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Published: January 24th 2007
The art of life
These two timbermen that we hitched with on the back of a big trailer that constantly broke down; knew how to enjoy life. They smoked cigarettes made of newspaper and homemade tobacco and laughed and smiled the whole journey - through rain and dust.Mashingireni, Eastern Highlands.The train had stopped.
My thin sarong and I had spent the night in a stillborn struggle against the cold night air that blew through the broken window of our compartment. To be awoken by the chattering of a thousand voices was nothing but a well-earned relief.
A hodgepodge of odds and ends was offloaded in a commotion of big-mamas, then stowed into already cramped taxis and taken to
Mozambique in search of new owners.
I was in dire need of a strong cup of coffee so we stumbled along the streets of
Mutare in search of a quick fix.
At the tranquil garden of the
Green Coucal Café I had my thirst quenched and the kind owner let us leave our bags at the café for a full day as we explored the city and its surrounding mountains.
As we got back we were exhausted and it was already late. Luckily we managed to get a lift with one of the last cars leaving that day from Mutare to the
Bvumba Mountains 25 kilometres away.
Once the Bvumba drew hordes of tourists with its mist-shrouded forested mountains and deep verdant valleys. Now,
House-sitting
It wasn't too difficult for us to house-sit for the friendly couple in the Bvumba with a view like this from their veranda. They had lost their huge farm a few years earlier and now they lived in a small modest house with cows (one 6 hours old as we arrived), cats, dogs, chickens and the other paraphernalia of a country house. the guesthouses that haven’t been seized by civil war-vets, or simply burnt down, stand empty despite all their comfort and stunning views.
We pitched our tent outside one of the lodges and soon realised that there was a bit of a drama going on between the owners of the different lodges, obviously triggered by the stress of never knowing when one’s lodge will be deprived by a cunning war-vet, and the competing for the very few tourists that actually arrive.
A kind family invited us to house-sit for the weekend. This job was made easy by their well-stocked fridge, beautiful view into Mozambique, friendly employees and all their charming domestic animals.
After sneaking into the
Botanical Gardens, some horseback riding and the richest cup of chocolate in the world it was time to move on.
We were fortunate to find a lift with a man who was in the bubblegum business (his family had apparently invented
Stimorol back in the fifties in
Denmark), and we left the North-European reminiscent forests for an art exhibition by his wife down in Mutare.
By coincidence the exhibition was held at the Green Coucal Café. This time there
T(h)ree girls
As the band played during the bubblegum-man's wife's excibition the whole garden was full of people of varying size. For those who didn't get a seat the trees worked fine as a spot of rest and shade.
At the Green Coucal Cafe'. was a generic band playing. The garden was crowded so we sat down at a table with some other couples, who subsequently invited us for dinner and to spend the night at their place.
At the dinner it was interesting to discuss the ubiquitous topics of
Zimbabwe:
Mugabe, the situation for the white farmers, the inflation and the diamond craze in the Mutare region - with such a diverse group of people:
Belgian, Cuban, Dutch, Swedish, Ugandan, Zambian and
Zimbabwean opinions in a rhythmical melange of thoughts.
The next morning we were put on a bus to
Mashingireni.
As soon as we stepped off the bus shifty looking guys approached us whispering:
- Diamonds. You wanna get rich my friend, then talk to me? Personally I can’t tell an emerald from an eggshell, so a get rich quick scheme with gemstones in Zimbabwe was out of the question.
We got a ride with a busy trailer selling cement to the small villages in the
Eastern Highlands and sometime in the night we finally arrived in
Chimanimani.
We spent a quick night in a decaying guesthouse, then stocked up on tin cans
Swaying grass
Not only in the parks is the landscape beautiful, but along the roades as one hitch through the Manicaland region (the Eastern Highlands), the landscape is fabulous. fresh breezes and undulating hills make for a good day hitching. and bread outside the empty petrol station before setting off for the
Chimanimani National Park.
We got a lift half way with a war-vet who had claimed a nearby farm, and then hiked the rest of the way up to the entrance of the park.
With the help of our magical receipt, and some sweet talk, we were signed in as South Africans paying in Zim dollars; then the real climb started.
Through petrified forests draped in long tassels of celadon green lichen and over house-sized boulders up, up, up until we finally reached the rangers cabin where we sought shelter from the heavy rain.
The next morning we got up at 5 a.m. to ascend
Mount Binga, the highest mountain of Mozambique, which forms the border with Zimbabwe.
After an hour of ascending we stopped for sandwiches, watching the sun rise and warm the mountain hut at the other side of the valley.
Opaque mist came crawling up the mountainside like an unearthly organism, spreading and swallowing our visibility.
