The Big Hole

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The day before, in the early morning, we had made reservations for the train to Kimberley. The ticket office should have opened at 9am. At 9:30, finally, some people appeared behind the ticket booths. Eight people were waiting to buy tickets and, in the evening on the train, these turned out to be the exact people who had made reservations for the trip to Kimberley. Busy busy busy.

The train ride was pleasant. It's a pity traveling by train isn't really the done thing in South Africa since relatively few trains make any of the long hauls that make train travel so appealing. For example, the Pretoria to Cape town train only runs once a day and the Cape Town to Durban only once a week! However, compared to the much more popular (and more expensive) bus connections, the trains are much, much more comfortable, although the network of tracks is rather limited. Then again, many of the trains have a BJ's on board, one of the many fast food chains operating in South Africa.

We arrived early, around 5am, and had a coffee and a sandwich before calling a taxi. I had called the hostel the day before and had asked which taxi service to use. When the taxi guy arrived, he told us he had been waiting for us but had gone to sleep when we didn't call right after the train had arrived. Yes, Kimberley is very much a village.
While hanging around at the train station, another fellow, Chris, had come up to us, asking if he could help with anything. We started talking and he invited us to visit his shop, a huge Fruit & Veg, right next to The Big Hole, the one thing Kimberley is famous for.
We stopped by the next day and were welcomed by Chris and a huge bag of bananas and it seemed he was going to give us half the shop if we hadn't stopped him. He also introduced us to a colleague of him, who was married to the granddaughter of one of the original 'De Beers'.

De Beers, the diamond conglomerate everyone loves to hate was founded by Cecil Rhodes, after he had bought out the brothers De Beer and sent them off to greener pastures with only a handful of pounds. He started digging on site almost immediately, after founding the company and naming it after the two farmers who had just left.
Meeting the husband of De Beers' granddaughter meant that Cecil John Rhodes is only four degrees away from me, which probably makes all the world's royalty available within six!

On what was the De Beers farm, nothing now remains but 'The Big Hole'. And big it is. Hand dug, 22 MILLION TONS of dirt were removed, to uncover only some 2500 kilograms of diamonds. The perimeter of the hole is almost two kilometers and it's over a kilometer deep. I vowed never to spend money on De Beers (they're nothing short of criminals), but we had to pay to get a good view of the hole. Well, so be it.

Some laughs for our Dutch friends

Afrikaans, at times, can remind you of some of the strange constructs the Flemish use. Here are some of the nicer ones:

Computer – Rekenaar
Keyboard – Sleutelbord
Scooter – Bromponie
Blacks – Krulhaarvrienden (well, not really Afrikaans, but funny)
Lift – Hijser
High school – Hoerschool
Dynamite – Plofstof
Air conditioning – Lugversorg
Baboon – Bobbejaan

Boer history

Before heading out, by train, to Kimberley, I really wanted to visit Pretoria. When arriving by bus from Zimbabwe, we had noticed Pretoria being a much friendlier city than Johannesburg and it also looked nice.
Yesterday, we had asked several of the bus companies operating from the main train station in Johannesburg, what time buses would leave from Pretoria. We didn't get very far, the most concrete piece of information being 'they leave every half hour or so'. When we arrived this morning, at around 9am, we were told we had to wait till after 11am for the next bus to Pretoria, only some 50 kilometers away. Trains, as it seems, aren't an option, since the long distance trains only run once a day and the commuter trains are riddled with crime, so we were told.

We ended up renting a car for the day. More expensive than a bus, but much faster, and it would allow us to see much more of Pretoria.
Parliament is as European a building as you'll ever get and the gardens in front of parliament appear to have been transported straight from the English countryside. Church square, downtown Pretoria, is really nice with all the turn-of-the-century architecture and the odd old-Dutch building (but what's up with, always, these black people hogging the grass by lying down flat faced).

