(Thank you to artist Barry Lungu for the stunning images of Zimbabwe)
I was born in what was then Rhodesia and from the time I was old enough to read, I was reading about turmoil in my country. I’ll never forget sitting across from my father one morning before school, in the days when everyone still had the daily newspaper delivered to their homes before breakfast, and reading on the front page the horrors of the war. There, in bold technicolour, was the photograph of a man who had been tortured and mutilated in the most horrific way…and I was so distraught I couldn’t eat my breakfast and cried all the way to school.
That was in the 70s. In the 80s it was another form of civil struggle which, at one time, became so bad that we all went back to the bad old war days when everyone drove…
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