The Shell Of Zimbabwe

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Unless you are a journalist or reporter, crossing the border is not actually a harrowing experience. No one is going to take you to a back shack and mercifully interrogate or make you disrobe in front of some official with latex gloves. In all honesty, they barely acknowledge you. The biggest hassle is trying to get change back when paying for your visa. Always feigning they don’t have change in that particular foreign currency and if you are desperate for change you have to wait till someone with the exact money comes along with your particular currency. It’s a bitch. If you ever want to exert some patience, the small beige building with one indifferent Zimbabwean immigration officer behind a perspex pane will give it to you ten fold.

Standing outside waiting for Derick to finish paying for the truck, I watched a thin Zimbabwean hoist a sparkling white toilet cistern onto his shoulder and pick up a shovel with the other hand. He walks a few meters, puts both down and runs back for a white bag. He repeats this all the way across the border. If he is lucky he will find someone to give him a lift. If not, I hope he lives close by.

Derick’s face was stormy as he climbed back on board. “You have to have serious patience. That was a mission,” he vented in frustration. Surpassing African time is Zimbabwean time. The collective country is resigned to sitting in despair, waiting for Mugabe to kick the bucket. So you have to wait forty five minutes, they have been waiting 26 years. Last time this part of the country was deserted, this time a gaggle of people were trickling in from Botswana with a medley of supplies. The sun was setting behind us and I watched it fall through the side mirror. This road was relatively deserted the last time I was here. Now a trickle of Zimbabweans dressed in an odd assortment of suits from the 80’s walked the road either back from a job only found over the border or having secured much needed supplies.

If there was any country that the world has given up on, it’s Zimbabwe. For as long as Mugabe is spitting in the face of democracy, justice and humanity from his easy chair, the world will no longer acknowledge them. History is fraught with people who had good intentions but took the wrong actions. Mugabe is one of them. He fought for the rights of black Zimbabweans - wanting them to have the same opportunity as the white man. That vision he promised lasted two years. Mugabe proudly admits he won the election and ‘struggle’ with the gun and violence. Zimbabwe became the spoils of war which he plundered for himself and his greedy corrupt ministers. Even though he signed an agreement with Britain to compensate white farmers and expropriate the land to ‘black’ Zimbabweans, he duly ignored it when they economy went into crisis. Mugabe does not know how to run a country especially not when drunk with power and to him, all the decay and poverty can blamed on the cheating white man.

A Little Lie

Nicole and I were given a room together at the Drifters Inn. “I’m going to ask for an upgrade because you snore,” she said. I wasn’t offended that she wanted another room. I make no apologies for the fact I snore. She took the room with the ensuite but pointed out that there were bathrooms all down the hall. Taking my bag to my room, I pointed out that I had been here before, but thanks for the heads up. Dinner at Mama Africa was not fantastic. How things have changed in a year. The quality is slowly but surely ebbing away and the prices flying high. The crocodile’s tail was tough and the Sable, a withered deck of cards. The waiter was desperately hoping we would enjoy the meal, concern written on his face. I tipped him anyway. It was a mission for him to convert Zimbabwean prices into any foreign currency other than Zimbabwean dollars. Change came back in Zim dollars. It was lucky that I bought my handbag, there was no way I could have stuffed the wad of notes into my pockets.

Zim dollars are worthless. They even have an expiry date on them, which everyone ignores. No one wants Zim dollars apart from bars and supermarkets. And that’s because they have to accept them. Even better, the new highly inflated and worthless Zim dollar is only printed on one side. If you are lucky, you may just see a note printed on both sides, from the good old days.

Things were quiet that evening and Team America, myself and Derick ended up calling it a very early evening.
“I think we should tell the guys that we went down to the Zambezi Boat Club and there was a big party with lots of models,” Derick planned. “Like a swimsuit shoot!”
“For Sports Illustrated!” Anouk was right in the act.
“Yes! Sports Illustrated Bikini shoot.”
Back at the inn, Albert caught a hapless frog and thought about putting it through one of the boy’s windows. Lucky for the boys and the frog, he couldn’t find an open window. They must have been steaming in their rooms what with the humidity that never leaves Zimbabwe.

