Despite the surprise of finding Gweru recently on a world map (in the absence of the likes of Harare and Bulawayo) the fact remains that Gweru is, in reality, a small town that feels like a large village.  I’m certain that I could walk from one side to the other (and probably back again!) in the co
White noise. I’m hunched over the radio, but however close I lean to the receiver, I just hear white noise. I’ve got my eyes closed and I’m frowning.  I’m actually trying to squint with my ears. It sounds like a mouse has crept into the microphone and is scrambling around in there.
Ntabamhlope is one of my favourite clinics. And it’s not just the fascinating name that I enjoy. It’s the cross-country journey we take to get there. It’s the ancient, broad trunked tree in the corner of the compound.
The mango season is over here in Gweru, but everything else, for me, is just beginning.  The slow learning of language and landscape that makes me feel like an infant again.  Adjusting to a climate that finds me shivering in the early hours and then hurrying towards the shade at noon.  Recognising