Dusty roads, big smiles and men with names like Obey, Active and Never are what come to mind when I think about my trip to Zimbabwe. I had the pleasure of traveling there for work last month to a small town called
Beitbridge on the South African border. The long drive through South African savannahs dotted with the mangled trunks of
Baobab trees, passing through towns where funeral parlours were the fanciest buildings made it all too clear that I definitely was not home.
And my home was even harder to explain at the border.
Immigration officer: "Tree-nee-dad end Toobogo. My sistah, where is thees place?"