It is a strange thing, isn’t it — to wake up each day and realize that breathing, eating, and simply existing have become labors more brutal than the work we were taught to dream of? There was a time, or so they told us, when work was about building a life, stacking one brick of hope upon another, until you could look back and say you had truly lived. Now, survival itself has been twisted into a full-time job, stripped of dignity, stripped of meaning, stripped of the simple promise that if you worked hard, you would be okay.

It’s funny. We have more access to information than any generation before us. I can sit here in Marondera or Harare or even Bulawayo and read what someone in Tokyo or São Paulo is thinking in real time…..