The most interesting location in Pretoria is the 'Voortrekkers monument', a monument dedicated to the Boers who left the Cape colony to explore the innards of the dark continent. The monument reminded me of the Volkerschlachtdenkmal in Leipzig.
Inside, along the walls, is the story of the Boers, laid out in marble, while on the ground floor, there's a symbolic grave for all the Boers who died for their South Africa. Climbing to the top, you can see both capitol hill and Johannesburg, on a clear day. Apparently, South African government still requires for there to be a clear line of sight between the monument and capitol hill. In the past, this was so that the country's rulers would not forget their heritage and what these people had fought for.

Inside Soweto

We had to get up early to join a safari, I mean tour, of Soweto, the mother of all townships. Winter (European summer) is not high season in South Africa, and we got our first taste of how relative quiet South Africa in winter is, when our tour bus was empty, except for Betsy and myself and, of course, the driver cum tourguide.
On top of it being winter, however, Jo'burg isn't a tourist hot spot either. In fact, most tourists avoid the city completely for its high crime rates.

Before heading down to Soweto, we drove around downtown Johannesburg which, as I said, resembled an American ghetto. Dirty streets, chaos, tons of black people on the streets, many of them selling small stuff on the sidewalks.
During the years after abolishing apartheid, downtown Jo'burg has slowly emptied out. Activities now almost only limit themselves to the ground floor of the many sky scrapers in the CBD, the Central Business District. The most stunning example is the Carlton hotel in downtown Jo'burg. 800 rooms in a now completely empty building do nothing but wait for posterity. The hotel isn't 'not occupied', it's completely empty. All business have moved to the suburbs, leaving something more akin to a ghost town. The few businesses that still operate from downtown Jo'burg are all black and pay a measly 100 USD per month for some 100 square meters.
Whites, as a rule, don't venture downtown anymore, so I almost had to force Betsy to walk through the area with me after our tour of Soweto. We were dropped off in front of the Museum Africa by our tour guide and, after a reasonable walk around the museum, which housed a temporary exhibit of excellent political cartoons from the last ten years, we walked to the train station. Nothing happened and I didn't feel that uncomfortable, but I could see how the apparent chaos can scare people off.

Soweto was a surprise. Apparently, twenty percent of the houses in Soweto are considered upper class. This means these people own two or more cars, have houses that look like small castles and have a staff of maybe five to maintain their lodgings. Sixty percent are middle class. Relatively small dwellings, however all with their own, small, plot of land and, most of them, with running water and electricity. The middle class areas are home, too, to some of the whites living in Soweto. The remaining twenty percent, lower class housing, is what you generally see of Soweto, or any township for that matter, when you're abroad and watching the news: homes made of scrap metal, cardboard and iron plates with no plumbing and no electricity. In what, I suppose, made perfect sense, only black pigs were roaming these areas.
However, conditions have improved immensely over the past ten years although, still, poor blacks arrive at the townships in droves in search for jobs and money. Interestingly, where most of the poor blacks try to survive from one odd job to the next, the poor whites tend to have degenerated to mere beggar status.

In Soweto, we visited Mandela's old house, which has been turned into a tacky museum by his ex-wife Winnie and stopped by at Tutu's house, who still lives in Soweto, although his dwelling can now only be called VERY luxurious. We also saw Winnie's current residence, as well as another house, still owned by her, where, over ten years ago, Stompie Seipei was murdered in her garage.
The Hector Pieterson museum, as a memorial to the 1976 uprising in response to a government decision to educate only in Afrikaans, was well set up and, I suppose, moving. Also, Soweto is home to the largest hospital on the southern hemisphere.

We had planned to dine in Melville, but we were unsuccessful. We stayed at home, ordering something through Mr. Delivery, a very convenient delivery service, through which you can order from many restaurants in the area (who don't deliver) and have it sent to your door for a minimal fee.

A real country?

