Ethnic Wars
I was not a model pupil at school. No, I wasn’t. Even the very idea that I could do anything exemplary during my years at Mangwana Primary or later at Vuravhi Secondary School was at the very least ludicrous. Granted, I was n either your archetype of the opprobrious pupil w ho bull ied f ellow students ; nor w as I a right nuisance for the authorities. You could say I secretly waged my wars from somewhere near the oblivion of furthest corner of the back benches where the teacher never bothered to look when looking for answers to his questions; because he knew no hand would venture from there, except if someone wanted to leave class for the loo. I was not one to strive for those extra, goody two-shoes things that children who ended up being prefects did; when the teachers were looking the other way. I actually stuck my nose at such sacrilege. Take bathing, for instance. I hated it. I think there was time when even my own mother grew tired of having to chase me into the b