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When we land in Harare it's four in the afternoon on a hot, sunny Sunday - 40 hours since we've left Seattle. The airport looks well-worn and disheveled, with its immigration officers in a similar state of adornment: thread bare uniforms, name tags missing but for the pinholes left behind to mark their absence, epaulets hanging haphazardly, expressions drifting disinterestedly. Queued up to pay for our entry visa we wait. And wait. And wait some more. Welcome to Zim.

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A country of complex history and politics, whose story is jaw-dropping with its incredulousness, hand-wringing with its pain, and heartbreaking with its hope and spirit, Zimbabwe is a place whose intricacies I would never to claim to know or understand completely, but what I've read fascinates me

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