About three and half months before I left for Zimbabwe, I went to one of those parties where you only know the friend you came with. I ended up talking to a well-traveled guy wearing a striped wool scarf. At some point, I mentioned I was leaving for Zimbabwe in not so very long. This guy looked straight at me, his eyes big with suspicion over the stripes, and asked me exactly what good I thought the trip would do me.

So I told him I was going to study women and literature; I outlined my whole approved proposal. And I told him what a great opportunity it would be. But he was looking more and more disdainful, and I mumbled to a stop.