It was already quite obvious that, compared to most if not all other African countries, South Africa is a REAL country. That is, a country where 'us westerners' could actually easily feel at home. Still, many small things could still use improvement. Some examples: the ticket office at the train station closed at 12:30, on a Saturday. After that, reservations were impossible. Calling in being no option either, since the office was now closed. Also, bus time tables appear to be non-existent.

A new country

The night before, we had to wait till 12am for the bus to Johannesburg to arrive in Masvingo. Although it was much on schedule, my problem with the bus service was its arrival time and its arrival location, a gas station some six kilometers out of town. If, for whatever reason, the bus wouldn’t show up, where could we go?
We first had dinner and some drinks at the Chevron hotel, before arranging the most feeble excuse for a car as a taxi to the gas station where we found a 24/7 Wimpy’s.
In the past, the Greyhound bus used to depart from the Chevron hotel. Recently, the bus stop had been moved to Shell City for ‘security reasons’. The bus itself was quite good, even at European standards. In fact, in the morning, we even got to watch a DVD. Which movie it was we got shown I don’t know, whenever the bus accelerated, the screen fogged over. We still had the soundtrack, though.

I had called ahead for place to stay in Jo’burg and had found that the Lonely Planet was wildly inaccurate in relation to accommodation prices, being some 60% off, at times. The place we finally ended up at also gave me the number of the taxi service we should call upon arrival. Taxis waiting at the bus station, so I was told, tended to increase their prices five-fold upon arrival at your destination.

Impressions

Driving through Pretoria on our way to Jo’burg, the city gave me the impression of a friendly suburb of some huge metropolis. Jo’burg, on the other hand, appeared to be a cross between a British industrial town and an American ghetto.

Our lodge was in ‘Wellington’, a very English suburb of Jo’burg. With a significant collection of books, a swimming pool, three cats, good rooms and the vibrant Wellington nearby, it was a nice place to stay.

Great Zimbabwe

It appears there are two types of visitors to Great Zimbabwe. There’s a group of people who are awed and very impressed by the site and there’s a group who find the stories a bit overrated. I belong to the latter. Sure, the stone ruins, built entirely without mortar, are reasonably impressive but, besides The Great Enclosure, to me most of the ruins just looked like a neat stack of bricks.

We toured the grounds with a reasonably good but too talkative, guide, Philip, we had picked up at the Great Zimbabwe Hotel. Apparently, over the last couple of years, almost the only people still staying here are South Africans on organized tours, visiting Victoria Falls, Matopos and Great Zimbabwe in one go. Nevertheless, when leaving, we managed to get a ride with a Zimbabwean couple traveling Zimbabwe on their honeymoon.

Getting there, we had taken a commuter from the edge of town, which was one of the worst commuter rides in my life. Although this one bus was a bit bigger than the commuters that drive through Harare, it’s easy to see why the popular name for these vehicles is ‘chicken bus’: people transport everything with these buses but, for some reason, there always seem to be several chickens on board.
It was so busy, I had to stand but, as the bus filled up, I slowly had to bend backwards more and more for luggage that had trapped my feet and people with backpacks or bags being pushed towards the end of the bus by others embarking. The whole ride, I made a 60 degree angle with the floor. Well, as they say, there’s always room for one more in a chicken bus.

From the commuter stop to Great Zimbabwe is still a couple of kilometers, so we broke our journey at the Great Zimbabwe Hotel, where we had a well deserved coffee and snacks. Almost immediately, a baboon came down from one of the trees and started circling us. Soon, however he left. Then I went inside to arrange our guide. I heard a scream and walked outside, to have Betsy tell me the baboon just had jumped up to her, had stolen the small packs of sugar we got with our coffee and had run of quickly. Apparently, this other baboon at Betsy’s table, now gone, was reason the baboon took it easy earlier on.

Southern Africa tour

Darlington was going to drop us of at Mbare bus station. For some reason, some days before, he had, temporarily, changed his battered Renault 4 for a newer but less sturdy Daewoo. It meant that we had to wait a while before leaving, Darlington first having to fix the cooling system of the car.