We wandered further up the mountain as the mist thickened, slipping on wet stones in the many streams we crossed and clinging
The Magic Receipt
We got it from two Americans we met in Zambia and even though it was more than two months old it still worked at every place we tried it at. What one must do is to change 10U.S.$ at a bank at the officila rate (which means one looses about 9U.S.$ while changing). Then one adds a zero after 10, thus changing it into 100U.S.$. Without the receipt all foreigners must pay in forex since the corrupt government is eager for hard cash, but if one can proof that one has changed at a bank at Mugabes "official" rate - one can pay in Zim-dollars and everything becomes very cheap. DON'T SUPPORT EVIL GOVERNMENT. SUPPORT YOUR OWN BUDGET INSTEAD. FRAUD TO THE PEOPLE... onto loose roots and branches as we climbed higher and higher.
At times we would hear voices in the mist, although we dismissed them as “just the wind” until we stumbled upon a group of goldpanners finishing their breakfast.
We were uncertain about how to pass them since many people have been mugged up in the mountains, and in the mist there are no witnesses, so we approached them with caution. Luckily they were Zimbabweans and spoke English, so we asked them for directions to the summit. After some talking they realised that we were not working for the rangers - the atmosphere relaxed.
They showed us the caves in which they spent their nights and the gold that they had accumulated in a day.
It didn’t look much to me until they explained its value - then it made perfect sense to live in a small cold cave for a couple of weeks eating only maize porridge.
We stumbled further, meeting more and more groups of goldpanners at work trawling the small mountain streams in search of the precious metal.
We would first hear them as small but clear voices, impossible to
Chimanimani National Park
The price for two people spending three nights in the park:Zimbabwean - 2U.S.$ South African - 38U.S.$ Other Foreigner - 70U.S.$. We used our magic receipt and ended up paying 4.5U.S.$ (so it's well worth to get a receipt if one goes to a national park). locate.
Sometimes they would be arguing in incomprehensible tongues, at other times connecting in warm carefree laughs - spanning over every language barrier.
As we got closer the voices would grow stronger until they suddenly stopped as our presence was noticed.
They would all be cautious in the beginning but then relaxed as we smiled and explained who we were.
We walked further, descending through valleys that looked more like construction-sites due to the dramatic make-over that the goldpanners had given to the mountain streams.
After some time we realised that we were deep into Mozambique and that ascending Mount Binga in that thick mist was out of the question.
We had strayed from our path but the friendly goldpanners helped us to find the way back to the valley where we had started. As we descended the last part before we got down to the mountain hut the mist had mysteriously disappeared, and the unconquered summit of Mount Binga smiled back at us.
That evening darkness came quickly. We were following a river with several waterfalls in search of somewhere to camp when we discovered a cave. I gathered some
Home sweet home
It might have worked for the flintstones, but our temporary homewasn't as as cosy as it looks in cartoon movies. Chimanimani National Park. firewood while
Aili rolled out our sleeping bags on the hard rocky surface. We cooked our last food then lay looking at the campfire as it slowly died out, listening for the leopards that live in the park, but I guess the sound of their soft paws was drowned out by the tones of the nearby waterfall.
I can’t really say that we woke up as I’m not sure if we ever fell asleep.
The nights in the mountains are cold and caves are not comfortable. We spent the day trying to regain normal body temperature after we had a skinny dip in a pool where another waterfall plummeted down.
Hungry we trekked back to the mountain hut where the rangers were preparing a raid against the goldpanners.
Taurih, Mashel and
Stephin, the three totally different but just as adorable guys polished their AK 47:s and did their laundry. We asked if we could buy some food from them but they kindly prepared a huge meal for us, refusing to receive any form of payment.
Taurih Ngyngnya was 47, he had a weathered face but eyes like a big fish - full of
Machel Mapfurire 36
So gentle and so friendly. Our ranger friend Machel usually worked for two weeks then had a week of. When he worked, he would miss his wife and two daughters every moment - he explained to us in with sad eyes. Chimanimani mountains. At the hut. lustre, and he laughed a rattling laugh that shook his whole body.
Machel Mapfurire was eleven years younger and was polite and always well-groomed. He explained with great eloquence how much he loved his family and Jesus Christ.
The third ranger was
Stephin Musikirwa aged only 18, he loved his AK 47 like it was a part of himself, giggled a lot, constantly teased the oldest one of them and, like all young African boys wanted to become a Kung Fu hero.
As we sat around the crackling campfire we enjoyed some sensimilla they’d recently confiscated from some Mozambican goldpanners and shared life stories Taurih asked me:
- Baaaabby. Is it true when they fight in American wrestling? I mean, is it real? I explained that it was all show and that every fight was rigged. They became quiet and contemplative for a few moments then Stephin turned to me with a puzzled face.
- But the Kung Fu movies must be real, right? The fighting scenes? It felt like I shattered his dreams as I explained about blue-screens, special effects and fake blood.
- I told you. A long day on the back of a truck
Our companions looked a bit bored after the first 5 hours of constant breakdowns as we hitched through Manicaland Taurih said and burst out in yet another loud rattling laugh while Machel gave Stephin a compassionate look and a sympathetic pat on his shoulder.
