Zimbabwe is dust and stone. A country almost dead, a ghost that survives by inertia, for wild. His field is cruel, nice, messy. Zimbabwe is the Africa of yesterday. Its people are cultured and friendly but in their faces you can sense the disenchantment of everything that they are not allowed to be.. Zimbabwe kills itself in its past without knowing if it will be born again.
Zimbabwe is dust and stone. A country almost dead, a ghost that survives by inertia, for wild. His field is cruel, nice, messy. Zimbabwe is the Africa of yesterday. Its people are cultured and friendly but in their faces you can sense the disenchantment of everything that they are not allowed to be.. Zimbabwe kills itself in its past without knowing if it will be born again.
Zimbabwe is dust and stone. A country almost dead, a ghost that survives by inertia, for wild. His field is cruel, nice, messy. Zimbabwe is the Africa of yesterday. Its people are cultured and friendly but in their faces you can sense the disenchantment of everything that they are not allowed to be.. Zimbabwe kills itself in its past without knowing if it will be born again.
Zimbabwe is dust and stone. A country almost dead, a ghost that survives by inertia, for wild. His field is cruel, nice, messy. Zimbabwe is the Africa of yesterday. Its people are cultured and friendly but in their faces you can sense the disenchantment of everything that they are not allowed to be.. Zimbabwe kills itself in its past without knowing if it will be born again.
Zimbabwe is dust and stone. A country almost dead, a ghost that survives by inertia, for wild. His field is cruel, nice, messy. Zimbabwe is the Africa of yesterday. Its people are cultured and friendly but in their faces you can sense the disenchantment of everything that they are not allowed to be.. Zimbabwe kills itself in its past without knowing if it will be born again.
Zimbabwe is dust and stone. A country almost dead, a ghost that survives by inertia, for wild. His field is cruel, nice, messy. Zimbabwe is the Africa of yesterday. Its people are cultured and friendly but in their faces you can sense the disenchantment of everything that they are not allowed to be.. Zimbabwe kills itself in its past without knowing if it will be born again.
Zimbabwe is dust and stone. A country almost dead, a ghost that survives by inertia, for wild. His field is cruel, nice, messy. Zimbabwe is the Africa of yesterday. Its people are cultured and friendly but in their faces you can sense the disenchantment of everything that they are not allowed to be.. Zimbabwe kills itself in its past without knowing if it will be born again.
Zimbabwe is dust and stone. A country almost dead, a ghost that survives by inertia, for wild. His field is cruel, nice, messy. Zimbabwe is the Africa of yesterday. Its people are cultured and friendly but in their faces you can sense the disenchantment of everything that they are not allowed to be.. Zimbabwe kills itself in its past without knowing if it will be born again.
Zimbabwe is dust and stone. A country almost dead, a ghost that survives by inertia, for wild. His field is cruel, nice, messy. Zimbabwe is the Africa of yesterday. Its people are cultured and friendly but in their faces you can sense the disenchantment of everything that they are not allowed to be.. Zimbabwe kills itself in its past without knowing if it will be born again.
Zimbabwe is dust and stone. A country almost dead, a ghost that survives by inertia, for wild. His field is cruel, nice, messy. Zimbabwe is the Africa of yesterday. Its people are cultured and friendly but in their faces you can sense the disenchantment of everything that they are not allowed to be.. Zimbabwe kills itself in its past without knowing if it will be born again.
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Zimbabwe is dust and stone. A country almost dead, a ghost that survives by inertia, for wild. His field is cruel, nice, messy. Zimbabwe is the Africa of yesterday. Its people are cultured and friendly but in their faces you can sense the disenchantment of everything that they are not allowed to be.. Zimbabwe kills itself in its past without knowing if it will be born again. Fui varias veces a su encuentro y siempre cuando marchaba por sus fronteras de cemento y trapo reflexionaba si sabía lo que acababa de ver. No sé si alguna vez lo supe, todo es complejo en ese mundo de muerte, miseria y orgullo. «Adiós Mugabe, viejo león hambriento de la sabana», creo recordar que balbuceaban mis labios. Always. Como un lamento, como un deseo.