If you’ve ever been to an African bus station, you know about the chaos. Mbare was no exception. It took a while before we found the ‘platform’ to Masvingo where three big buses were waiting to fill up. After some deliberation, we selected the least dirty one.
I was expecting to have to wait hours for the bus to fill up but to my surprise, ours was the first to leave, before it was even half full. A pleasant surprise, considering how packed a bus these people are still comfortable with.

Great Zimbabwe

Our first stop was going to be Masvingo, close to Great Zimbabwe. Great Zimbabwe are the largest ruins in Africa south of the Egyptian pyramids. Masvingo, however, is uninspiring. We stayed at the Backpackers rest, a hostel run by Zimbabweans in ‘downtown’ Masvingo. Mildly clean but cheap and a mini English breakfast was included in the price. When, in our room, we opened the curtains, we stared right into the next room, a dorm for girls who all wanted to use the bathroom at the same time, before going to bed later in the evening, running around and screaming like a bunch of headless chickens.
Basically your only other option in town is the Chevron hotel, no doubt built in the 70s with too much dark wood, a sterile environment and way too expensive, but with an affordable bar and a reasonable restaurant where some arcane leftover sign still forbids shorts and slippers after 7pm. It’s where we waited the next evening, after visiting Great Zimbabwe, before heading out to Shell City, some six kilometers out of town, from where our bus to Johannesburg would depart, just before 12 at night.

We made it our first priority to arrange our departure, obtaining bus tickets for the next leg of our journey. Walking on the street, a young schoolgirl asked if we were, perhaps, willing to sponsor her. She was carrying a tattered piece of paper with a small list of people who had given her some money to get through school or by stationary: 50 dollars, 100 dollars, another 50 dollars. One euro, then, was worth some 6500 Zim dollars. I gave the girl 500 dollars, some 8 cents, and she thanked me by making a little bow and clapping in her hands.

Earlier, the girl posing as receptionist at the Backpackers rest, told us we could get tickets at ‘the Pink Pigeon’, something of a chicken restaurant, very close to the hostel. Inside, we asked a waiter about this and were directed to a table, occupied by what looked like four huge thugs eating rice and chicken. They turned out to be bus drivers and we could leave immediately for Johannesburg if we wanted to.
Still wanting to visit Great Zimbabwe, we thanked them and decided to go for the slightly more organized option of getting our ticket at the towns (only) travel agent.

And finally…

Before I even arrived in Zimbabwe, I was promised a PC upon arrival. I had to struggle for some four weeks before I could actually use one. Way before I arrived, the SRC had already planned to buy new PCs for some of the workers. Nothing had ever come of that. That is, until this morning when, at 10, authorisation was given to buy PCs and network cards for the old PCs. I laughed hard and told them that, with me leaving in only a couple of hours, buying the PCs was pointless.
They did buy the network cards which arrived somewhere after lunch. Late, so I only had time to install two of them. The rest of the cards. Well. Whatever.

I said my goodbyes to everyone and some didn’t even know I was leaving. Great internal communication.

I also talked to the lady from HR. Only last Thursday did she come up with the shortlisted candidates for my ‘counterpart’, a position that should have been filled more than two months ago, after the original counterpart got fired. After having gone through the shortlist myself and selecting the candidates that had potential, she had called them yesterday to invite them over for an interview. None of them was interested. The salaray and package was, they said, way below par.
In fact, when I returned to say hi-bye a bit over a month later, Greens, the fellow who had some low-ranking job at the SRC but a keen interest in computers, had been transferred to take over from me. Sadly, his (mine) computer had been moved to Bulawayo and no one knew what needed to be done.

The evening was enjoyable. Together with some hashers, Ivor and a whole bunch of locals, we watched Germany and Holland fight it out during one of the opening games of Euro 2004. The Germans scored first and Betsy and I were afraid we were starting to look like fools, dressed in orange and waving flags and all. Thankfully, they equalised the score a while later.
It was good to see Lovemore also at the Keg. Lovemore’s working at UTI, the company Betsy and I are shipping our statues with back to Holland.

