Karanda Mission Hospital

25 04 2012

“You and I have something in common” said the 70ish lady as she left the nursery yesterday.

“Yes we do, but my problem is only going to get worse, yours is going to improve” I replied, looking at the stitches on her right ankle and the walking stick. “What did you have done there?”

“Oh, I broke my ankle so when the time came to have the pins out I didn’t have the money to have it done here so went up to Karanda Mission Hospital near Mt Darwin to have it done” she continued.

I was incredulous. I’d never heard of this particular hospital. “So how was it?” I enquired.

“Very good. The surgeon was an American doctor, the operating theatre was top-notch, and the nurses were wonderful. But I didn’t stay long. Once I’d come around from the anaesthetic they asked me if I could walk and that was it – I hobbled over to the car and left!” she replied.

I wondered if this was where Austin’s eldest son, Mike, did some 6 months attachment at when he was seeing if he wanted to do medicine.

“Yes, it was” said Austin when I asked him at the gym today. “Everyone has heard of Karanda! They are quite inspirational to put it mildly. The doctor Stephens who runs it has been there since its inception, some 50 years. I did 2 months there a while ago and it was an amazing experience. They are what we’d call the archetype GMO, or Government Medical Officer. They can do everything and I’m not exaggerating. We started one day with ophthalmology, then a gynae procedure, neurosurgery and gastro surgery. They can do hip replacements too. Stephens is in his early 80s, still works a full day and I struggle to keep up with him physically. During the war years he said he would treat anyone who was injured, regardless of who they were. This did not go down well with the Rhodesians so it suited them when things got really hot and the road was mined. They said they could no longer guarantee his safety so he got a pilot’s licence and flew in and out when he needed to! Amazing dedication!”

I mentioned the elderly lady I’d chatted to and how impressed she’d been with the equipment and she’d seen a whole lot of crates of new equipment being unpacked on the verandah. “I’m glad to hear that” Austin commented. “They went through a bad patch in the Zim dollar days. At one stage they were referring only 5% of cases back to Harare but now the traffic is the other way for those who either cannot afford treatment here or simply cannot get it done at the local government hospitals. It doesn’t say much for our local hospitals” he continued, warming to his subject. “If I had my time again it’s the sort of place I’d like to work for a couple of years just for the fulfilment. In all the time that he’s been there Stephens has only been away for something like 5 weeks! There are some other hospitals like it around the country. Morgenster near Masvingo is staffed by German doctors.”

I like to think that I live in awe of no-one. I have no desire to meet Bad Pitt, Angelina Jolie or have a conversation with Richard Dawkins but I do admire some. Roger Federer is the most amazing athlete I have watched and I am looking forward to watching the gymnasts at the Olympics perform mind-defying displays. The people I really admire though, are the likes of MSF, the ICRC and the doctors at Karanda Hospital, whom with little or no fanfare (the latter do have a website), just get on with their work with the utmost dedication. I am sure they are not well paid but I would think they have all the reward they desire. This is my small contribution to recognizing them!


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Just, well … absurd!

17 04 2012

“So howzit going?” Roy asked.

I briefly pondered the polite answer as per my previous post on Local Linguistics then decided to go for the honest answer; “I am seriously pissed off!”

“Why is that?” Roy asked, apparently genuinely concerned.

So I told him.

As a physically disabled person I can import into the country, duty free, an automatic gearbox saloon car, station wagon or light commercial vehicle. The first two are of little use to me because I frequently have to carry things around which either won’t fit in a saloon or station wagon or I simply don’t want to carry in the vehicle with me. Agricultural chemicals are one! So I was more than pleased last September when the Minister of Finance changed the legislation to allow the importation of commercial vehicles under the same exemption – up until that time they’d not been included. At the end of last year I made a few enquiries at a local Toyota dealer and then mid-January set everything moving. I got the invoice, paid for the double-cab pickup which is a light commercial vehicle, ascertained that I needed  a letter from a specialist doctor, copy of proof of residence, proof of funds to pay for it and a copy of my ID document. The system is of course exploited. I personally know of two people who are entirely capable of driving a manual vehicles who have managed to get automatic ones in duty-free.

