and did a magnificent job. Having bowled India out for 237 on the first day, we were well in control of the game. But the 11 overs before close of play put paid to that—we crashed to 31 for 3.