The rest of the evening continued with more groundbreaking new facts for the rangers, and each was follwed with a laugh.
The next morning Stephin cooked us a proper ranger breakfast and they sat out in search for the goldpanners as we walked down the mountain and trudged the 16 kilometres back to Chimanimani village.
The following day we got a lift out of the village to
Wengezi where once again we were asked to buy diamonds from young men prowling the junction town. We got a lift with the owner of the country’s only brewery and as he drove the 200 kilometres between Wengezi and
Masvingo he managed to down four beers while still keeping control of his expensive car.
Along the road people sat forming the shape of diamonds with their fingers as we drove by. At the police checkpoints they asked us if we were smuggling diamonds. As I answered no the police woman replied:
- Are you sure? She gave me an
Orson Welles look.
The Great Zimbabwe II
The entrance is 32U.S.$ for two people, but if one's got a magical receipt (see earlier caption) one pays only 3.2U.S.$...............................A prominent feature of the Great Zimbabwe is the 10-m high conical tower inside the greater enclosure. The wall at the greater enclosure is 11m high, 5m thick and 255 m in circumference. Around the ruins monkeys and antelopes live. Bring a picnic. At another checkpoint when they searched our bags they did their best in convincing me that my torch was specialised for diamonds - they didn’t convince me since I knew my torch was specialised in being bad value for money.
In Masvingo we found an illegal guesthouse to board us for two nights - just enough time to see the
Great Zimbabwe ruins, encounter the first white racists in Africa and find a bus to
Gweru.
Gweru’s another small town with few tourist attractions, although there is a small game reserve in which one can “walk with lions” and “swim with elephants”. Other than that it’s the place (together with Masvingo) where the economical depression is most tangible. To put it simply, it's sad.
After the normal tumult at the town’s bus station we wandered down the main road in search of a small, cheap and tainted spot to call the park for the “Lion walk-experience”. Surprisingly, the first store we found fulfilled all three criterions.
It wasn’t busy but there was still full pandemonium inside the store.
As we made the phone call, the owner - a talkative woman with a hoarse voice
Silent silhouettes
The natural beauty of the Bvumba Mountains. - asked us where we were from.
As we answered she first looked shocked then told us with a secretive smile:
- You must stay with me for at least a week. The park was fully booked by companies from
Harare taking their employees on pre-Christmas-holiday breaks.
We accepted the invitation and went to her house.
Surrounding the huge house was a big garden with a skulking gardener (judging by the gardens appearance.).
Inside the house nothing had changed during the last 14 years - when her four kids had left her. Her four children had been taken to
Sweden by her sister-in-law when her Swedish husband had got murdered. The children hadn’t returned ever since, except for the eldest daughter, who’d been back once for her brother-in-laws funeral after he’d murdered his wife and then committed suicide, I was told by one of the woman’s employees.
There was something slightly uncomfortable about the atmosphere in the house and my nights were just as ridden with nightmares and anxiety as the woman was torn by grief and dejection.
Her eldest child was well over thirty, but the woman still
Choco-con-Chilli and a Meringue-Angel
Tony's Coffee House was more than just a normal cafe'. It was a total experience on its own. With a menue of over a hundred different sorts of tea , a huge variety of coffee and chocolate, the camp Tony had found his concept of luring guests. He's a very (very!) special man and the Chocolate -chilli drink I had can't be described as anything else than devine (and extremely rich). The Juliette Binoche of the Bvumba. referred to them in past tense. All their rooms were kept just as they looked 14 years ago as if the children one day would return and look just the same.
Although we were very thankful to the woman for her hospitability, we felt a bit discomfortable staying in the
David Lynch semi-mansion so we took off for
Bulawayo. Straight away there was a change in mood.
Bulawayo was busy. The streets were filled with laughter and chatter and beggars with pleading eyes. We found yet another time-capsule - the
White Hollows Inn - charging prices from the 1920’s (due to the inflation). The old woman at the guesthouse had lost her husband a month earlier, and she was fighting her own futile battle against cancer.
Her late husband’s biggest hobby had been carrier pigeons and he had obviously done a good job since - even though the pigeons had been sold three weeks earlier to a faraway farm they would occasionally return and sit cooing outside our kitchen window.
After I had the privilege of being beaten thrice by the ex-Rhodesian champion in chess, and had had my yearly fix of stuffed animals
The Frog without Fern
This guy must have been poisonous. I didn't dare to kiss it, and I already had a princess so. Chimanimani. at the
Natural History Museum, it was time to move on.
We’d met so many motley destinies, faced so much despair, so many shattered dreams in this dispirited nation, and yet people had treated us with such kindness and consideration it was completely overwhelming.
We had witnessed the inexhaustible store of compassion that the Zimbabwean population held - a store that the atrocious autocrat
Mugabe could never lay his hands on.
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Tim S.
non-member comment
Wow
It's great the fact that you show the side of these countries that many don't get to see in the tourist guides...great pics also. Very inspiring, keep writing.