Many years ago in childhood there was a strange war opening up its AK and FN rifles which echoed throughout the night, sometimes the day. Mangled bodies of once living people, ripped apart in landmines, lay scattered upon the dry lands where now and again a `Go away` bird perched itself on an odd looking branch of the upside down baobab tree and kept repeating its words that it was famous for saying, `Go away`. Of course the dead couldn’t do that and so it would repeat its words over and again in vain.
The country was known as `Rhodesia`, perhaps because its founder was Cecil John Rhodes, and it was run by an English hero whom everyone knew as the defiant and rebel like `Ian Smith`.
The Rhodesian soldiers would march up and down, up and down, never turning east or west, to the loud drums of the Rhodesian anthem, `Rhodesians never die`.
Acting tall and proud, and yet so arrogant and full of hatred for human beings who happened to be a different colour, which was a seeming crime, these troops acted out a story of death, seeming courage and cold blooded murder, so that their `Rhodesia` could forever be free and led by the superior race, who were of course the whites.
I was a child, and a white child but I was British born and forced there by my father and mother who took us, my brothers and sister, to Africa in the seventies.
I should have been proud to have been raised in a beautiful and hot country where wildlife, including snakes, roamed free, yet not safe, and where my spirit became free.
However, it was hard to ignore the unfairness, the deaths, and also the abuse which I suffered throughout childhood. It was even harder being sent away from my beloved mother to boarding school where I could never have fit in and where I longed to be with my family, and keep them safe.
My memory filled with all kinds of horrors, abuse and hurtful episodes, I found that I could escape by writing and so I went into my deepest imagination and I never left it. My mind became more fertile, opening up new and different stories, and in my escapism I found that although the hurt could never go, and that my fears would never subside, that I could be loved by my characters and that they could even be my wisdom teachers.
I could live adventures which this world could never offer and I could give back life to the dead and end suffering simply by picking up my pen and erasing everything bad that was happening.
Therefore this is my collection of odd, different, lyrical, peace filled, sad, happy, weird, normal and various genre escapism stories which I have written and will keep being written all the time that my heart beats and my mind remains active and filled with imagination.