ack in my old stamping ground of Rwanda, I met my good friend Frank. When he was a guerrilla fighter, he trekked with me for several days, under fire, from the Uganda frontier to the capital Kigali. That was in April 1994; the hills were burning all around us as Hutus massacred Frank’s Tutsi people, and we jogged night and day through the hills in a
A sporting life in Africa
Jan 25, 2023
2 minutes
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