I cannot explain why but this image and many like it somehow hit me in a particular way.
It is the gathering of the crowds. But it isn’t that moves me in the depths of my being. It is the blaze of red in the trees. There is something so powerful in my psyche about the fuzzy red blossoms in the trees that moves me. The combination of the people marching so peacefully and the blossoming flamboyant trees in the country to which my body know it belongs is so profoundly moving.
My soul aches in a particular way when I see these images. It is an ache of belonging. An ache of hope. An ache of the fear of disappointment.
I did not realise that I had utterly given up any sense of possibility of change while Robert Mugabe lived. I did not realise that until this week. This week of possibility, of hope, and a deep deep fear that the change may be cosmetic rather than actual.
I live in a country now where peaceful protest is almost unknown. I watch the images and hear the reports of thousands and thousands gathering in peace in my home country.
I am deeply fearful of hope. But the blossoming of the flamboyant trees…