Different workers

Lounging around the lodge, waiting for my contract to end, I started talking to one of the other guests. Roderick, South African but living in Swaziland was on his way back from Lumumbashi, in the DRC, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, going into South Africa.

Not a tourist, he spent six weeks there trying to buy precious stones. Inbetween violent clashes on the streets, he was offered, on those same streets, diamonds by the hand full. But he wasn’t going for diamonds. He had to spend some days at the DRC – Zambia border to find the right people to pay off so that he could pass with his truck and 90.000 USD worth of cobalt. He was now slightly worried about his next leg, going into South Africa where big trucks get pushed off the road by truck-jackers.
If I’m not mistaken, cobalt is the stuff that ends up in all our cell phones and is about as valuable, if not more, as gold.

Meanwhile, some Spanish and Canadian guests have arrived in the lodge as well. They are going to work in Zimbabwe, harvesting grain.
Fucked up or what?

The morning after

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During the weekend, we were staying at the very nice Lomagundi Lakeside Association's lodges, right on the lakeshore. We had to self cater for food, but a well stocked bar was selling everything at reasonable prices. Not, of course, did that stop me from bringing in some whiskey and vodka.

Nor, for that matter, did it stop Trent from stripping on the dancefloor and doing an invigorating dance on the bar the previous night.

The run was nice and short and made even more enjoyable by a long beer stop at Warthogs, a backpackers camp close to the lodges we were staying at.
The short run was livened up by elephants, again. This time, two smaller ones were blocking our entry into Warthogs.

On our way back, we were nicely surprised by elephant, zebra, kudu and several other wild animals on our way.

A mongoose called Trixie

During recovery of last night’s binge and before today’s run, on which Tanya started hyperventilating and we got chased away by an elephant answering Don’s call, we visited a friend of Steve’s who had the most beautiful view on the lake and a cool mongoose for a pet.
A mongoose is a rodent which thinks it’s a cat and whenever it claims something, like your shoe, or your hand, it will not let go. It bit my nose.

After Steve’s friend, the 10, or was it 12, of us, sitting like blacks in the back of a bakkie, we drove down to the dam wall, where we had to hand over our passports before being alowed on it.

Due to aging Zim hashers and a serious case of party the previous night, today’s dressup was a bit of a non-starter, although Multiple Orgasm did her best by swinging around with a nice looking copy of male genitals.
Still, Trent went totally nuts, dressed up as a cross between John McEnroe and Jimmy Hendrix, though we were lucky he only discovered his mistake the next morning.

Zim-Zim at Kariba

Today, we left for a three day drinking fest on the shores of lake Kariba. It’s a hash weekend, meaning there’ll be lots of drinking, some running, a good dress-up party on Saturday night and loads of gossip.

My main issue with the weekend was having to get up at 6:30 for Snowy (the GM) to drive us down to Kariba. Since the northern end of Kariba lake is located on the edge of a nature reserve, there would be a reasonable chance for us to spot some wildlife. The only wildlife we got to see was Betsy, sleeping in the back of the car.

Since all Zim hashers had been really looking forward to this weekend, we all partied like hell on the Friday, resulting in everyone drinking so much and partying till late that some people were to drunk to realise that Stonehenge did not have sex with his niece, visiting from England for the occasion.

We stayed at the very nice Lomagundi Lakeside Association. I was expecting bunk beds in near-hostel conditions. We got quite luxurious 4 person cabins with double beds.

Is that a bird in your pocket…?

After purchasing the last couple of statues yesterday, to make up one cubic metre, Betsy and I today brought them to Ocean & Air to have them packed and crated up for shipment to the Netherlands.