Today I went for the mandatory interview, presumably to see that in fact I did exist and that I was not a fence for someone else who wanted to exploit the system. I was duly told that the double cab pickup truck that I wanted to import was not eligible, it was too heavy! I was dumbstruck. It turns out that only light commercial vehicles with a nett vehicle mass of less than 1.4 tonnes are eligible. It seems that vehicles fitting the description are made but are true commercial trucks of the type that are used by shopfitters and handymen for moving stuff around town – not really what I had in mind. Everything else is too heavy and only double-cab pickups have the automatic gearbox option. The ludicrous aspect of this I could import the latest Landcruiser which is far more than 1.4 tonnes NVM and far more expensive than the vehicle I wanted. Clearly not a lot of thought went into redrafting the conditions of the import rebate.

“So why don’t you get a Prado (smaller Landcruiser) and hire a driver to drive your pickup – you are the boss, get someone else to do the donkey work!” said Roy.

“But it’s stupidly expensive” I retorted. Cost aside it is an option, however it would mean that I’d be stuck if ever the driver went on leave or was off sick and I’d then have to drive the manual pickup truck which sort of defeats the object of getting an automatic vehicle.

We chatted business for a while and then seeing I still down in the dumps he said “Hey, listen carefully to me. Why cheat yourself when you can treat yourself. Remember, when we put you in your coffin the suit doesn’t have pockets so where will we put the money?”

I had to laugh at that.

“See, I made you laugh” he chuckled as he walked away.


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The Zimbabwe business model

10 04 2012

Zimbabwean retailers seem to have a curious business model. It often centres around marking up products to the highest possible price that the consumer will accept and when the consumer doesn’t buy the product it is simply left on the shelf in the hope that they might change their mind. This is most noticeable in the luxury goods sector.

On the way back from the bank to the carpark this morning I went past a local photographic shop. I’d seen a rather nice tripod there that I thought would do rather well for mounting my binoculars for a bit of steady stargazing. I’d made a mount for this purpose this long weekend and it had worked better than I thought on a monopod so I was keen to try it out on a tripod. Everything about the tripod seemed suitable for the purpose and it was a Slik 400 which is a reliable brand but the price at $464 seemed high even by Zimbabwean standards. A bit of internet research showed the same model at 72 pounds from Amazon.uk which at today’s exchange rate equilibrates to just $100! Now I don’t for a moment expect to buy that sort of item for anything like the same price it goes for in the UK, but trying to sell it at that price is ridiculous. I have also just checked the South African price and that is less than half the Zimbabwean price and South Africa is a very bad place to buy photographic equipment (it is usually around double of the USA price).

I bought my Nikon 10×50 binoculars from the same shop at least a year ago and they had another pair of very nice Nikon 8×40 roof prism binoculars which I briefly contemplated but could not justify the $760 price tag. I saw today that they are still for sale at the same price so maybe cash flow is not an issue and they are relying on the core business of photo printing and photo copying. Maybe I am sensitive to this because my business relies on very high volumes of sales (our pricing unit is in $/1000 seedlings) at a relatively low markup but I cannot for the life of me think why they don’t just drop the price and at least sell SOME of their higher value stock!  A curious business model indeed.


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A brief visit to the other side

7 04 2012

At my age I do ponder what it’s like to be really old. I AM officially “madhara” (see Madhara at 52 on this blog) so I don’t think it’s a strange thought. My uncle has just turned 90 and he is still very sharp mentally though my brother in the UK says that his back and knees are giving him trouble. My aunt – my aforementioned uncle’s sister – is 84 and still going strong so maybe I have their genes, but what would it be like to “lose the plot” with one of the age-related mental disorders?

The warehouse stank. It had that recognisable agricultural chemical smell – acrid and unpleasant. I was really glad I did not have to work there. One of the labourers loading the coir bales into the back of my pickup was wearing a dust mask but I doubted that it gave him much protection. After the second visit to collect the balance of the order I was glad to get out of there and head back to the nursery to offload the coir. I have ordered a container load from India but it ran out last month so I have to rely on other stockists around town. The interior of my pickup still smelt strongly of agro-chemicals even at lunchtime.

