Where should I begin?
Born February 8, 1970 in Umtali, Rhodesia. The Rhodesian bush war started in 1965, my family’s coffee estate sat on the border with Mozambique and my father ran the border post pre-war, he was a policeman (British South African [military] Police). With the war literally on our doorstep both parents were focused on fighting for their way of life, their rights for white supremacy regardless of the costs.
I was one of the costs.
My siblings lost their sanity. We all lost our chances at the ‘happy life’ promised in Disney movies. They lost their humanity. Acts of violence, brutality, cruelty in the name of white supremacy: no honour lies here. Yet my head is full of the ghosts of those who died. Should I say they died in vane, those boys who were men too soon; mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, children dead because they had the wrong skin? Where would I place those who became immersed in the madness of an apocalyptic war? Right. Wrong. Black. White. If only life were that simple.
If you type into google ‘Brutality of the Rhodesian Bush War’ you will get a sense of the childhood I had. The reason the sound of choppers has always sent chills down my spine. Chills that increase until I can no longer stand. That’s when the screaming starts; silently I watch them come for me. Why I have severe PTSD – early childhood complex PTSD – a broken brain filled with a lifetime of horrors.
I will write that book for it is multi-layered and defies belief. It starts in an African Civil War, it progresses to a life of abuse at the hands of mother and sister in Ireland, an investment banker in London, a miserable wife in Tokyo and Singapore, a joyful single mother struggling to come to terms with her broken brain alone on a horse farm in Canada (B.C.) until she arrives at her place of peace in Tsawwassen, B.C. The merry go round may not have ended but for the moment, there is a time to pause and breath.
A painter who hears the cries that would be silenced.
A writer who listens to the ghosts and tells their stories.
A mother who wants to see a world of light for her children.
A lover of animals, nature and freedom – these and our children are worth protecting at all costs.
A friend who walks beside others, tormented and lost.
Kate’s bio? Look at my work, read my words… can a soul be distilled into a few lines? An epitaph? Then let this be it:
Despite their best attempts
She loved and was loved