The view

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We were stupefied by the amazing view from the balcony of the lodge, looking out over mount Inyangani and the Honde valley, with Mozambique in the distance.

John had tried to talk me into fly fishing and wanted to get up early. But after rise and shine at 7am, it lasted until 9:30 before we finally left. The alcohol of the previous night had taken it's toll on John.
At the tiny lake, John tried to get me enthusiastic about fly fishing. Wayne didn't succeed in doing this on our first trip to the Eastern Highlands and John didn't do any better. I wizzed the line back and forth a couple of times and then took out my book to read.
John, however, was unable to stop. Talking to the fishes, his line, his rod (huhuhuh, he said 'rod') and the water, the man was busy for hours. Thank god he ended up with two nice trout.
After a lunch of grilled trout, we headed off to Mutare, were John crossed the border into Mozambique and we headed down to Vumba.

Again, we had left too late, so we arrived at Ndundu lodge shortly after sunset. The place, although expensive, is run by a Dutch/Belgian couple and is sweet, resembling a southern German guest house, reminiscent of the Grimm fairy tales.
Again we staid up late, this time downing not even one bottle of rum, talking about Bart (the Dutchman) and my funny taste of music.

Another Eastern Highlands trip

We spent another weekend in the Eastern Highlands this weekend. Again, last minute, the plan changed. Originally, we were going to Lake Kariba (again). This time, we were going to rent a houseboat, but when our group grew to 14 people and they found out the boat only housed 8, we were amongst the people that got booted off the trip.
Still, we wanted to see Vumba, Mutare and Chimanimani, so we opted for another trip east. Earlier this week, John had stopped by at the lodge to say goodbye before heading off to Mozambique and he suggested a nice place to stay up in the mountains of Nyanga national park. We (Betsy, John and myself) left a bit late and arrived just after sunset. We ended up downing a bottle of rum and a bottle of cognac in front of the fire, courtesy of Nyasha, the caretaker, who hadn’t had anyone visit the place in months, so was happy to, after so long a time, chat to people again.

Cats and a daylight mugging

The lodge has three rather permanent residents: Jimmy, Nook and Misty, all cats. Nook and Misty came with the property, but Jimmy came with Darlington, the manager.
Last Sunday, I realized that Jimmy had been gone for at least two days, possibly longer and I have to admit, I had started to get worried. Over the next couple of days, we went through every nook and cranny at the lodge, but didn’t find the cat. We could do nothing much but wait.

Then, today, he suddenly arrived again. Thin as a board and with some nasty wounds on one of his back paws. Luckily, nothing was broken and by the end of the day, he was already starting to very, very slowly move around a little bit. He know walked like Nook, the Sarah of the three at 16 years, blind in one eye and no longer with a tail.

Misty is the queen of the cat population at the lodge. Only a couple of years younger than Nook and half persian, she acts very regal and only gets petted if she explicitly wants to get petted.

Mugging

During HIFA, some other guests at the lodge were John and Semia. He’s Zimbabwean but living in Mozambique, she’s half German, half Tunisian, living in Germany. They’re getting married early next year and were now enjoying Harare. Several times, we went out together.

Today, John had come back from South Africa. Semia had left for Germany last week and now John’s about to move back to Mozambique again.
When he pulled up to the lodge, no-one was there to open the gate, so he got out of his car to do it himself. Just then, four guys got out of a vehicle that was approaching him from the opposite direction and tried to grab his bag from the car. A fight ensued, John was able to get his bag back, while his phone fell on the floor. They grabbed his phone and ran off.

Most likely, they had been following him around, to see where he’d go. Although John’s Zimbabwean, he’s driving a Mozambican car.
Last year Bowas, a friend of Darlington, had his car hijacked right in front of the lodge’s gate. It was found, several months later, in Malawi. It took him months to get it back again.

Harare tree signs

If you’ve ever visited Zimbabwe, you’ve seen them: Signs nailed to trees advocating anything from ‘The Finest Treecutters’ to ‘Abortion Hurts Families”.

Since I’m not always that busy over here, in Harare, I spent some time collecting pictures of these signs.

Lion and cheetah park

Going down to the Lion and Cheetah park, close to Lake Chivero, we were entertained by lions, monkeys, civet cats (I don't think we ended up with SARS) and a giant turtle. Tommy, the turtle, is close to 300 years(!!!) old and walks like how you would think a three hundred year-old should walk. If you scratch his chin, he's willing to wait and enjoy the petting.

