Sunday, 18 March 2012

I belong to a country that does not exist but when I stand with my feet on the land where it used to be, my roots dig down and I still feel it is my home.
But I am not allowed to call it home and my life is in danger there.
How will my heart learn to beat to different rhythms that those they were born to without feeling like a perpetual traveller, without feeling the longing for return, to beat in time with the surroundings once again.

I am fourth generation African - but instead of being a Zimbabwean I have to remain a Rhodesian - a citizen of a place that does not exist, like a unicorn or some other mythical creature. I hope that means I can do magic.