Zimbabwe photos

Here's the kids from the last photo after their father made them button up their shirts, and pose with their mom.


I was listening to my Toni Child's cd in my car, and on came Zimbabwe. So I need to share this great video I found on YouTube.


It's interesting to listen to the lyrics. I remember when Pat and I heard this song either while we were still in Zimbabwe or afterwards, and we thought, oh, it sounds like she's saying Zimbabwe, but we thought that we just had selective hearing. But no, she is saying it, and sharing a message of hope.

Zimbabwe now and then

Maybe you've heard what's been going on in Zimbabwe. Maybe you haven't. Up to 60,000 people now affected by cholera. Food shortages. Economy destroyed.

Well, I want to start showing the Zimbabwe and Zimbabweans that I know and loved. So you see the real people as they can be under a stable government.

A recent photo on CNN.com. What you often see in the media about Africa. Poor dying starving people.



A photo from 1989 when I was there. Healthy, happy, and what they should be.


I want to see the vision come true again.

Zimbabwe

When articles about Dictator Mugabe and beating the opposition don't sway Americans' opinions, turn to the stories about the white farmers trying to save their land. Either way, it's such a horrible situation. It would be nice if the African states, the United States, some country in the world, would pressure him out of office.

The return - the end

I went back to Danhiko to pack for a few days and then headed off to the rural areas to visit a friend in Tshanaugwe, Matabeleland, south of Bulawayo. The bus ride from Bulawayo was amazing - two hours or so south of Bulawayo on a paved road, and then 3 or 4 hours on a dirt road. Amazingly enough it had been raining (the area is constantly having droughts, and it looks like there will be another this year) which was great for the farmers, but not good for the road. I sat in the back, and on a few bumps I almost hit the ceiling. One crossing we reached was almost impassable because the river was very full. We stopped so the driver could decide what to do and I got out of the bus. Boy did everyone stare! A white woman, never mind just a white, out in the rural areas. Unfortunately I can't speak Ndebele or Sotho or Venda, so all I could do was smile and make the children embarrassed by sticking out my hand for them to shake. I took my camera out to take a photo of the bus and the people by the river and the women getting water at the borehole, and one woman said 'photo please' so everyone gathered and posed for a photo. It was great! I took a photo of a man leading some women acorss the river, and they made me take a photo of them posed at the river's edge.

I arrived at F's safe and sound thought, and had a wonderful time. They killed a goat on my arrival (F offered to let me do it, jokingly, but I declined). I would have helped them skin it but he said it was OK and we had goat and sadza the time I was there, although I never ate enough to satisfy F's mother. the whole time I was there I wanted to help out with the duties, but I don't think I was strong enough to do anything. His sister could lift a big bucket of water and plop it on her head, but I couldn't even lift it, never mind put it on my head. F let me try ploughing with the oxen for about 30 seconds, but it would have taken too long to learn to do it well, so I just watched.

On Sunday F's brothers took me to church, about an 9 km walk way. The service is conducted outsdie, inside a big circle marked by rocks. I sat with F's cousin, T, with teh women and watched. After 15 minutes or so I recognized the word Murungu, meaning white person or European in Shona, and realized the preacher was talking about me. Everyone turned to stare, and I just smiled. An assistant came over to translate for me, and it turned out that I was being welcomed, and they were searching for a Bible in English for me. It was also said that it was an honor to have me, the second white person to ever come (D being the first), there and that God was great to bring me there. It was astounding to think I was only the second white person to attend their services. The service was beautiful, with people dancing and spinning in the sun, dust flying up and the drums beating the tune.

It's now been three weeks that I've been home, and it's been crazy. I went around visiting a graduate school, visiting friends I haven't seen in ages, talking to administrators and grad students and anyone else I could get a hold of about jobs and graduate schools, and managed to get an interview and a job offer in NYC which I have already refused and I am still poor therefore, and looking for a better job, or a paying internship which will lead me where I want to go, which is international management, I believe. I did get my hands on my friend's class (5th grade) and it was great. In the beginning I asked what they thought about Africa when they thought about it, and the answers were the typical animals and jungles and starving black people and naked black people, so it was a lot of fun to show them some slides and talk to them. They wrote thank you cards the next day thanking me for telling them about "Afirca" and goats heads and such. I'm glad I could help change some misconceptions.

