Advertisement
At Victoria Falls I cross the gorge bridge that links Zambia with Zimbabwe. It´s another easy border crossing. Given all the ominous talk before I came here, and from some people along the way, of unscrupulous African officialdom, I consider myself to have been very lucky in terms of a bureaucratically smooth passage across the continent so far. The only downside is that I get charged $55 as opposed to the $30 my newly acquired American companions H, A and K are required to hand over for a visa. The British are not welcome here. After undergoing the religious experience that is hearing, seeing and feeling the Victoria Falls, we hop on board an overnight train (which I have been expressly advised against taking) to Bulawayo. It is a good deal grubbier than the Tazara line I recently took. There's no bedding, no lights, the table and windows are broken and one mattress has an enormous gash down the centre, which looks unsettlingly like the handiwork of a maniac/kitchen knife combo. On the plus side we have a cabin to ourselves, obliged only to share with an active army of cockroaches. For all its foibles though, the journey is great fun,
much like the Tazara ride. After a certain amount of travel in Africa it becomes more disconcerting when things DO work and go to plan. I find myself reassured only when there are problems. It would be boring otherwise.
Zimbabwe was not on my itinerary when planning this trip. Before I left home I had some moral misgivings about visiting the country. My visa, the park entry to Victoria Falls, transport, taxes on accommodation and food; a sizeable chunk of all will be worming its way straight into Mr. Mugabe´s back pocket. I will make no apologies for loathing that man. Zimbabwe has been independent for thirty years and known only one President. How can someone so well educated (he has six degrees), with twenty years to watch and learn from Africa´s post-independence errors, who inherited one of the continent´s economically strongest and most agriculturally productive countries, with an education system once ranked among the best in the world, still so utterly ruin the place? Zimbabwe is ranked second in the Failed State Index (beaten only by Somalia) and according to the CIA, scores as country number 187 out of 193 in terms of GDP (PPP), pipped to
number 186 by tiny Tonga. Two years ago one loaf of bread here would cost you US$100.
Yet the further down Africa and closer to Zimbabwe I get the more compelled I am to visit. It becomes probably my most eagerly anticipated country after Ethiopia.
In Bulawayo I stay at the wonderful Burke´s Paradise. The owners are amongst the loveliest people I´ve met on this trip so far and anyone travelling through Bulawayo owes it to themselves to experience the pleasure of such fabulous hospitality. The trio of Americans I am with suffer some serious money problems and I sympathise, having battled through many frustrating hours inflicted on me by banks here, but this doesn´t prohibit us from visiting Matobo National Park, burial place of the controversial colonial colossus, Cecil Rhodes. The mind-boggling rock formations make for a beautiful sight but overall the day is a bit of a let-down. We are here to track rhino, on foot, and while I can't deny that it's a real rush trekking in the thick undergrowth, your senses tweaked to maximum alertness, the excitement wanes with each unsuccessful detour into the bush and ultimately we never see any. Fortunately
the lively company and our highly knowledgeable ranger, plus some rather funky ancient rock paintings, help to somewhat save the day.
I set off from Bulawayo alone and head to the Great Zimbabwe Ruins (after which the country is named), the oldest known man-made constructions in sub-Saharan Africa. For the final hour of the journey I change to a minibus. The door is badly broken and requires an immense and interminable effort to close. Yet we still make the usual plethora of stops, including two within 100m of each other in a village to let the passengers out precisely where they demand. Yet, as usual, I am dumped, with the customary vocal and entirely mendacious assurances, nowhere near my desired destination. I stroll down the final gentle slope to the ruins, rounding the campsite corner to see probably the most terrifying sight possible for a solo traveller in Africa: an overland truck! It is a ringing endorsement of the emboldening impact which prolonged travel in Africa has had on me (as well as too much time spent alone) that I walk straight over to these 20+ strangers and introduce myself. Fortune it would seem favours the brave, and
after an exploration of the ruins the next morning, I return just in time to hitch a lift out with the truck, taking me half the distance to Harare.
Somehow I spend nine days in Zimbabwe´s capital. This is not planned but probably quite necessary after three months of almost incessant movement. I set up in a comfortable suburban hostel, which is excellent despite the best efforts of the receptionist to ruin my and everybody’s stay. When I ask another staff member about a problem I've already mentioned to her several times and explain that I've raised it with her he scoffs at me with a knowing chuckle as if to say it's my fault that nothing's been done; that I should know better than to expect any help from her. Nearby to my accommodation is a reasonably stocked supermarket and I can eat well on the cheap. I even treat myself to a tub of Marmite! I love visiting supermarkets in other countries as they really tell you a lot about the place. Zimbabwean ones still have very lean pickings except for the big TM chain of stores. The country is adjusting to actually having some food
again following the adoption of the US dollar in 2008. Nowhere ever has any change and items are usually illogically priced so all shop counters have a big box of sweets and gum next to them meaning you can buy enough goodies to get up to the nearest dollar.
I take some time to explore Harare on foot. The city is broadly spread out and in a grid pattern, making walking around simple but sweaty due to the distances. The place seems very empty; the eerie atmosphere exaggerated by the wide boulevards and high rise buildings in the centre. There are hardly any cars and only a smattering of pedestrians. Even the main bus station feels quiet. I find this placid veneer quite intriguing and a little insidious. I make an attempt to visit Chancellor Avenue, Mugabe´s road of residence. It is closed off from dusk until dawn - the guards have orders to shoot on sight during these hours - but even during the day I don't get far. I can see the guards from quite a distance as the road is deserted of people and traffic, affording clear line of sight. Mugabe´s henchmen are clearly selected
San rock art
Sadly the only rhino we'll be seeing on the criteria of being able, above all else, to defy the laws of gravity. So tooled up is the soldier that shoos me abruptly away that he makes the Taliban look like a bunch of sissies with kids toys. I could cook off him he´s packing so much heat. How he remains upright under such weight is baffling. My carefully memorised destination on the other side is a useless excuse; the guard tells me it is in completely the wrong direction just to get me to turn around as he waves me off angrily. Told.
On the way back I´m walking at the edge of the road because the path is so overgrown when a minibus swerves deliberately towards me, forcing me into jumping out the way at the last minute. Zimbabweans are without doubt the most endearing people I´ve met since Sudan (both black and white communities) and I feel more safe and sociable here than anywhere else so far. Yet I try to remember that as a white person, especially a Brit, I am officially unwelcome here. The driver of the minibus was probably engaging in some light-hearted bullying, testing his perceived power over the
New companions
Power cuts are not the most uncommon occurrence in Zim white man (an attitude unsubtly encouraged by the government). On a couple of occasions I get shoulder barged and scowled at by other pedestrians without warning. I never feel particularly threatened in Zimbabwe, but this deliberate provocation and forceful assertion of power is a new experience that I haven't encountered in any other country.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.07s; Tpl: 0.013s; cc: 12; qc: 28; dbt: 0.041s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb
Haydizzle
non-member comment
I can't stop laughing
you are a bloody incredible genius! You are so funny. You have my permission to say my name in your blog if you want. I love all your captions on your pics!! hilarious