Wednesday was movie night in our little village on the edge of the Kalahari. We showed up at sunset not caring what film would show. The screen was an exterior wall, and everyone – locals, the few expats – sat beneath the southern constellations to watch, enthralled. That’s where I saw Zulu Dawn, in which Zulu warriors unexpectedly triumph over a modern British army. Burt Lancaster, playing an enlightened British officer, falls valiantly in battle – a scene calculated to generate sympathy in filmgoers. But that night, the crowd cheered enthusiastically at his skewering, and I realized how far I was from home.[Image source: Copyright American Cinema Releasing, 1979]
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