[Note: I really really hope I brought presents to the family that I visited! I know what an honor and sacrifice it was to kill a goat.]

The return - continued

But I'm supposed to be writing about my holiday. The first thing I did was go up to the Tengenenge sculpture farm/community to try my hand at sculpting. I arrived on Wednesday afternoon, set up my tent, and started sculpting. Tengenenge is an amazing place where resident artists and weekend artists sculpt their hearts away, the exhibition hall being the space between the trees and the homes. Many of Zimbabwe's great sculptors started there, and one well, known sculptor, Bernard Matamera, still lives there. He was the person who helped me out, finding me tools, giving me a water container, showing me how to use the tools, and talking to me, making me comfortable. In the time I was there he mainly sat in the shade, watching people walk around, or talking to whoever came by, but I guess he does some work sometimes because he has some pretty sizable sculptures around, and has commissions for a few more. The area where Tengenenge is situated is pretty out of the way, nestled right below some of the hills/mountains of the Great Dyke. There is running water, but no electricity. People create their own entertainment.

One night I was invited to dance with others in the moonlight to the sounds of the mbira, an instrument made from prongs of metal bolted to a wooden board, usually played inside a gourd (I'm not sure if I've described it accurately enough, but I hope people in the US get the idea). That was a special time, but the best came Sunday evening. I ate with Tom, the manager of Tengenenge, and his guest inside his rondaval by candlelight. As were were eating, the mbira player (I forget his name) came and played music for us. Gradually people followed the music to the rondaval and walked inside, sitting down along the wall patiently waiting for us to finish so the fun could begin. We moved the table against the wall and the dancing began. Everyone had a good time dancing and clapping and cheering others on. When I danced (after gathering up my courage) some chanted America, A-mer-i-ca, and when Tom's guest danced (just like a chicken) people gathered around her to watch. One high spirited man danced with me alone in front of all the people and we went wild jumping all over the place.

[Note from 2008: Since I was writing this for a general audience, I did not include my experience during the horrible massive thunderstorm that took place when I was there. I had set my tent under a tree, which I now know is a less than ideal place. Lightning strikes were happening all around. I was alone in the tent, and terrified. And what does one do in a highly combustible structure during a thunderstorm? Smoke! I don't smoke, but I did that night, and wrote in my journal about my fear of dying. Don't ask me where I got the cigarettes, but I had 'em and I smoked 'em. Obviously, I survived.]

The return

Again with the cleaning out the house, I found a letter I wrote to blast out to friends and family after returning from Zimbabwe. These will be my 'cheater' posts for a little while. Hopefully you will find it entertaining. -------------------------

Now that the holiday rush is over, I can sit down and write about my final vacation. I must say first that the best thing I ever did was come home for Christmas because being with my family (most of it) and the accompanying hectic and noise and fun and general bullshit has made the transition easier. (I forgot to mention the welcome by my parents at the airport, carrying a winter coat for me, bless their hearts, to protect me from -15 degree weather, and the welcome by my brothers and sister and brother in law at home with balloons and Batman party favors and the Welcome Home NoRegrets sign up with the word 'again' written on it). People have written to me and said to me that the transition must be so difficult, but I'm finding it OK.

I thank heaven for good transportation after the mess in Bulawayo, catch myself spelling words in the British way, am amazed at the selection of foods to be found in the supermarket (though with the cold weather all over the country I wish I were in Zimbabwe where you can get fresh vegetables cheap) and find that my perspective on this world over here has definitely been altered by my time in Zimbabwe. When a TV special was trying to be dramatic and say how much the Romanians have to endure by mentioning that their room/houses were lit by a single bulb, all I could think was that a large proportion of the people in Zimbabwe don't have any electricity at all, and I was not duly impressed.