We’ve mostly bought small statues but I splurged on some larger ones too. Large, in this case, refers to statues between 20 and 50 cm in height.
At the warehouse, we saw some of the goods more seasoned traders are shipping accross the world. Loads and loads of huge, huge, HUGE statues.

Ach… you have to start somewhere…

Politics?

Last weekend was spent not doing much. On Saturday, Betsy and I bought some more statues and the Sunday was spent in the sun. There are some new guests in the lodge, one of whom is Victoire, an ‘African-American’ form Haitian decent who’s studying in New York to become an actor and is here to direct a play at some orphanage.

Ian Smith

On Saturday, Tony, a rather right wing American retired navy guy, left after staying only five days. He had managed to visit Ian Smith at home. Smith, still living in Harare was a very vocal opponent of the country’s government in the 80s and 90s but now lives a rather quiet life. No doubt, also because his farms are still his own.
Together with Pete, owner of the lodge, they visited the old man (85 years old!) on Thursday morning to learn about his take on the current situation in Zimbabwe. Maybe not surprisingly, Smith kept his cards close to his chest, although it’s admirable he had no problem with allowing the two man into his house.

MDC in Chimanimani

Pete and Rachel arrived in Harare last week after they encountered some heavy artillery in Chimanimani. Some two weeks ago, Roy Benett, an MDC (the opposition party) MP and the only white MP in parliament, was verbally abused in parliament by two ZANU-PF MPs. He was told that he would never set foot on his farm again (which has been repossessed, illegally, even according to Zimbabwe’s laws) and that his forefathers were thieves. After years of abuse, he was fed up and made moves to hand out some fine uppercuts, but didn’t succeed.

A day later ZANU-PF supporters were demonstrating against Benett’s behavior in front of the parliament building. It has happened in the past that demonstrations like this were set up by promising participants food and beer afterwards. Some of the Ozzies who were staying at the lodge got caught up in this demonstration and were spat at by some ‘friendly’ people.

Last week, things escalated in Chimanimani, were Rachel and Pete live and have their office right next to the MDC’s regional office. The, according to the government Herald newspaper, peaceful demonstration completely sacked and trashed the office, before locking all whites in the region into their houses, kidnapping an old Finnish lady, marching her through the streets and forcing her to clean up the completely ransacked MDC offices on all fours. The peaceful demonstrators were wearing t-shirts with the slogan ‘All whites out by 2005’. Some people are now fearing that that very slogan will be the theme of next years parliamentary elections.

Cash

The exchange rate has been reasonably stable over the last six weeks or so, roughly since we’ve been able to use ATM to get money. The Zimdollar has been hanging around 6300 to the euro.

However, Wayne, who’s working for a gold mining company, told me that, since he started working at the company, some three months ago, the government (they’re obliged to sell all gold to the state) has only paid them in brand new bills. This suggests that the Zimbabwean government is printing cash like madmen. Inflation, here we come…

Typical

When ICCO extended my stay for only two weeks, I felt a little bit sorry for the SRC. These people struggle to appear professional but mostly act like kids entrusted with tasks which are way above their heads. So I constantly have been suggesting ways to improve their business practices and, of course, it hasn’t helped much.

Some months ago, I arrived at my office to find the phone line to be disconnected for the SRC not paying its bills. One would think these people would learn from this and pay their bills on time. Not so. Today, I found my Internet connection no longer working, the account being cancelled. It wouldn’t surprise me if payments were never made at all.

Even more pecans

Got up terribly early today to go to the airport with Ivor. He was flying to Amsterdam and agreed to take some of our luggage with him, so that we don’t have to lug it around when we start touring the region in a couple of weeks.
It was a challenge: He was only allowed to take 23 kilograms and my luggage alone was already 25. Normally, these people can’t really be bothered, but soon after Ivor checked in, I joined the group of people re-ordering their luggage, moving as much as possible to hand luggage.