I was allowed to enter the lion's den on foot and petted a real, life-size, lion. However, when it started waiving its paws at me, possibly to play, I made sure he wouldn't hit me with them.
No such issues with the cubs with which we also got to play. Lots of fun and they really are like big cats.

Later, we also visited Snake World, close to the Lion and Cheetah park. Enjoyable enough, but not great. Although we had some fun interaction with an Egyptian cobra, who appeared to have enjoyed inserting his teeth in our not-so-willing necks.

Domboshawa cave

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Last night, we went down to Westgate shopping center, to watch 'Cold Mountain', a mediocre movie at best, where Renee Zellweger, in a supporting role, steals the show. In the parking lot, locals were collecting the many locusts jumping and flying around for frying and eating. Apparently, they're tasty.

We saw more of the countryside today by going down to Domboshawa cave, not far from Harare. A short walk over a kopje gets you to the cave, where you can see some rock paintings of people, elephants, deer, rhinos and more.

On our way back, we stopped at the Spar at Borrowdale Brook. Borrowdale Brook is one of the more exclusive neighborhoods and a gated community. This Spar (there are currently about 75 Spars in Zimbabwe) opened its doors only in April and is amazing. Besides selling ready made food from large and shiny copper pans, they have a very extensive pastry selection, foreign wines, whiskeys and cigars. Lots of fresh and frozen fish and good chocolate (a true rarity in this country). And everything was amazingly clean. Also quite a rarity in this country.

In the evening, we got lucky. Some AVs (Africa Volunteers) had arrived and Darlington made dinner for them, which we were allowed to enjoy too.

Late

Ivor pointed me to an interesting news story on www.sportanddev.org. There is mention there of a 'new' sports information center at the SRC office in Harare, financed by Canada. Although the sports information center was indeed financed largely by Canada, only some of the facilities mentioned in the article are actually available. What's even funnier, the website cites www.zimsport.org.zw (the SRC website) as the source of the article. However, the center was established about a year ago already.

Network!

Yep, there is a network at the SRC office now. This contractor has been struggling over the past three weeks, but it appears to be working. Thirtythree access points.
Now, since there are only about five PCs with a network card, we have to wait for the new PCs to arrive. This can take a while, since they were supposed to have been bought before I arrived in Zimbabwe.

Driehoek koelie koekkie

If you *can* read Dutch, the above refers to a samosa. Andrew enlightened me with the frase last night, after the hash, getting stone drunk at Da Vinci’s, a reasonably classy bar at Sam Levy’s village in Borrowdale.

Repo man

Mugabe is the good ol’ repo man again. Last Friday’s Herald had a list of some 150 farms which, too, are now up for grabs.

Counterpart

My counterpart quit her job on April first and, finally, the SRC managed to get an ad in Sunday’s ‘Sunday Mail’. It appears they want to get a highly qualified individual without paying a reasonable salary for the job.
What’s also interesting is this. One guy who works at the SRC as something of a messenger boy actually has an IT degree. However, SRC hotshots didn’t want to internally move him around because ‘that would create a vacancy somewhere else’. Now, this guy will also apply for the job.
I counted 7 spelling or grammatical errors in the ad. Also, the candidate has to submit a handwritten application.

Some of them received a heroes welcome

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Ivor, my fellow Dutchie working at the SRC, helps with setting up the YES program, Youth Education through Sport. It's a bit of a mess (what isn't?) but this weekend saw the Harare-province's tournament, which has to come up with a team that will be sent to the regional (or was it national?) tournament, the Norway cup, where the team will be selected that will play soccer, representing Zimbabwe, in the international Norway cup in, you've guessed it, Norway. All players are under 16.
We arrived to a completely disorganized band of people. We were standing around, talking to some volunteers when a lady with a nice goatee walked up to us to show Ivor a kid with a cut on his head, as if to ask Ivor for money for treatment or a ride to the hospital. He made it clear we were not going to help and soon after, one of the vans left. With the kid and six of the volunteers, leaving about one of the volunteers on the grounds to oversee the soccer match.

Before heading back to town, we visited the not-so-impressive heroes acre where people like Mugabe's niece or others dying in car accidents get buried. We noticed four empty graves, undoubtedly waiting to filled up by that hero of heroes.

In the afternoon, we went down to The Phreckle et Phart (don't ask) to watch Dynamos vs. CAPS united, a soccer match. The 20 or so people hanging around in the bar seemed more dead than alive. However, as soon as the match started, everyone went nuts, dancing, gesturing wildly and taking their shirts off and on several times during the match.
CAPS won, two to one.