I'm already facing news withdrawal about southern Africa, since the hot items in this country are Eastern Europe and General Noreiga, but it is splendid to read the NY Times. It's nice to be able to inform people of things about southern Africa that they never would have known, and perhaps open their eyes to things about their own country they never would have thought about. So far I've only gotten the question "How was Africa?" a few times seriously (expecting the answer 'good' and that's it). People have been open to hearing about the experience, which is comforting to me. Hopefully I'll be able to descend on my friend's 3rd grade class and open their eyes.

Other things which struck me began at the airport - the incredible variety of people here in the states - all different faces, all different accents, but all American. It was wonderful to go collect my luggage and hear the workers there speaking in thick New York accents, and one of them ask me if I really did hike the Canyon (it was on my t-shirt). I was laughing and smiling all the way through customs (because I got through with no problem for one reason). Even now it's amazing to me, since I have dared to enter that hall of American culture - the mall - where one finds all sorts of people (including frizzed-out make-upped teenagers) and have dared to buy a mini-skirt (after feeling too self-conscious to wear anything but skirts below my knees and pants for a year, I need a change). It's wonderful to be able to make a phone call without waiting 30 minutes for a line, and then getting a bad connection. The comforts in America are nice.

Hitchhiking

One of the basic forms of transportation when I was in Africa was hitchhiking. Cheap, relatively easy, and everybody did it - it wasn't just us young white foreigners doing it. It is the reality that we were more likely to get a ride than the local Africans, but really everyone did it relatively successfully. Most of the time it was free, but on one long ride we needed to pay some money.

I was thinking last night about several memorable hitchhiking experiences, and wanted to share a few. Two quickly turned to six or seven, so I'll need to spread this post over several days. I'll do the short stories first, since I'm doing this at work and really do have a quite a bit of work to do.

The first memorable experience was when my boyfriend, let's call him Pat, and I went away for the weekend to Great Zimbabwe. It was our first long trip on a weekend and we were a little nervous about timing, since we did have a teaching job to do during the week. We may have taken the bus down to be safe, but hitchhiked back. In any event, a flatbed truck picked us and other people up. I just remember the great feeling of speeding along the road in the open flatbed - a bit nervous about falling off, but mostly just really enjoying the experience. I did take a photo of Pat at one point and it really shows the exhilaration (or was it just the wind? :-) )

99.9 percent of the time I hitchhiked with Pat. One day however, I didn't. I had ridden my bicycle out to visit other volunteers at a nearby village - at least an hour bike ride. On the way back my tire started going flat and biking became harder and harder. So, I decided to try hitchhiking WITH my bike. Just for the hell of it. And someone picked me up! Amazing. And I didn't get raped. Double amazing. It was an incredibly stupid, daring thing to do, but I love the fact that I am able to say I hitchhiked with a bicycle.

The last short story comes at the end of a long trip through Zimbabwe and Botswana on one of our month long holidays. Pat and I were beat, and really so looking forward to getting back 'home' to Zimbabwe, because it was a lovely place at the time with wonderful people. We had camped at a campground and I had had a migrane, so again, we were just wiped. We stood on the side of the road for a while and noone stopped. We were kind of despairing when a Mercedes pulled up driven by a white guy, boom boom from music coming through the windows and he offered us a ride through the rest of Botswana into mid Zimbabwe. He was like an angel from heaven. It's also memorable because I was a little nervous getting into the car since the song that was playing was some Fleetwood Mac song that just had a really sexy beat - dont' know which song - and I was to sit on the front seat with the guy. But everything turned out ok, and again, we sat in luxury most of the way home.

I must say I really like hitchhiking.

Not Surprising but Oh So Sad - Zimbabwe

HARARE, Zimbabwe (AP) -- Pets are being slaughtered for meat in shortage-stricken Zimbabwe and record numbers of animals have been surrendered to shelters or abandoned by owners no longer able to feed them, animal welfare activists say.

The National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals said it could not feed surrendered animals or find them new homes and was being forced to kill them and destroy the corpses.

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Yeah, the media is blowing the issue up to get ratings, but in this case I don't mind. More attention needs to be paid to what is going on in Zimbabwe and get Mugabe out of there. I have a photo that I recently enlarged of twin boys on a bus out in the rural areas of Zimbabwe - It's so sad to wonder if they are still alive. They would be about 20 years old now.

