This essay is the first in a series titled ‘9 Dances of Struggle, Vice and Ghosts. I’m toying with the idea of putting them together as a collection, so enjoy ’em while they’re free, folks. Apologies for the weird layout and spacing, but the concept is that they flow to the rhythm of the soundtrack. Sound (and looks) crazy, but give it a go anyhows…
I stick my finger into the barrel of the revolver. Half the gathered crowd gasps, the other shake their heads.
The gun’s shaking in his grip.
“There’ll be no more hunger.”
“There’ll be no more corruption.”
“There’ll be no more war.”
So…that was me in my mid-twenties and recalled from California allegedly to help put out fires collateral to the inferno of Robert Mugabe’s agrarian revolution.
As the Shona would lament, loudly : Mai-weh! (Mother…
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