Things started to go wrong at lunchtime but I couldn’t really put a finger on it. I just couldn’t really concentrate that well. At 2 p.m. I was showing an agronomist from a locally based fertiliser company around the nursery to see if she had any ideas on what could be causing the strange growth and deficiency symptoms in the cabbage seedlings that we’d been experiencing. I very unself-consciously and loudly farted and just continued like it was normal (I am not usually THAT indifferent!).

Being month end I got stuck into the accounts, or so I thought. One particular purchase gave me trouble. I couldn’t remember buying the fertiliser even though I’d apparently bought it the previous week. I had no idea why I’d bought it. I searched through the computer but the menu on the software that I’d written was not making a lot of sense. I eventually found the composition of the fertiliser (it has a trade name that does not indicate what the contents are) and concluded that it was a micronutrient mix (it is not) and assumed that I had bought it. I still had no idea what it was for. I continued on in a daze but the computer programme was still not making sense so I decided to go home early. I didn’t panic, there was nothing to panic about. I had even forgotten that I’d written the computer package which does everything from accounts to keeping track of stock, the various fertilizer mixes that have been used and the weather as well as various other business related issues.

I had tea and logged on to the internet to download email. There were a number of mails referring to Tumbuka, a local dance group. Tumbuka? Who or what was Tumbuka? I had an idea I should know more about this Tumbuka but it did not seem that important. I had forgotten that I am a trustee on the Dance Trust of Zimbabwe of which Tumbuka is an arm. I mooched around doing nothing much of consequence, had a light supper and went to bed early.

The next day I was back to normal mental functioning and realized that I’d experienced some form of poisoning, probably due to something leaking in the warehouse where I’d been loading the coir. I mentioned this to Stewart who is involved in agro-chemicals and he said it was likely a symptom of mild organophosphate poisoning. Curiously, at no stage was I ever aware that anything was actually wrong, there was no sense of panic and no other symptoms that I was aware of. Is this what Alzheimer’s disease is like? General confusion? I must admit it was not that bad but I hope I don’t have to find out. But then if it does happen – will I even know?


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Policing amber

5 04 2012

The local police are on a money-making drive. They especially like hanging around traffic lights, called robots in this country, catching drivers running the lights. That in itself is not a big deal except they are looking for drivers going through amber lights – which is not illegal! Then they use a tactic of intimidation and the public’s lack of legal knowledge and a reluctance to go to court to issue a spot, i.e. on-the-spot*, fine of $20.

I was caught recently and even if I wanted to I could not have stopped in time for the light change – it would have left me smack in the middle of the intersection. The police were uninterested in discussing the issue and I realised arguing that an amber light was there to warn one of the impending change to red when of course one MUST stop was pointless. I did realise too late that their procedure was unusual. I was asked for my driver’s licence and then if I had $20 to pay the fine. They waited while I found the money before writing anything on the Admission of Guilt form.If it really was an offence to run an amber light why not just make out the fine form there and then?

I spent the rest of the day fuming and mentioned the incident to Gordon whilst paying my rent on the way home. He said “I refused and took it to court. I defended myself and won the case. It only cost me my time”. It does say very clearly on the top of the form that one has the right to be heard in court (see the highlighting in the image below) but I am sure that the vast majority of drivers know that paying $20 is much less hassle than having to go to court so the police take advantage of this. So next time I am not letting them get away with this!

*The spot fine system is under review as in the past one could pay within a certain time period at any police station. This would also presumably give the defendant time to research the legality of the “infringement”.

Admission of Guilt form. The highlighting is mine.


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It’s the connections that count

30 03 2012

“So how has this season been?” I asked the farmer once we’d got over the introductions.

“Actually it has been a good tobacco season” he replied. “Not too much rain”.

“And how secure are you?” I asked, referring to the possibility of an eviction.

“Well, there is someone after the farm but he is pretty much a non-entity. There is an electric fence around the house and once in a while we exchange words through it. I have got our case to the Supreme Court and so far we seem secure but I’m not at all sure that we’ll still be there for another season. At least leasing the farm means we have no emotional attachment to the land”.

I asked if the landlord had “connections” in the political world.

“No” came the reply. “He is another white farmer who gave up his other farm. His son was recently kicked off his farm in the same area. There is a notorious fat-cat with political clout who even managed to block the hearing at the Supreme Court and two weeks later was on the farm”.