A Zimbabwean trashing

Friday night we drank till late, at the lodge. Emmie and Mike, two supposedly communist backpackers from the UK, were to leave early on Sunday so instead of struggling on a Sunday morning, we struggled collectively on a Saturday morning instead.

Saturday, Betsy and I walked over to the Harare sports club, were Sri Lanka was trashing Zimbabwe in the first of two test matches (I’m talking cricket here). We arrived around two in the afternoon and paid Z$5000 to get in. Less then fifteen minutes later, Zimbabwe’s resistance had fully broken and the day’s game was over. We opted for the very good food and drinks from the Keg and Maiden, a South African chain of English-style pubs.

We walked to the sports club so that I had ample opportunity to take pictures of my first batch of Harare tree signs. More about that later.

Lunar eclipse

We had a perfectly clear sky during the lunar eclipse, so there was a lot to see. A pity it was so cold: I had to wear a sweater.

Inflation

Inflation is on the rise. Late April, the two independent weeklies The Independent and Financial Gazette both increased their price from Z$3500 to Z$5000 (42%). On May 1st, the price of a commuter ride from Avondale to town rose from Z$500 to Z$700 (40%) and cinema tickets rose from Z$5000 to Z$7000 (40%). Shortly after I arrived, cinema tickets already had risen in price from Z$3500 to Z$5000, making it a 100% price increase in two months.

Network

At work, the network is being finalized. Two weeks ago, on a Friday, I was told the proposal for getting a network had to go past the tender board. Then, on the next Monday, the proposal suddenly didn’t have to go past the tender board and on Tuesday, a contractor had started building on the network. They said they’d be finished this week, but they’ll at least need one more week.

More HIFA

When I realized where Tuku was playing at HIFA, it was already too late. The venue only fitted about two hundred people and, instead of Friday’s show where he played with The Black Spirits, Sunday’s show at HIFA was The Oliver Mtukudzi Quartet; Tuku, a djembe player and two girls as backing vocals. Still, we were very, very lucky. When returning from another show, we bumped into Andre, the guy who runs Nyati travel. We started talking because we noticed we both spoke Dutch and although Henk (another Dutchie staying at the lodge whose son is buying and selling sculptures) knows him and talked to me about him, we hadn’t met him yet. Andre was so kind as to donate one of his complementary tickets for the Tuku show to us (Nyati travel sponsored HIFA this year) so we ran of to see the show.
After a bit of a struggle, we both were allowed in, only to experience the last song of Tuku’s show. We should have gotten tickets for this one.

The evening before, we had seen Ishmael Lo on the main stage of the festival. This West African artist was nice, but not spectacular. It only got interesting when Tuku performed a couple of songs with the man.
Earlier on the Saturday, we had seen Once Vaudeville, by Lone Wolf Tribe, the American performer Kevin Augustine. The show was very good and way to short. As the son of a great ventriloquist, the main character tries a show with his father’s now senile puppet that is larger than life. The show is an allegory of an artist’s and an era’s decline. The show was very well performed and very touching.
Later, we witnessed Andrew Buckland and his one-man-show Feedback. Buckland is an amazing performer but the story wasn’t as good as Buckland himself. The show charted the encounter between D’Earth Foodstuffs Multinational and Mother Myrth, where Mother Myrth is killed and the murder investigated by Brother Myrth and detective Deadly Serious. Buckland’s gargantuan performance was highlighted by him performing all (5 or so) characters, as well as personifying foodstuffs.

On the Sunday, our first show should have been African Macbeth. However, Pete had seen the show on Friday and thought it absolutely terrible so we opted for a long sleep instead. Enjoyable, since both on Saturday and Sunday, we had been woken early by a big group of 18-year-old girls who started chatting, giggling, screaming and moaning, both mornings, at 7am. Terrible, really.
So our first show was Mbirations, the trio of Werner Puntigam, Adam Chisvo and Klaus Hollinetz. Using an mbira and a sliding trumpet (‘schuiftrompet’ in Dutch) as centerpieces, they did a live performance of industrial experimental music. Very nice. I was annoyed I didn’t bring my minidisk recorder.
The second show was Unveiling, a play by Vaclav Havel performed by three reasonably well-known Zimbabwean actors. The acting was slightly above mediocrity, but what was very surprising were the political undertones of the play. Originally, the play is about a couple who after joining the communist party, receive many perks and are now trying to convince one of their friends to turn his back on the opposition and join the party too. Effortlessly, the premise applies nicely to the current situation in Zimbabwe and the play made it very clear that the couple was now ZANU-PF. Just for being so daring, the three deserved a standing ovation.