Nice nuts

When I arrived at the lodge, I was welcomed by huge bowls, filled to the brim with pecan nuts. Pete and Rachel had arrived earlier in the week and Pete decided it was time to enjoy a healthy share of nuts, climbing in the tree and thuroughly shaking it.
Now he wants to make pecan butter.

Project extension in Zimbabwe

Over the last three months, I’ve been working on a project with the Sport and Recreation Commission (SRC) of Zimbabwe, in Harare. If the SRC was going to behave ‘well’, the project was going to be extended to two years. Last week, ICCO, the Dutch organization funding my stay, decided no extension was in order. They decided that June 15th is going to be my last day at the office.
The SRC, I believe, still hope that somehow they’ll avert the crisis and that I’ll end up staying longer, I don’t think it’ll happen.

Over the past months, I observed a couple of things. Amongst others, they are…

The smell

Zimbabweans have a particular smell. In Mongolia, the locals smelled of mutton. Here, they smell of sadza ne nyama. It’s getting colder now, so people sweat less, meaning you can now occasionally smell the perfumes and after shaves people wear, but in summer… man! Traveling on a commuter can be a real challenge.

The noise

When people speak Shona, they speak much louder then when speaking English. Quite often, locals are hard to hear when they’re talking English. This has nothing to do with some inferiority complex, or whatever, when these people address foreigners or white people in general: they do it amongst themselves as well. However, when they speak Shona, the volume goes up a couple of notches.

In the lodge, this sometimes startles me. The maids, sometimes talking English with each other, almost whisper but switch to a very loud voice when switching to Shona.

The social contract

It has been observed by many people that in many African cultures, it’s all right to fool/steal from/harass some one, as long as the person is not part of your extended family. I believe this is because Africans, in general, don’t have a ‘social contract’ with society as a whole, but mostly only with their extended family.
In Europe, it’s mostly the other way around, you don’t have a social contract with your family much more than you have with society as a whole.

Examples are rife. Here in Zimbabwe, black people, when driving a car, generally don’t let pedestrians cross the road (black or white), at zebra crossings or anywhere else. At work, getting teamwork off the ground is a real challenge since people prefer, at all times, to only work on their own agenda. And don’t get me started on Zimbabwean politics… land reform for the rich.

The lack of a social contract with society as a whole poses significant problems for the development of a country, or for stopping the continuous depredation of a country, as is the case in Zimbabwe. In fact, this might very well be the main reason why so many African countries have done so badly over the past decades.

Getting some art

We bought some crafts today. Statues, masks, animals and more. Since you always have to haggle and haggle a lot, it was a very tiring day, but we got off pretty well, I think. A shame one of the bigger statues was damaged on our way back to the lodge.

We started at Mukuvisi woodlands, were some of the game wardens were doing a dance and singing a song to try and convince all present to preserve Zimbabwe’s wildlife. Later, we went to Enterprise road where truckloads of statues are lined up to try and get tourists and locals alike to buy, buy, buy.

Another Zimbabwean trashing

After buying some goodies at the Avondale market, we went down to Harare Sports Club to witness another good Zimbabwean trashing, this time by the Australian cricket team.
If you’re only a marginal fan of cricket, you still have to have lived outside of this solar system to have missed the news on Zimbabwean cricket from the last couple of months. Fifteen white players withdrew or got kicked out, depending on whose version you believe, after they refused to play when the Zimbabwean Cricket Union (ZCU) decided that the national Zimbabwean cricket team needed to consist of a minimum of 50% blacks, regardless of their past performance. This resulted in a truly crappy team playing Sri Lanka some weeks ago.

Although initially the International Cricket Union (ICU) claimed the issues surrounding Zimbabwean cricket were internal and of no relevance to the ICU, they somehow changed their position and, last week, demanded changes to the Zimbabwean cricket team. Suddenly, five of the fifteen players were asked to return, but in the end only two came back.
Nevertheless, the ICU made sure the two test matches were to be canceled, so they ended up only playing the three ODIs, in which Zimbabwe was, well, humiliated.

