"What does it mean to give birth to oneself?"
I am in the womb of patriarchy, perched on its precipice.
There's no way out. Paths lead here or there, but movement -- running -- is the only way to neutralise the patriarchy, and there are militia working distractedly on every corner.
The young girl who is me, and isn't me, has dust on her face, and her skin is taut through stress-related dehydration. But she has learned to run. Her running is supernatural. She has attained esoteric knowledge, through metaphysical struggle. I kiss her face in symbolic reassurance.
The whole structure is collapsing inwards, so that VICTORIA FALLS cannot be kept back but starts to cascade into the very structure of the building.
"Run!"
A Shona woman says: "The new society appears in the womb of the old."
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