I thought of my doctor and her husband who were evicted off their farm in November last year. Both the High Court and the Governor of the province had told them to stay on the farm but the would-be occupier know someone with a LOT of political clout and that was that. It’s all about connections.


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The trouble with ZIMRA

30 03 2012

I pondered the paper clip and bent it into the number 4. It needed more though so I wrapped the down bit around the tail. Ah, that was better but it was still unbalanced. Another 2 wraps and it was approaching objet d’art status. What associations did I have with the number 4? Four horsemen of the Apocalypse waiting on high. Chris de Burg song. I wondered if he was still shacked-up with the au pair girl after writing Woman in Red for his wife. Forthright, Firth-of-Forth, force to be reckoned with – that wasn’t really 4. I looked for other entertainment. I investigated the contents of the notelet holder on the desk but there was little of interest. Taking liberties perhaps? I think I’d earned the right to take a few liberties. This was my third visit to the ZIMRA (Zimbabwe Revenue Authority) office to get my Tax Clearance Certificate and after a total of some 5 hours there the goal was in sight!

A Tax Clearance Certificate is a requirement to import anything and it can take some doing to get as I’d found out. I have previously acquired them before by fair means and foul but things have tightened up substantially and this time there was a bit of a rush as the container of coir that we use at the nursery for propagating seedlings is due at Beira, Mozambique in three weeks. Now I really wasn’t so naive as to think that one visit would do the trick but all my tax payments were up to date when I arrived three weeks ago with the file in a bag and negotiated the stairs into Kurima House in the Harare CBD. Disabled access to public buildings is mandatory in Harare but it doesn’t seem to have filtered through to ZIMRA despite the recent refurbishment of the offices. The man at the computer made a few notes and sent me upstairs to the Debt Management department where I introduced myself to Mr M. After a mere hour and a half it was ascertained that my PAYE (pay-as-you-earn) file was up to date (it should be, I fill in the returns based on the deposit slips of the money that I have paid) but the company income tax needed a payment. Wow, this was easier than I thought! I went straight off to the bank full of optimism and hope and made the required deposit.

Last week I was back, somewhat puzzled as to why my PAYE account no longer balanced. We sat and pondered the columns of figures. It seemed that a $501 deposit had found its way in erroneously. That had to be removed but not straight away. There was also an issue of a previous penalty that I’d paid that had been wrongly credited to the wrong account. I left after 2 hours more than a bit depressed – I just didn’t seem to be making progress. It didn’t help my mood that I’d been optimistic enough to only pay for one hour’s parking and had to dash (well dash at my speed) downstairs to pay for the next hour.

Then yesterday it all fell into place. By this time Mr M and I were almost on first name terms, I had his phone number and had even booked an appointment. I paid for a full 2 hours parking and made my way upstairs. The $501 had been removed and the penalty had been correctly credited but it still didn’t balance. I muttered a mental obscenity – one DOES NOT GET FLUSTERED IN PUBLIC IN THE ZIMRA OFFICES – and settled down for an extended session. Then it all clicked into place! I ended up with a $46 credit, Mr M typed up the necessary letter clearing the way for the Tax Clearance Certificate and I was in his supervisor’s office happily bending the paper clip whilst waiting for her to appear and sign the letter.

That done I was back downstairs in the office that issues the tax clearance – waiting. It was lunch time after all. Not only that, it was lunchtime at the end of the month so most people were not out to lunch but passing their time on emails and computer games because as one clerk admitted, “I am broke”! I watched a video of some daft characters in a zebra suit trying to get close to a herd of zebras. The latter were not impressed but a pride of lion were and investigated and after a short tussle one immature lioness made off with the head of the zebra costume without the idiot’s head inside it. They were obviously out for entertainment. Then it was my turn and in a short while (relatively speaking) I had the treasured green document in my hand and was off to celebrate lunch at a restaurant I’d heard of.

The “croissant” arrived  cold despite being taken “hot from the oven”. It looked like a croissant but the interior was definitely just bread. The coffee was acceptable so I sat and enjoyed the smell of rain on the hot tarmac for a while.