On Saturday evening, the after party was big. A local band performed African beats to a roaring, but black, crowd. On the Sunday, Bann’d For Life played their last gig and the audience was a small and almost exclusively white crowd. Lots of fun however, although Gus, the lead singer, didn’t agree on performing Radar Love this time.

Tuku and the queen

Although Tuku was going to perform at HIFA, it made more sense to me to buy tickets for his Friday night show. This, as it seemed, was going to be the real Tuku and although everyone on this hemisphere warned against pickpockets and other annoying people, we went ahead and bought tickets. And since there’s safety in numbers, it made sense we went with a group of seven, all whities.
The concert was quite nice and loooong. We arrived at 8, Tuku started playing at 9 and after about two hours, when the mood was starting to change for the worse, Betsy and I took a cab back to the lodge. He went on to play until 2am. What mostly surprised me was the size of the venue. Outside, but under cover, the area was maybe 10 meters wide by 30 meters long. On the side, you could descend steps, the length of the venue, where you would walk onto a large field, the size of a soccer pitch. When we arrived at eight, it was very quiet. By the time Betsy and I left, it was so busy a big crowd had started to form on the field and people were still coming in. Some were getting drunk and annoying (hey, we stood out, there being only 11 whities at the whole show, including our group of seven), so we figured it time to leave.

In the afternoon, we had gone to visit the Dutch ambassador at his absurdly big mansion on the outskirts of town. The two-hour function lasted until the late afternoon and the bottle of Oranjebitter I downed did me good. It’s terrible stuff, but they, we were celebrating the queen’s birthday here.
The amount of food and drinks was shocking. Raw herring, raw eel, loads of cheeses, salads, rookworst, bitterballen, vlammetjes and much, much more. In fact, the two hundred people or so weren’t able to finish off the food. Not even by a longshot.
I asked the ambassador, Hans Heinsbroek if he was family of that other well-known Heinsbroek. Before I could finish, he replied: “All Heinsbroeks are related, but I don’t know him, and I want to keep it that way.” I firmly shook the man’s hand again.

HIFA

Since Harare is as culturally active as a modern day dodo, it’s no surprise that HIFA, the Harare International Festival of Arts, now in its fifth year, is a welcome relief. However mainly catering to the white population, partially because of the, for locals, steep prices and partially because the black population simply doesn’t appear to be really interested in arts and ‘culture’ as such, the festival’s activities can give quite a distorted view of what’s going on in Harare, on a normal weekend.
Some of the shows are staged at the 7 Arts cinema at Avondale, but most of the activities occur on or close to the festival grounds, on the edge of the inner city.

On Tuesday, we visited Jorge Pardo and the Francisco Molina Trio, a combination of jazz and flamenco. And it was spectacular. Most of the shows at HIFA only run for about an hour, which was by far the largest drawback for this outing. Nevertheless, the combination of Pardo’s guitar and Molina’s flute and saxophones was perfect. The music being so lively and colorful, everyone left with smiles from ear to ear. A pity, however, that we came to late for the free sangria that was handed out before the show, courtesy of the Spanish embassy, who sponsored this event.

On Wednesday, we watched Le Centre National de Danse Contemporaine. And thank god they did two sets. The first was nice, four dancers slowly dancing while being engulfed in light reflected off mirrors held by other dancers, until a black guy appeared to get a ten minute spastic fit on stage. I was reminded once again that, indeed, besides watching fit young nearly naked women jump around on stage, I’m not a big fan of modern dance. The second part was much better with a much larger group dancing semi-synchronous but highly orchestrated in colorful costumes to industrial dance music.
The second show we went to were the Cool Crooners featuring Prudence Katomeni. They are supposed to be ‘premier exponents of township jazz’, but to me it sounded more like blues with African rhythms. It was a great spectacle. The group has been playing together since the fifties, so they’re no longer the youngest kids on the block. Still they danced as if they thought they were still in their teens. Lots of fun and very good music. Prudence’s appearance was good to, her higher-pitched voice being a very good contrast with the gentlemen’s low baritones.

