Warrior Pose by Brad Willis

independence and are putting up a united front against apartheid. When WBZ approves the proposal, it’s like a miraculous medicine for my back. I can barely feel the pain as Dennis and I board a flight to Africa. Even so, I take an extra dose of Valium and Motrin as we land in Zambia more than fifteen hours later, just to be sure.
    Zambia is landlocked, sitting atop the lower third of the continent like a gateway to its southern regions. The capital city of Lusaka, built on a plateau, is subtropical and steamy. Humidity hangs heavy in the air as we bounce into the city in a taxi that feels like it lost its shock absorbers years ago. A million poverty-stricken people live here, virtually on top of one another. The streets are organized chaos. Makeshift markets selling paltry goods. Children play on street corners as raw sewage flows by. Starving dogs fight over bits of food hidden in the piles of trash. The stench is overwhelming, but the thrill of being on a major story makes it almost smell sweet.
    Surprisingly, there is little sense of desperation amid all this filth and chaos. The Zambian people hold themselves with dignity. It’s been two decades since they ended a century of white domination and exploitation, mostly at the hands of the British. Every time we jump out of our taxi to film, young people immediately surround us to express the pride they feel as members of an independent nation.
    In South Africa, it was the white Afrikaners who fought with the British for primacy and ultimately took power. The Afrikaners are a deeply conservative German, Dutch, and French ethnic group called Boers who migrated to South Africa in the 1600s. They formed a political minority National Party that managed to take power in 1948 and quickly enacted harsh segregationist laws that became known as apartheid, which means “apartness.” The policy created a system of complete social and economic discrimination against black South Africans, who were forced into ghettos called townships and denied all rights.
    To fight back against the ANC and Frontline Nations, Special Forces of the South African government regularly launch militarystrikes into Zambia. They have secret police throughout Lusaka. Assassinations of ANC leaders are all too common. Oliver Tambo has various safe houses hidden within the heart of the city. It takes a day to arrange a secret meeting with Isaac, the ANC operative who will guide us to the right location. We meet at a side street several blocks from our hotel.
    â€œWelcome,” Isaac says with polite formality and a firm handshake. “We must move quickly. I will speak to your driver. Please get back in your car.” Isaac whispers something to our driver, Jonas, and walks off in his well-tailored suit like a businessman headed for an urgent meeting. His commitment to the struggle is palpable. It’s clear he’s prepared to die for his beliefs, and equally clear he intends not to.
    Jonas starts the car quickly and turns into the first alley, entering a maze: Narrow lanes. No street signs. Thicker crowds. Within five minutes I’m completely lost and know I would never find my way out of here without a guide. We begin doubling back, circling, losing anyone who might be following. A sudden stop. We’re in front of a fifteen-foot, rusted steel wall with a small doorway cut into its center. Suddenly, Isaac appears from nowhere, now clad in a faded T-shirt and jeans, blending perfectly into the neighborhood.
    â€œGrab your gear and follow me,” Isaac says with firm calmness. “In here. Quickly.” He knocks a code on the steel wall with his knuckles as we get out of the car. Thick steel bolts are unlocked from the interior and the door swings open with a screech. We slip inside the compound with Isaac, and behind us the door is immediately slammed shut and bolted by a tall, muscular young man with a pistol tucked into his waistband. We are standing in a dirt courtyard ten