It was almost midnight when there was a knock on my door. I didn’t think twice and opened the door to see Nicole there. Whoops, I was supposed to be at a fake Sports Illustrated swimsuit model party at the Zambezi boat club. “Sorry about disturbing you, but I heard voices and thought you were back and awake. I just wanted to ask about the conversion rate so I know how much to spend on laundry.”
“That’s okay,” I answered the first half of her statement rather than question.
“How much is the Zim dollar again?”
“One hundred thousand is one US dollar,” I replied, wondering why she couldn’t ask me this in the morning but I was up so it didn’t matter.
“How much is that in Aussie dollar?”
“Well, one US dollar is about two or a dollar seventy? So that means it’s about fifty thousand or seventy thousand Zim dollars?” I guess project managers don’t use a lot of maths.
“Ah okay, then it’s not that much to do laundry then?”
“Not really - about twenty Aussie dollars for an entire bag.”
“Are the others back as well?” Oh damn.
“Um… Derick is at the…,” Now where was it again? “The Zambezi Boat Club. Meeting up with some friends. I’ll probably join them later.”
“Oh, thanks. Goodnight.”
“Night.”

I was the last one to come out for breakfast, it was the doxy again.
“Hey! Bek!” whispered Derick; he was hanging out of the truck, already busy with his work this morning. “The boys have been quizzing Albert for over half an hour now!”
“Oh! Nicole knocked on my door at midnight, who does that? She needed to know conversion rates and really could it wait till morning? Anyway, I said that you guys were down there.”
“Okay.”

The boys were fairly sceptical and it didn’t take them long to work out we were pulling another fast one. Nicole busted us good and proper. I think Hendrik was a little disappointed, he was living a fantasy for a moment or two. Joy from Shearwater Adventures showed the boys the video of what they had on offer. Sadly the white-water rafting was off the table due to the high volume of water now rushing through the gorge. Hendrik and Alex put themselves down for bungee jumping and I stuck to the sunset (booze) cruise. Well, we all decided booze cruise.
“I hear you guys like Gin, so I’ve ordered 3 boxes for tonight.” Joy joked. All eyes were on Derick, tattle tale.

Joy came up to me afterwards. “Welcome back, I never forget a face.”
“Thanks, its nice to be back, good memories here.”

Victoria Falls Take Two

I didn’t think it was possible for Victoria Falls to become more of a ghost town in the space of a year. Yet it has. The sun was out but the main town managed to look dull. Souvenir shops were open, cafes had chairs and tables out and ice-cream carts were on the corners. Locals and tourists milled about, all smiles but something is missing. I can’t put my finger on it.

I wandered around with Nicole for a while before the nausea forced me to ditch her and walk around to clear my head. Down at the markets I looked at Shona art and wooden giraffes. Children well dressed and fed came up begging and I ignored them. Last time, I was swamped by people proffering Nyam Nyam’s and wooden hippo dishes. This time I was left relatively alone. Better control from police or have they resigned to being constantly rejected? The nausea persisted and I started to head somewhere for water when I heard my name. It was the boys.
“Are you going to watch them jump?”
“Sure, I’ll walk with you. I don’t have my passport but I’ll go to the border.” Alex led the way, powering along. While Hendrik slowed his pace with me and we talked about everything other than the jump. He was very nervous. As we came to the border we were stopped by a Zimbabwean with a clip board. He was deaf and wanted donations (pledges) to attend a deaf school. Is it cynicism that stopped me from pledging or simply I felt that my help is too small a drop in such a large ocean? I signed I am sorry, he smiled and left. He didn’t pester us again. Well the walk cleared my nausea and I waved the boys off.

“Oy!” It was Derick in the truck. He pulled up beside me. “Are you going to the falls?” I turned around and realised I was standing outside Victoria Falls.
“Uh, yes. I have nothing much to do today. And you?”
“Have to get the truck clean, some shopping and some other stuff.”
I waved goodbye and headed through the turnstiles. The sky was free from clouds and the sun wonderfully blue. Prime photo day.

