My name is Rumbi but you can call me Ruth. I am 17 and live in a small town in Zimbabwe that you wont have heard of. Please excuse my writing here because I cannot write this myself. Nonkululeko, my best friend is writing this down for me. Friday was to be my last day at School and Saturday is my graduation day but we have postponed it until after the presidential election. In September I am going to the College at Harare to prepare for going to the University next year. After University I would like to travel England and study more, perhaps in London, which is a big capital city there. It is much bigger even than Harare.

Where I live my Father is the School Principal. He is important man. He has helped me all my life, and he agrees with me that I want to be a teacher too after I have gone to University. I would like to study English and History most of all. Our school is small and has young people of all ages. I have stayed here learning and helping my other teachers with teaching the younger children.

The best thing in our school is the computer, which was given to us by another school in England, and through this we can get onto the internet sometimes. I like writing stories and poems and I can post them on some internet sites that I know.

Yesterday the Veterans came. They were very vexed. They know my Father is a supporter of Morgan Tsvangirai and the Movement for Democratic Change. We were all very scared. I was worried they had come for my Father, but they just held him with his arms behind his back. Then they came over to my desk where I sit with Nonkululeko. They had the clubs and knives. I was frightened because I didn’t know what they would do. I was worried they may kill or rape me they looked so mad.

Their top man say to me “You the one like writing the stories?’’ He smiled.

I nodded and I felt a tear in my eyes.

“We know. We hear you have been telling the whole damn world your stories. But you don’t tell the truth about Comrade Mugabe, and that is very bad thing”. I looked up at him. “So this is school and we are going to teach you a lesson graduation girl”

The leader and his men walked to the back of the classroom to the cupboard with the computer. They kicked the cupboard open and pulled out the computer. They lift it in the air and smash it all on the ground in pieces.

We all were shaking but felt a relief. I looked up and saw my Father held between two of the men and from his lips I could see he was praying. The computer we hope can be replaced one day perhaps. They walk back up the aisle.

When they got to me two men grabbed my arms and spread out my hands. The leader then smashed his club down twice onto my hands and I could hear the thud and crack as my bones broke. I was much pained and ashamed as I cried. The leader smiled at me “So, graduation girl, when you write again you make sure you telling the truth?”

“Yes Sir” making the sign of the Cross with my broken hands. “Yes Sir” I repeated, “I promise to tell the truth”.

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