A small-time district administrator is visited by his father asking him to right a wrong done to their village thirty years before. The minister refuses, but that evening receives a visit from a farmer from the village begging him to find his son who’s been arrested for speaking against the government.
What starts as a comic inquiry at the Ministry of Justice quickly devolves into a nightmare as the minister is followed by mysterious thugs, kidnapped, and pressed to masquerade as a revolutionary for the opposition when the rebel leader is killed.
Hounded on all sides through an increasingly sinister seven circles of hell as he pieces together his own memory of what happened thirty years ago, the minister ponders his dilemma: whether to turn a blind eye to injustice and live, or become a martyr in the bloody business of liberation.
The human toll of Robert Mugabe’s massacre of at least 20,000 Ndebele in Zimbabwe thirty years ago, called the Gukurahundi, is silent suffering and scarred memory. Forgetfulness and silence are the enemies of justice. A play can give suffering a name and that to me is the beginning of change.