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Madhara at 52

11 03 2012

I was not too impressed the first time I was called madhara (old man in the Shona language). However, in Shona culture it is a term of respect for someone who has achieved old age, against the odds. Perhaps this originates in the not so distant past when getting to old age was not the norm. In the much more recent past Zimbabwe’s average life expectancy plunged below 40 years for both women and men but I see that now it is  back above 50 and ahead of such countries as South Africa but with a ranking of 214 in the world that is not a lot to crow about.

Not so long ago I was asked at a local supermarket if I was a senior citizen and therefore qualified for a discount. I feigned indignation and got a laugh. I recounted the story to friends and they thought I was silly not to take the opportunity, but there is only so far I will stoop. Then two weeks ago I was at the CD launch of a local group in town where Oliver Mutukudzi, Zimbabwe’s very own music superstar, was the guest of honour. He was introduced as Madara Oliver Mutukudzi and suddenly being “madhara” didn’t feel so bad. Though I should point out that my musical ability does not even approach his – I have yet to master the air-guitar. Mhdara at 52, yes I think I can live with that.


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All is NOT lost (yet)!

10 03 2012

There is a joke doing the rounds of town. How do you tell if a driver is drunk in Harare? He/she is driving in a straight line! It refers to the appalling potholes in the roads. Churchill Road past the University is particularly bad and I cannot see how it can be effectively repaired without resurfacing the entire road. One can only guess what it is costing the country in damaged vehicle suspension and bent wheel rims. No sooner than one has had the steering re-aligned than it needs to be done again. You get to know where the really bad potholes are – the rim benders. It is a constant remider of the state of the country.

Yesterday I received a parcel slip in my post box. I needed to pay a dollar to get a parcel from Sybille in France. Somewhat irked to be paying the postal service ANYTHING I went up to the counter. A large and battered box duly appeared with a piece of paper attached.

Notice of a parcel found open

The box had been found open, the contents inspected and then the box resealed – I didn’t begrudge the dollar!  In a government company extraordinarily badly paid they could have easily pocketed the contents and thrown the box in the rubbish bin. It was nice to know that this level of honesty still exists.

Two weeks ago I was chatting to a shoulder specialist surgeon who comes up here on a regular basis from Cape Town. Basil V is Zimbabwean born and loves coming back here. Not only does he do a bit of consulting but he also does some lecturing at the School of Medicine at the local university. He said that yes, the S of M is struggling to get lecturers but he really likes lecturing here – the students are SO receptive and very grateful for his work. He told me that when he was registering with the Medical Council the lady who works there told him that around 40 returning doctors applied for registration last year. Now THAT is good news!


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What to do when the lights go out

28 02 2012

Thursday afternoon
“Sorry, can’t wait” says Helen. “Got a horse struck by lightning”.
“So what’s the rush?” I ask as she pauses at the gate.
“It’s my sister’s horse!” she replies.
I wonder how you give CPR to a horse but I guess if it’s your sister’s horse you have to do something.

As I expect the power is off at work but the storm is still on its way. I recount the horse story to Rory and there is a flash and a bang as the lightning strikes a tree just across the road. I resign myself to a quiet, dark evening as I am sure the power will not be back by morning. I am on a grid that supplies two military installations so power cuts are rare but faults are another matter altogether. They are seldom dealt with quickly.

Thursday evening
Supper – biscuits and cheese. I cannot be bothered to cook at the best of times and cooking by candlelight does not rank as romantic, just annoying. I am bored and the LED lanterns are running flat. It looks like an early night. A luke warm shower (at least there is still water – often when the power goes off the water does too but there must be enough in the tank to gravity feed).

I sit on the bed and watch the storm move off to the west. It is an extraordinary display. The thunder is continuous and the lightning spectacular. Every few seconds a bolt slams into the countryside – just as well it’s summer and the bush is green otherwise there would be fires everywhere. We very rarely have electric storms in the middle of summer, they usually occur at the beginning. It does try to rain a bit but there is no enthusiasm to it and it soon peters out. I watch the lightning stumble and stagger across the countryside until I can no longer hear the thunder and turn in.

Friday
At least the power was on a work today. It’s still off at home so the fault must be on the farm where I live. It doesn’t look good for getting fixed over the weekend.

