The Transition from Childhood into Adulthood Anonymous

Tuesday, May 13th, 2008, started out as an ordinary day in Zimbabwe. I was eight-years-old then, and I awoke unaware of the fact that this Tuesday would be the most devastating day of my life. My parents, my little brother and I lived on a large commercial farm in Old Mutare, Zimbabwe. My parents were quite active in the opposition movement to Robert Mugabe’s so-called “land reform” practice of seizing farms from white Zimbabwean owners and “redistributing” the farms to black Zimbabweans. My parents used our farm as a “safe-haven” for local white farmers to shelter themselves and their valuable equipment, a practice that angered the local Mugabe crony politicians and so-called “war veterans.” Unbeknownst to me, tension had been rising between my parents and these groups.

However, for me, it was an average day at Hillcrest Preparatory school. After school, my best friend Michael and I were playing on the school playground when his mother came to pick us up from school. As we were driving home from school we saw heavy, thick, black smoke off into the distance. We didn’t think anything of it and continued to talk about our day at school as Michael’s mother listened in. A few hours later, We were on Michael’s patio enjoying our...