For many of my African colleagues, the rural home is the place they fondly remember as their childhood homestead – still reminding them of a hard but in many aspects happy time: Of course walks to school were long, washing in the river meant shivering during the cold months, tradition as well as obedience were in high respect. Now they are city dwellers, often in well paid professions, but the rural home is still where their souls come to rest.
I was lucky enough to be invited to spend the better part of Sunday somewhere out in Manicaland, and I was (and am) deeply impressed. Mind you, I didn’t see the place with romantic eyes, rather was fully aware of the problems especially for the elder or sick people, but still… the way the ladies sat on the floor, chatting, preparing the food, not proud but self-confident… it was an amazing experience.
Tomorrow morning I will hit the road, following more the beaten paths of meanwhile certainly low-level tourism (the situation of the country does not attract too many travellers any more), and aiming for the more breathtaking sceneries. Posting may be flaky though, depending on the infrastructure.