Not that it had any effect on the mood at Harare Sports Club this Saturday, during the third and last ODI. Nice and warm (in the sun, at least), we enjoyed drinks and food while some people were throwing bowls at each other on some grassy pitch close to where we were sitting.

Game over man, game over

Yes, you read it here first. The game, is over. Over the past three months, I’ve been sending out bi-weekly updates (that’s one every two weeks) to ICCO, reporting on the goings on at the SRC. Last week, I wrote a pretty damning evaluation with the suggestion of extending my stay a couple of months, to allow for an overlap with the expected IT officer which was supposed to become my counterpart.
ICCO, however, decided letting me stay on for a couple of months didn’t serve any real purpose and wasn’t justified by what has happened over the past months. In two weeks time, my contract ends. I. Am. Out. Of. Here.

I appreciate the extension. It allows for us to go on a Hash trip to Kariba in two weeks time. After that, our course of action will depend on how much money we’ll have in the banks. If nothing, we’ll fly back immediately, if a bit, we’ll stop by Nampula in Mozambique before heading to Malawi and possibly flying back home from there. If a lot, we’ll visit South Africa before going to Mozambique and Malawi.

Although I never really expected the project to get extended to a two year assignment, the fact that it didn’t even get extended for a couple of months did surprise me. No one within the SRC has even a mild understanding of IT, so after investing 30 million (US$5000) in a network, they’ll have a very hard time operating it within no one there to maintain it. A bit of a bummer for these people, but then again, it’s also largely their own fault.
Almost on a daily basis, I was asked what needed to be done next in relation to the SRC’s IT ‘strategy’. Every time, I had to tell them I wrote it down in a report that detailed all the necessary steps to grow from a collection of stand alone PCs to a networked environment with shared Internet access and an information system accessible from within and without the organization. I wrote the document two months ago and it was supposedly read by management (and they are the ones who mostly ask me what’s next). Then, I go on to tell them what it is that needs to be done next. Every time, nothing happened.

Yesterday, after hooking up a PC onto the network, minutes later, the owner walked into my office. If I could put some music on the network. Today, another individual did the same thing. Surprising how that’s the first thing they thought about when being able to connect to each others PCs over the network.

And then…

Yeah, and then what? Well, nothing’s certain, but ICCO is looking into posting me somewhere else. There are two projects, so it seems, which currently loosely fit my profile, but both projects still have to be approved by ICCO. One is in Honduras. One is in… Afghanistan.

Meanwhile, Betsy and I are looking into buying hand made arts and crafts here in Zimbabwe, shipping it out to the Netherlands and selling it over there, at, of course, huge profits. To keep us busy, you know. And since I have no more clients back in the Netherlands (remember, I was supposed to stay here for two years), I probably will need the money badly.

Say cheese

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When trying to wake up early, Betsy turned out to have a mild case of food poisoning. On hearing this, Bart immediately stated that it couldn't possibly have been caused by the food they served at the lodge, although Betsy did mention it tasted funny at the time.
The food, like the lodge, is good, but expensive and one of the few places in Zimbabwe where you don't get a mountain of chew stacked on your plate.

We ended up driving to the foot of Leopard Rock, where a nice hotel and, apparently, one of the best golf courses of Africa and the Middle East try to convince willing tourists into spending even more money in the region. This while tourism has all but died in this area, where out of the 20+ lodges only few still operate.

Nevertheless, I did convince Betsy we had to drive down to the Vumba cheese farm, on the border with Mozambique. The trip was a bit of a trial and although we had to stop occasionally so that Betsy could answer the call of nature, the farm was interesting. Run quite professionally by a white couple ("I don't know how long we'll still have the farm"), they make exceptionally good cheese, of which I bought a kilogram for the road. A pity that, as it seems, in a few months, after this farm too will be repossessed (a second farm the couple owned had already been repossessed by government), no more Vumba cheese will hit the market.

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