Where it all began

I've been on the face of this planet for a little over 30 years now. Born and bred on a Christian mission station in the southern part of Zimbabwe, I especially appreciate the background that I have and the place that I could call home on that mission field now that I have left. Thanks to the political exploits of Robert Mugabe, I find no pleasure in watching the world around me wither in another man's hands.

My earliest memories of my life are from as far back as the years when I was two, turning three, and I was conscious of the fact that I had a family, two brothers and a sister. I particularly remember this one memory that I will detail here.

My father is a pastor who later trained to be a high school teacher. His area of expertise was Zulu and History. From my earliest memories, he has spoken English in an accent that I can't quite place, but you would have to look twice to confirm that, indeed, this is an African man speaking in English! Despite that high polish in his English, he is as Zulu as they come. He is now retired from active duty. In his early years as a full-time pastor, he was once stationed in Fort Victoria (now called Masvingo, in Zimbabwe). I have a faint, but lingering memory, of playing with one Tobaiwa Masarira. From my mother's recollections of those times, I used to have a fondness for this chap that I can hardly remember because I was SO young!

If I try to get any more specific than that, I am likely to get a concentration headache, so I will leave that aspect of my telling to a time yet future when something might just prod my memory to remember in more detail.

After Masvingo, my father was stationed in Plumtree, and that is where my younger (of the two brothers that I have) was born.

I will take the story up from there tomorrow.