As I drove around the corner to my parents-in-law's house I was greeted by a gun pointing straight at my head. They had arrived already. The farmworkers had overheard that they were coming. It was two days after the June 27 election. We knew trouble was being organised. Some nuns had arrived in our home town of Chegutu, southwest of Harare, saying that the Minister of Policy Implementation was behind it, and we wrote to the Commissioner of Police asking for protection.

I ducked to avoid the bullets and swerved, hitting a tree. Almost instantly militiamen smashed the driver's-side window with a rock. The impact stunned me and I was dragged out and beaten over the head and back with rifle butts.

After a time they tied me up and dragged me to my parents-in-law. Mike Campbell, my father-in-law, was groaning on the ground, his head bruised. His wife Angela said that her arm was broken and her head bruised from her hair being pulled out and being beaten with sticks. One of them urinated on her.

Over the next eight and a half hours, I lapsed in and out of consciousness. I remember lots of shooting. The men, supporters of President Mugabe's Zanu (PF) shot all the wheels on my vehicle and put us on the floor of my father-in-law's vehicle, having looted the house.

We went to the next-door farm, where they shot the dogs. My head and back were bouncing on the floor as the vehicle reached 150km/h (93mph) as it chased Bruce, my brother-in-law. I had a 12cm fracture in my skull and broken ribs. Between us we had a dozen broken bones.

It was like a gangster film. They were shooting out of the windows as we screamed along. Between them they had more than 20 guns. I found out later that two bullets had passed within a few centimetres of Bruce's headrest as he tried to follow us and waited outside another farm. Fourteen bullets lodged in his car. They even shot at passing traffic.

Police were told that we had been beaten and abducted but there was no will to rescue us. For hours they did not even leave the police station.

Kelly, one of Mike and Angela's dogs, arrived panting at our house where my wife, Laura, was. Laura knew something was wrong. She got the children and the dogs in the Ford Laser. It's 20 years old and low for the bush but it was evident from the shooting that she had to go that way.

When they got to the northern fence line she did not have wirecutters. They said a prayer and out of the bush, almost like an angel, walked a man with a dog. Laura explained the situation and he pulled out some wirecutters from his pocket and cut the fence for her. She got through to safety.

Trussed up in the back of the car, the hours passed until it was dark. We ended up deep in the bush where there was a large camp of militiamen and some fires. They stripped me except for my shorts and a thin shirt that they had ripped the buttons off. They poured buckets of cold water over us, sang anti-white war songs and kept talking of killing us. Guns were waved over us and the bare soles of my feet beaten. They burnt Angela's lips with a burning stick stuck into her mouth.

Fear and hatred did not play a part in what was going through my head. I was not afraid of death. Angela felt abandoned at one point but looked up and a flooding sense of God came through her as she saw the stars burning down.

As I prayed: “Jesus!” “Jesus!” “Jesus!” out loud I felt the words of Jesus where he said: “Love your enemies” and “Bless those who curse you” come into my heart. I reached out to someone's leg and said: “May the Lord Jesus bless you” and I said the same to another and another.

Mike wasn't conscious most of the time and his finger was broken so they got Angela to sign a document saying that we would not continue with the Southern African Development Community (SADC) tribunal case that we had initiated on the land issue.

They loaded us into the vehicle and we bumped along a dirt track for another 30km. At about midnight we were untied and dumped by a road. Mike and Angela couldn't walk, so I stumbled to a light. I climbed through a hedge and woke the occupants. Miraculously I could remember telephone numbers and I got through to Laura. Within half an hour we were on our way to hospital. They got a drip into Mike before his veins collapsed. They put a pin through Angela's arm and stitched me up. After five days the neurosurgeon performed a two-and-a-half-hour operation and cut a 4cm hole in my skull to release the blood clots. As I awoke, the first question I asked was: “Will I be allowed to go to our SADC case in 11 days' time?”

I got out of hospital and went back to the farm. Arrests have finally started and some of those involved in attacking us have been put behind bars, I understand. There seems to be a change of atmosphere. Although many opposition people are still in hiding and many have been severely brutalised, the police are starting to protect lives and prosecute party militia. I believe that Gilbert Moyo, who led so many attacks and looting, is in prison. I hope I'm not imagining it but there is an air of hope around.

The workers almost bounced with excitement that I was alive. I felt the tears welling up, I was so moved. I was then put on the plane in a wheelchair and we were on our way to Windhoek, Namibia, for the SADC tribunal. Sadly Mike, the main applicant, was too badly injured to come.

The case is a significant one for the rule of law in southern Africa. The judges come from Mozambique, Botswana, Angola, Malawi and Mauritius. It the first time that southern Africa has had an international tribunal to which people within the SADC can appeal. President Mugabe is cited as the respondent in the case. It is the first time that his representatives have to appear before an international court.

The case looks at whether Zimbabwe law denies the right of protection by expressly preventing people access to the courts; whether there has been discrimination in the taking of land from white people, and whether it is acceptable to take someone's home and livelihood without compensation. It also looks at if the Zimbabwean Government is in contempt of protection orders granted by the tribunal.

On the second day, after a dramatic walkout by the Zimbabwean Government's representatives, the judge said: “We are building a house of justice.” Jeremy Gauntlett, our advocate, pointed out that Zimbabwe meant “house of stone”. In the days ahead, through the “house of justice”, we want to rebuild the “house of stone” that has collapsed so fast. We ask for your prayers of support.

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