Scribbling The Cat: Travels With An African Soldier - Plot & Excerpts
Political violence, a regional drought, and fuel shortages had washed up the citizens of this countryside into despondent-looking crowds that clustered near food-aid drops and under the shade of tavern verandas. The towns that we scudded through sound like words in a song: Mutoko, Murewa, and Nyamapanda. It was a land of almost breathtaking beauty or of savage poverty; a land of screaming ghosts or of sun-flung possibilities; a land of inviting warmth or of desperate drought. How you see a country depends on whether you are driving through it, or living in it.How you see a country depends on whether or not you can leave it, if you have to.The windows of the pickup were rolled down because we, in common with everyone else in this part of the world, were jealous of every drop of fuel we spent. And, under these circumstances, air-conditioning (like the exorcism of war memories and the act of writing about it) was an unpardonable self-indulgence. K had gone quiet and the muscle at the back of his jaw had begun to quiver.
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