Our first show on Thursday was ‘My Favourite Things’ by Tangled Tribe, a Zimbabwean dancers collective. Although the premise wasn’t bad, the group explored the individual’s preferences as a defining property for an individual as part of a particular culture, they should have practiced quite a bit more.
The second show was fantastic. Also dance, this time ‘Mzansi’ by the South African collective Moving Into Dance. The show only lasted for 45 minutes and was so well choreographed, expressive, exciting and lively that everyone in the audience was annoyed it was over so quickly. It appeared they were doing something of a dancer’s history of South Africa.

Connectivity

Meanwhile, connectivity has almost ground to a halt. It has been impossible this week to check my email. Web surfing is only barely possible.

Pecan heaven

I haven’t highlighted the joys of pecans yet.

The Small World has got a huge pecan tree hanging over the courtyard. Since autumn has started, the pecans have begun to come down and although you have to watch out not to get these sturdy nuts falling on your head, they taste delicious. And there are so many of them!

Chinese

Meanwhile, I arrived at work today, to find a bunch Chinese hanging around, using digital cameras to record the current state of the stadium. I asked what was going on and it seems that the stadium will get a long-needed checkup soon.

Sports and animals

Since I’m not doing a lot about my physical wellbeing (running a couple of kilometers before going on a drinking binge every Monday doesn’t really count, does it), I can feel myself swell in every direction except the right ones.
So, last Saturday, Betsy and I decided to check out some sports clubs in the neighbourhood. The physical exercise of walking around was good. Visiting the clubs rather pointless.
At Old Hararians, it felt like still being in Rhodesia. Old whites in shorts hanging at the bar, old people dressed immaculately white playing bowls outside.
Alexandra sports club was different, but the same. Here, everyone was black. The bar was just being restocked, no doubt for the drinking party after the soccer match that was being played on the grounds.

On Sunday, we went to Mukuvisi woodlands. A small nature reserve on the outskirts of town. We saw the usual animals (including giraffe) and had some samosas at the arts and crafts fair on the grounds. We considered bying a huge hand made mask for a mere 60$. How to get it home..?

Braai

Hanging out in former white colonies in southern Africa is nothing without a regular braai. Betsy prepared one on Friday and although we were surprised by a heavy tropical rainstorm just minutes before the chicken hit the braai, we still managed.

Development aid

On Thursday morning I found all phone lines at the SRC to be disconnected. The bill hadn’t been paid. It gave me some time to think.

It should be obvious that the style of development aid up to the 90s was not sustainable. Food aid only helps needy peoples for a short while and boring water holes unasked has caused as much harm as benefit.
During the 90s, the attitude of Teaching The Man To Fish Instead Of Giving Him Fish started taking root and, it has to be said, it sounds good. If, such as I here in Zimbabwe, you help people become more professional, they might be able to take care of themselves better.
However, what if these people aren’t interested in learning? As I’ve seen what happened with most Geekcorps postings, the partner businesses saw the volunteers as free labor, not as catalysts of capacity building. The same holds here at the SRC. I’ve been here close to two months now, and no one is interested in learning anything. Sure, people in the organization want help and they appreciate my being here, but only as a cheap and knowledgeable employee. Of course, this might change but if it does, it won’t happen easily for appointing a counterpart means that individual will have less time to work on other things.

When I worked in Ghana, a Dutch web development firm, Explainer DC, started a branch in Accra, the capital of the country. It was started by three Dutchies, with the aim of mostly employing skilled local labor. The idea, of course, was to be able to create cheap web applications at competitive prices, both for the local as well as the international market.
I am starting see that this is the most efficient method for creating more value within developing economies. Foreign management instills more professionalism and requires it from its employees on punishment of being discharged. In such an environment, individuals will be much more motivated to learn and change their ways for it will not only teach them new things, it will also make them money. More money than they would be able to earn at a local firm.

Make money

We’re starting to run out of the money we brought into the country. In the past, this would have been a problem, but now, it’s not that bad. Some months ago, you could only exchange US$, at banks, at the official rate, at slightly above Z$800 to the dollar. On the streets, at one point, you could get as much as Z$6500 to the dollar.
Recently, with the introduction of the forex auction, the banks started to offer US$ at the auction rate, but on the streets, the rates were still a couple of hundred Z$ higher, $4600 against $4200. Last week, the black market completely disappeared as the banks are now offering a rate of Z$4600 to the dollar too.
What’s even better, when you pull money from a cash machine, that’s the rate you get, meaning it’s no longer necessary to carry huge wads of money into the country.

