When I first arrived at the National Archives of Zimbabwe in July of 1984, I was flattered and even a little embarrassed by the cosseting I got just for being a visiting researcher. The Archives' staff took a personal interest in me that extended beyond research and into the realm of creature comfort. The daily routine had more in common with a spa than a work place: tea was put on for researchers every morning and afternoon in the Archives' back garden, and the reading room closed early enough in the afternoon to make the first round of gin and tonics at the sun-downer. In other words, doing research at the National Archives was living a privileged existence.

That sort of privilege was replaced by a growing sense of professionalism and mainstreaming between 1985 and 1993. Morning and afternoon tea no longer played such an important role in the daily routine, and everything seemed busier. This was a change in tone, not a change in the physical or professional excellence of the institution: the grounds were still beautiful, the facilities were still clean and comfortable, and the staff were still friendly and helpful. But in 1989, and even more so in 1993, a feeling of intensity had replaced the sense of luxury and ease I had felt in 1984 and 1985. The National Archives had been transformed from a spa to a work place. And, in the process, researchers had also been transformed from guests to workers.