Friday evening
I am a bit more organized and have mince and some noodles left over from a packet of the 2 minute variety. I doze off in my chair and feed the mosquitoes for a while. I am thinking that it’s another early night and take a look out the back window. The night is clear and the stars look good. Maybe some stargazing is in order. I lie on my back on the verandah and take in the night sky. We have some very clear nights in summer after the rains and I am lucky enough to live just out of town so there is not too much light pollution.

Orion is hight in the western sky. Betelgeuse glows a malevolent red. I shift the binoculars down to Orion’s belt and the Orion Nebula. My binoculars are Nikon 10×50 and good for stargazing but heavy to hold steady. I find that by leaning on one elbow I can stabilize them and they are reasonably steady. A star nursery, the Orion Nebula is churning them out and will be when we are all long gone. We are just so…. transient! Down a bit to Aldebaran in Taurus. Another red super giant. Sirius in Canis Major is directly overhead and blue-white hot. I must dig out my Greenwich guide to stargazing tomorrow. I am about to turn in and notice what I take to be Mars becoming visible over the roof of the house. Yes, it’s Mars alright, no mistaking that colour. Will I still be around when astronauts get there?

Saturday
The power is still off when I get back in from flying models at the microlight club. The fridge is warm and Karma’s stew stinks. That bothers her not one little bit but I cook the remains on the gas so I don’t have to put up with it in the morning. I finish off the remains of the mince with some maccaroni and hope that the weevils have not got into it. I shine a torch into the pot and don’t notice any. This cooking by candlelight sucks! i spend the rest of the evening fiddling with a model that I broke some time ago. The LED lantern is nearly useless and I give up before I make a real mess of what I am doing.

Sunday morning
A cold shower. Amazingly the water is colder than the air temperature. I don’t dither.

There are more flies in the fridge than outside but at least they look like fruit flies. The remains of the pineapple I had earlier in the week smells distinctly fermented. I dig around to see what I can cook and find a jar of garlic in olive oil from at least 2 years ago. It should be well matured by now. What’s this? A sprouting carrot? I didn’t know they could do that so I plant it into the pot with the parsley outside the back door – I will be interested to see if it actually grows any further. All the bacon goes into the pan, the courgettes are added and a healthy dab of garlic in oil. The remains of some peeled tomatoes in a tin are added and I burn some toast under the gas grill. The eggs both break going into the pan. Is it my technique or are they just BAD EGGS? I have heard that only the infirm, very young and elderly are at risk for salmonella but give them a bit of extra heat just in case.

It all tastes pretty good so I lick the plate. Kharma eyes me without lifting her head. Unconcerned, she has her sights on a bigger prize – the frying pan. She’s right about that, I don’t lick frying pans even in extremis.

I spend the rest of the day doing things without electricity. Mending models, gardening. Fortunately I have and MP3 player but it still needs to be charged but the Landcruiser battery can handle that. Other than that it is eerily quiet – even the ART Farm tractor that has been grumbling away through the night running a generator to pump water for the pigs is silent. Gas. Gas is good when I need to boil water for tea. Zimbabwe even has substantial natural gas deposits in the Zambezi Valley but so far nothing has been done to utilize it. It’s much easier to make money out of diamonds and rare earth minerals that also abound. But my gas comes out of a gas bottle and the gas is imported, like so many other things, from South Africa.

Sunday afternoon
Kharma is dogging me for a walk so we go for a short walk around the houses. It’s the first time I’ve done that since I got my new knee last year. I still find the rough ground difficult. My neighbour to the west has been putting up a wall in the meantime. Well, it’s brick pillars and iron railings. It’s a big property and there will be more bricks used in the wall than in a medium-sized house. I think it’s a monumental waste of money but this sort of thing is common in Harare so it must be a status symbol. This wall and railing won’t even be seen by anyone. The grass at the bottom of my property effectively hides it. Fortunately.

18h24 and some seconds.
I am in the kitchen pondering supper. It’s easier to eat cheese and biscuits so I have taken some cheese out the freezer which is still chilly thanks to the 20 litre plastic container of ice placed in it for just these circumstances. Flicker. Flicker again then the kitchen light, which has always flickered when turned on, lights up. JOY! OH YES, POWER AT LAST. I will even forgive the internet for not working. Time to celebrate and get out the wine and light a mosquito coil because I’ll be damned if I am going to feed them again tonight!


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