Thoughts on a mirror and its meaning
I was commissioned to write a piece about my face years ago and for various reasons it never saw print. I thought it would be interesting to post now.
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Autumn Thoughts on the Eve of Our Elections Hamilton Wende
Memory is layered into our lives. Our understanding of what happened in the past grows as we grow. And the southern autumn for me for the last decade or so has always been a time for memories.
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Botswana’s Human/Animal conflict dilemma
Recently, the President of Botswana, Mokgweetsi Masisi, frustrated by European moves to ban the import of hunting trophies from his country recently threatened to send 20 000 elephants to Germany so that they “should live with animals the way you tell us to.”
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Keeping a dream alive …
At the far western end of Bulawayo’s wide streets lies a small, well-tended garden. It is the city’s railway museum. A neat lawn and a few bright coloured flower beds swelter in the heat.
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Ancient Rome and Sub Saharan Africa
Murchison Falls is one of the great natural splendours of Africa. The best way to see it is to take a boat up the Victoria Nile through the hippo and crocodile that throng its clear, deep waters.
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Keeping a dream alive …
A full moon emerges above the horizon. Slowly at first, and then rapidly, the sound of hard, calloused palms beating the skin of drums rises from the huts all around us.
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Reflections on 30 Years After the Rwandan Genocide
The images, and the memories, never go away, even after nearly 30 years. Recalling them, or looking at photographs from that time, always raises my heartbeat – fear runs through in my head, it always happens, making me feel the old ghosts rising up.
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The humanity of those we don’t understand
On a long ago trip to Alaska I met some fascinating people who are the type of people who now believe in Trump’s MAGA vision. We don’t have to agree with them to try and understand them.
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Jo’burg’s Forgotten Royal History
Years ago, in my childhood, I was being driven in a car down Louis Botha Avenue. Ahead of us, prominent on the Linksfield Ridge, was a magnificent white house. ‘That,’ the adult in the car told me, ‘is the house where the Shah of Iran lived during the Second World War.’
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Remember our heroes with integrity
It was his eyes I remember best, carefully watching us through his glasses as he listened, and we spoke. It was the early 1980s. Apartheid was at its height. The power of white supremacy and the tyranny that went with it seemed unassailable.
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