Since it’s a forex *auction*, the rates of euro and dollar only follow the international rates up to a certain extent. Since the forex euro rate is currently close to Z$5200, here’s how you too can make money:

1. Get some euros.
2. Change these euros into dollars on some open currency market.
3. Bring these dollars into Zimbabwe and change them to Zimdollars.
4. Change the Zimdollars into euros.
5. Go to step 2.

At the current rates, you’ll make about 5% on every cycle. True, step 4 is the hardest one, but hey, sometimes, even currency dealers have to work for a living.

Blow

Ivor had driven all the way on our outbound journey, save for a short stretch where Jacqueline sat behind the wheel. On the way back, I drove about half the time, but was snoring nicely when Ivor blew a tire after 250kms.
Although he was convinced we wouldn’t make it to Harare on the thin spare, we took it easy and still arrived at 7pm.

This time, I got all the police roadblocks but we passed every time without a problem. Twice, the first question I was asked was “How was your holiday?”

Victoria Falls

Victoria Falls, The Smoke That Thunders, is impressive. We visited the National Park surrounding the falls twice. Once on the Saturday, shortly after arrival, and once on the Sunday. Since we're near the end of the raining season, visiting the falls meant we had to swim on dry land. At Danger Point, where normally you get treated to some spectacular views, we encountered nothing but a tropical rainstorm. Normally, about half a million cubic meters of water make the fall. During the flood season, this increases about ten fold. 5 million cubic meters. Every minute of every day.
The place is impressive, although it would have been nice to more easily see beyond the double rainbows and the clouds of water vapor.

Wasted after Thursday night's party at the Book Cafe and the Mannenberg meant I had forgotten to bring proof of employment in Zimbabwe. With it, Betsy and I can get treated as locals at national parks, meaning, for example, that the entrance fee for Victoria Falls isn't US$20, but US$1.
However, with Ivor, who brought his working permit, and some smooth talking, we were able to pay the local prices at the falls and the national parks we stayed at.

After visiting the site on Saturday, we drove down to 'The Big Tree', a big baobab tree close to the falls. As in Hwange, our path was blocked by a troupe of elephants, but this time a huge male was taking care of his people. When a car wanted to pass, he started waving his ears and slamming one of his hind legs on the ground. The car decided to wait, although some of the nearby hawkers made moves to break the 100m-sprint world record.

On the Sunday, after visiting the falls, we went down to the beautiful colonial Victoria Falls Hotel. We had wanted to stay there but the price tag of 110 euros per room, up from 50 euros in December was considered a bit too much. We ended up staying at the nearby Zambezi National Park at 3 euros per person per night.
The view from the hotel, however, is stunning. In the distance, you can see the clouds generated by the falls as you're looking down the gorge that separates Zambia from Zimbabwe.
We planned on enjoying a high tea at the hotel, but ended up doing a booze cruise or sunset cruise on the Zambezi River.

Nathalie, the German girl whom I met during my first week in Harare had told me about the Zambezi booze cruises and I imagined large river steamers filled with totally wasted whities, not fit to walk off the boat themselves at the end of the cruise.
Instead, we ended up on a 10 square meter barge with fold out chairs, seating 10 and holding two crewmembers. Snacks were available, made by our hostess Georgina and drinks, whatever you liked, were on the house.
The guide/captain was knowledgeable; entertaining us with a mix of history, legends and folk tales related to the Zambezi, although the little dance he did on Georgina's song about the river seemed a bit superfluous.

Hwange National Park

We spent the night at the main camp of Hwange National Park. Close to Victoria Falls and Bordering Botswana, it's the country's largest park. There's a lot of wildlife in the park but since it's currently near the end of the raining season, we didn't expect to see much. Since it's so wet everywhere, animals don't flock around the water holes.
Still, we were very lucky. We did a three-hour game drive and got stopped by a big ambuya elephant, picnicking by the side of the road and protecting her troupe. At the two viewing platforms we went to, we saw giraffes, wild dogs, hyenas, bucks, deer, zebras, loads of birds, crocs and more.
In the morning, taking a bath at the imba we were staying at, an orange-spotted black frog fell out of the tab. It was struggling not to be sucked in by the drain so I helped him out of the water. Within seconds, it hopped out of the bathroom.

When driving out of Bulawayo, we came across a gas station that actually was selling petrol. We debated about queuing up, but decided to try our luck on the road to Victoria Falls. Normally, you wait for up to three hours and then get allotted 10 to 20 liters of petrol, if anything. We got lucky. Two gas stations on the road from Bulawayo to Victoria Falls allowed us to fill up the tank

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