Taking a handful of nuts, he told them about his latest building project: pavilion houses at the Umtali Show Grounds for African guests who weren’t allowed in the main section. ‘My wife and I prefer sitting there, actually. They were ready just in time for the Agricultural Show. We took our employees to see it. There were horse events, a cattle parade, gymnastics and some of our orchids were on display. It was a good day out. But I digress.’

‘Not at all,’ said Chitepo courteously. ‘You’re showing that we speak the same language of human dignity.’

Stephen smiled at him, aware that he was being flattered because they wanted something and mildly embarrassed that he might be coming across as self-congratulatory. They began to talk about the problems facing Rhodesia.

‘When the white man first arrived, we had no reason not to trust him,’ said Sithole. ‘We took him at his word.’ He crossed his arms, slotting his hands into his armpits. ‘But now we have every reason to distrust him, and distrust him completely because he has betrayed us. He has exploited us, ground us down, stolen our land.’

Mugabe straightened up in his seat, shooting Sithole a warning look. ‘What we need now isn’t trust, but fair dealing between black and white,’ he said. ‘Fair dealing with regard to land allocation, job opportunities, and education.’ He spoke mildly, judiciously, but Stephen could sense his deep frustration and bitterness.

‘We would like to see the justice system completely overhauled,’ added Chitepo.

‘At the moment, a black man is put in prison for years for throwing a stone at a white car or stealing a loaf of bread, but a white man who has beaten his African servant nearly to death gets off with a fine and a caution.’

Stephen bristled, remembering Eliot lying in a pool of blood. ‘I understand and I —’ he stopped himself saying he knew exactly how they felt. He didn’t. ‘What can I actually do to help?’ he asked.

‘We want to form our own political party,’ explained Mugabe. ‘At the moment, there’s the ANC led by Joshua Nkomo, but we are not happy with him.’

‘Why not?’ inquired Stephen.

‘Look how he changed his colours about the creation of the Federation,’ Sithole said. The others nodded in agreement. ‘One moment, he was flying to London with Huggins to support it. Next he was denouncing it, then he stood for a Federal election seat. He is nothing but the white man’s puppet and is too fond of the high life. His politics are weak.’

‘His vacillations are confusing,’ said Chitepo. ‘We need a resolute, straight-seeing leader.’

‘We call ourselves Gukurahundi, which means the first rains of the season that wash away the rubbish,’ Mugabe said, as he picked up his beer and drank with long, thirsty gulps.