I hate to see what's happened in Zimbabwe. I was there several times during the early 90s and made good friends with several people to include a local farmer (former Rhoadie who fought for Zimbabwe during the war). The Zim that I knew then is all gone. I dug around and found a poem I was compelled to write after one mission there. I'm not a "warrior-poet" but I guess I came close to it at one time. For your entertainment!
This is from 93.
MISSION MEMORIES
Blue skies over Africa filled with 'chutes of green and gray,
Special Forces and Para Commandos training hard throughout the day.
Shona, Tomba, Mandiki, tribes of Zimbabwe House of Stone.
Men of Carolina, tribe of Fort Bragg, Home of the Airborne.
Makuti, follow spore, heat and rain, hills and valleys, follow spore,
every man feels the pain.
Sleep at night, keep one awake, outside the camp lions roar
and elephants, the ground can shake.
Soldiers think of family and friends, so far away,
part of their heart and mind asking, "why do I stay?"
The answer is not to be found, it is not that simple.
One hears the call and follows.
The rifle, an extension of my arm.
A soldier and a weapon. Both together, complete the one.
"Elephants on the Drop Zone" one Commando was heard to say.
Under parachute, he flew to tall trees, that day.
Para group, Hot DZ, Maroon beret on their head.
The sight of the Paras fill the enemy with fear and dread.
American Green Berets, known around the world,
known to Zimbabwe.
American warriors train with warriors of the House of Stone,
each learning, each teaching, strength comes as our nations grow closer.
Zimbabwe military, American military,
elements of a great team.
As we depart, we remain joined in spirit,
the spirit of the warrior.