What do you think?
Rate this book


Godwin's story begins, "I think I first realized something was wrong when our next door neighbor, Oom Piet Oberholzer, was murdered. I must have been about five then. It was still five years before the real war would start." The Godwins enjoyed a typical genteel existence in 1960 rural Rhodesia, their household including a "garden boy," a "cook boy," and a nanny. Peter's father managed a wood- and sugarcane-processing plant. His mother, a rural government doctor, was often called to pronounce deaths or conduct autopsies, for which she brought along her "assistant," five-year-old Peter, who was responsible for shooing away the flies.
Godwin's plans for attending college were squashed when he was drafted into the Rhodesian army and assigned to the "Anti-Terrorist Unit," which proved to be an important experience in his life. When he later looked at himself, he saw a man "coursed through with anger and despair. It was the face of someone who would kill an unarmed civilian for withholding information." Disturbed by what he had become, Godwin left Rhodesia after he got out of the army, only to return in 1981 as a journalist. Rhodesia was now Zimbabwe, and the "terrorists" he had reluctantly fought against were now the country's rulers.
Godwin reported on theutterbrutalities in Zimbabwe and the fate of Matabeleland, a black minority region in Zimbabwe. He described the army style of interrogation, in which "before they even began to question you, they would break one wrist," and wrote about the old mines where bodies of the dead were buried. When Godwin's writings received worldwide attention, the Zimbabwean government tried to discredit him, and he received numerous death threats, escaping the country just hours before the police came looking for him.
Mukiwa is not only a memoir but also a compelling adventure story that tells a personal saga that needs to be heard.
432 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1996
"An animal with mud on his hooves is assumed to have been to the watering hole."
"For the first time we were enjoying the country without a conscience."
"...On my last visit to court, there was a big argument about the age of one of the Crocodile Gang members. My mother explained to me that if he was under eighteen then they couldn’t hang him, but if he was over eighteen, they could. Like most Africans he didn’t know his exact age, and he didn’t have a birth certificate..."
"Older Africans, whose parents couldn’t speak English, tended to have an arbitrary English word as a name. They believed that having a name in the white man’s language would attract the white man’s power. So they were called by any English word their parents had chanced across: words like Tickie, or Sixpence, Cigarette or Matches were commonly used as names. The next generation of Africans, who were the target of Christian missionaries, tended to have Old Testament names; Jeremiah and Ezekiel, Isaiah and Zephaniah. Baby girls were often called after the emotion felt by the mother at birth – Joy, Happiness, Delight. But, as far as I know, there were no girls called Disappointment, Pain or Exhaustion. Finally Africans began taking ordinary names popular with European settlers. Usually they would retain an African name as well, which only they knew, but after the civil war, the new chimurenga, it became fashionable to revert to their African names..."
...That's a - That's a polite way of putting it, ja. Mum was raped and shot and um... Dad was decapitated and hung from a hook in the barn. I was nine...
We thought we were fighting communism, but in the end it was all about who gets what...