The sounds of the falls hits you loudly as the Zambezi spray sprinkles down as soon as you walk in. Actually on some days the spray falls beyond the main area of town. I declined a poncho and walked towards Devils lookout, previously inaccessible due to a family of baboons with tumours. I was negotiating the slippery moss covered stone steps when Derick came bounding down. “Fancy seeing you here,” he called as he bounded past me. I guess he needed a break from work.

We started getting soaked as we stared into the thick cloud of water thundering down the gorge. Walking up and around we took in the panoramic view of the falls in the glorious sunlight. Saturated we tried not laugh at middle aged tourists puffing from the exertion of walking up gentle slopes with their shirts off and oh so pale bellies hanging over shorter than what is acceptable shorts.
“I’ll let you finish looking at the falls, I have to go.”
“Okay.”
“When are you getting back to the inn?” he asked before heading off to actually do some work.
“About one-ish,” I figured that would give me time for lunch and giraffe buying of the wooden kind. “Why?”
“I want to start drinking by about… three,” he replied. Oh lord, it is going to be a hectic night. I walked around the horse shoe bend and was sopping wet till I came to the lookout to the bungee jump. A crowd had gathered and taking snaps of people they didn’t know taking the plunge. From that distance and my dodgy eyesight, I couldn’t tell if the boys had jumped already, jumping or about to jump. I took a photo of the bridge and the rainbow beneath it. I am such a girl. Butterflies fluttered around palm trees and thickets. The pathways are cordoned by using natural bushes and wooden stakes buried in amongst the natural fauna. There is something beautiful in how discreetly they have preserved the naturalness of the falls.

Walking back to the markets, a police car pulls up beside me. A police officer leans out of the window and asks if I want a lift into town. While the wide road from the falls to town is well travelled, it can be at times deserted. Only really about five hundred meters from the gates to the first hotel and Kingdom Casino, it was by no means a hefty trek. I decline and he tells me to hang onto my bag closely. I already was holding it close to me across my body albeit not a white knuckle grip, but that would surely make me look like I was in fear of my life and possessions.

If I am a little distrustful of Zimbabwean police it is probably well justified. The police stood by and watched white farmers be harassed, tortured, killed and driven off their land by Mugabe’s so called political campaigners. They argue it is politics, what can they do about it? When the white farmers finally fled, Mugabe’s political army went after industries, then finance, communication and finally as a real kick to the throat of the nation, the hospitals. The police stood by and did nothing. At one stage Mugabe’s political gang (most of which were youths) even stormed a court room threatening the judges. Finally as the white Zimbabweans left en masse in 2000 - 2003, he said good riddance to the ‘cheats and dishonest white man’. That political gang of his, most of them have been promoted into the police force.

While the offer from this particular police officer could have been quite genuine and was only looking out for a young girl in a country whose crime rate has soared with the abject poverty, I just don’t know.

Giraffe Buying

Now just a bit damp, I headed to the markets to nab me a couple or trio of giraffes. Did I have ‘buyer’ stamped on my forehead? This time round I was greeted by many local sellers wanting sell me burnt CDs of African music and stone carvings. A shop that I knew would ship my wooden products back home was all quiet when I entered. Anna was behind the counter playing solitaire on the computer. I suppose I could have gone to the markets and lugged them back here to be shipped but I went for convenience. They bought them from the markets anyway and with some haggling, I’ll just bring them back down to market price. An hour later, a hundred and ten US dollars shorter, I had two giraffes as tall as me shipped back home.
“Nice mobile - do you have a spare?” she asked me.
“Uh no.”
“Do you have anything you want to trade? Clothes?” she asked hopefully. I thought about it, I was wearing the same clothes I had pack a year ago, perhaps it is time for something new. I suppose instead of throwing them away, I could do some trading.
“Maybe tomorrow, I come back.” Oh dear, I am beginning to sound like them as well.

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Photos

Thundering Clouds of Smoke
Down at Devil's Lookout

Spray of Vic falls
On some days, you can be saturated half way into town

Devils Lookout
Barely see through the mighty spray thrown back from the force of gravity..

Finer Mist
Beautiful spray under a cobalt sky

Under the trees
Me just a little bit damp...

Palm Trees
When not looking at the falls, the surrounds aren't half bad

Bungi Bridge
Bridge connecting Zambia & Zimbabwe

Panoramic View
Curtain of water