The Cockroach Story

My boyfriend at the time and I spent a year together in Zimbabwe teaching. We were supposed to be placed in a rural school, but at the last minute were relocated to a school for disabled refugees and excombatants (refugees from S. Africa, Mozambiqe, and Namibia, and excombatants from Zimbabwe) just outside of Harare, the capital city. We had a nice place to live - with a real bathroom, electricity, and even a small fridge! Much more hoity toity than it would have been in a rural school.

Now, we certainly had cockroaches in our kitchen area. It SUCKED when big flying ones came in (screams abounded from me), but luckily they didn't appear too often. Smaller, nonflying ones did however appear frequently on the counters or on the top of the fridge. Whenever we'd come home at night, one of use would have a newspaper, and the other would stay by the light switch by the door. The one with the newspaper would move stealthfully to the kitchen area, the light would be turned on, and BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! We would kill as many cockroaches as we could before they skittered away into nooks and crannies.

But we lived with them.

One weekend we went to visit some friends who were starting a school in Harare. They had been cleaning up the building, and it was empty except for them. We had dinner and stayed overnight. As we were cooking dinner, I noticed there was some powder on the floor along the walls, and asked what it was for. "Oh, we have a small problem with cockroaches." I think I made some kind of smart-assed comment, like, what, you afraid of a few cockroaches, and forgot about it.

Getting ready for bed, we were shown a room with a mattress on the floor. I think I asked about the cockroaches and we were told, oh, it's fine, they don't climb up on things. Ok, fine.

Turned off the light, and went to sleep. We were fast asleep on the mattress and suddenly my boyfriend jumped up with a start. Turned on the light and saw the cockroaches scattering for the nooks and crannies in the room. We looked at each other, not daring to say anything out loud, but finally he said that he thought a cockroach ran across his face. !!!

Very quickly we decided to leave the light on to keep the cockroaches away, and to take turns sleeping. Since he had had a cockroach run across his face, I offered to take first shift. And he fell asleep. And I was left in the silence alone with the cockroaches.

All of them.

At first the light kept them away - they stayed in their nooks and crannies.

Then they became bold and started coming out, even though the light was on. At first when I waved my hand, they'd skitter back to their hiding places.

But then that technique started to not work as well. So I lifted my pillow and waved that - bigger is better. And that worked for a little bit.

Finally they didn't care what I was waving - they knew they weren't going to die. And they slowly came out, not caring that I was there since they'd survive a nuclear war and I wouldn't, their antennae moving around, their tiny little brains thinking - how can I best get onto that mattress and crawl all over their bodies?

Needless to say, I was reaching my limit. And to keep my mind off the cockroaches, I started peeling skin off my recently-sunburned arms. Got one good piece, rolled it up, and threw it across the room.

A cockroach ran over, picked up the ball of flesh in its mouth, and started eating.

I lost it.

Hysterical and exhausted, I woke up my boyfriend and blabbered that we could NOT stay in that room. I was so hysterical that I think he actually had to slap me in the face (not too hard) to calm down enough to be willing to walk across the room and open the door. We knew that there was a room across the hall that had tables and a chair, and we thought we would sleep sitting up in that room, since we had been told cockroaches don't climb up on things.

Closing Scene: Light from our room falls onto the door of the room across the hall. My boyfriend opens the door, and the light falls upon the closest chair, upon which a cockroach sits. [cue WeeWeeWee Hitchcock music]

We slept outside on the ground.
And it rained on us.
And I got some sleep.
And no cockroaches on my face.

Postscript: The next care package my oldest brother sent included rubber cockroaches. Of course.

Alas, dear Zimbabwe

One thing I haven't written about in this blog yet is Zimbabwe. I spent the year 1989 there, and have many tales to tell about that time. At that time, it was still a prosperous nation, full of friendly, intelligent people with gorgeous landscape and amazing resources. When travelling I was always happy to return 'home' to Zimbabwe.

Now, it is practically a wasteland due to the horrible inability of its dictator to let go of power. (Actually, even in 1989 there were the beginnings of crushing of dissent.) I did a brief search to find out some current news from the country, and found this great great site - Robert Mugabe's home page. So friggin' funny. In a very sad way.