It does not take much

4 06 2009

There were 8 bags of maize (corn to the Americans) standing next to the shed. It was about 400kg belonging to Stan, one of my landlord’s labourers. Knowing that Tony, the landlord, kept immaculate records I asked him for the figures (he had cutlivated a number of plots for his labourers, supplied the seed, fertilizer and chemicals).

Each plot was 0.1 ha which would give a yield of 4t/ha which is about average for a commercial crop of rain fed maize though with a bit of attention it can go considerably higher.
Everything had cost $50
It would easily last Stan and his wife and child the year with a fair bit to spare (maize is the staple diet of Zimbabwe but is has a lower protein content than wheat so requires supplementation). 

Stan earns some $50 a month before overtime and does not pay income tax (this has not always been the case – the lowest tax bracket used to start at LESS than a dollar a day!).  Yes, he will have to pay the $50 back but considering that it will keep him going for a year it’s not a lot. But Stan is the exception in that he has a regular income. Some 80% of Zimbabweans are unemployed and most will require food assistance and the bulk of Zimbabwe’s estimated requirement of 1.8 million tonnes of maize for human consumption will have to be imported.





Gun licences

26 05 2009

There was a  DVD in the computer of some sort of music video finalists. Some were in English, others in black languages – South African I guessed, judging by the video content. The camera kept on focusing on the unzipped shorts of the white girl dancers just when they did the pelvic thrusting bit. In fact there did not seem to be much else that they did. The singers were black males. The detective who was typing out my letter of recommendation to renew my lapsed firearms licences seemed to know when the more explicit footage was showing and kept leaning over from hammering away on his manual typewriter to have a look. I mentioned that it was quite explicit stuff that didn’t need a lot of translating; he grinned and turned back to hammering away, apparently unaware of the irony of using a computer to watch marginal music videos and a manual typewriter to type up documents. Well, I suppose there was no printer that I could see. There were more old typewriters under a pile of firewood in the corner and a bicycle parked behind the bench on which I was sitting. A number of sheets of paper were taped to a wall detailing Wanted Persons (blank), Riotous Disturbances By Political Parties (blank) and various other crimes (blank) month by month since the beginning of the year. It seems that Borrowdale is a quiet precinct.

I’d managed to let the licences lapse through nothing else than carlessness; for some reason I’d convinced myself that they expired November THIS year. Nobody was too phased and now after getting my fingerprints of both hands, individual fingers, all fingers at once and then each thumb in duplicate (what happens if I lose both hands – but he missed the joke entirely) and having to wipe off the ink on the grass for want of any other useful surface, I was going through the motions of renewal. The detective should have come with me to inspect the gun cabinet at work to see that it was secure but after a bit of pondering decided to just get on with the recommendation. Maybe the music DVD was more compelling.

The woman who took the payment for renewal and the fines for lapsing was very friendly and even went over to the shopping center across the road to get change because I could not pay for everything in one lump sum but each payment had to have the serial numbers of the notes for the EXACT amount on each receipt and I only had the TOTAL amount. Whatever. I put my mind into neutral and wondered about the beheaded soap stone sculpture in the someone unkempt garden and the empty disposable syringe with the needle attached lying on the desk opposite. After about half an hour it was all complete and getting the hint that “we are eating now” decided to go home and get my own lunch.

Tomorrow I’ll tackle the Central Firearms Registry in town.





Third World dentistry

8 05 2009

Zimbabwe’s dentists are a mixed bunch; lots of Eastern Europeans from the days when from the perspective of Yugoslavia Zimbabwe seemed like paradise. They may be regretting that now. Some are locals but my current one is a Ghanaian who met and married a Zimbabwean whilst training in the UK. He’s a pleasant and competent fellow and takes the time to explain exactly what he is going to do and why and, very importantly, how much it will cost. So I like him.

Today started inauspiciously. The usual injection and then he started moving furniture around to get to a plug for a device that wasn’t working. He doesn’t have many electrical devices. He asked me to look at the fuse but I couldn’t see anything wrong.  The device (an amalgam mixer) still would not  function though he had another that was for something else but could be adapted. It was just as well that the power had just come back on. I took the advantage to have a closer look around his surgery.  It’s all covered in old but clean linoleum –  no tiles here! Various dentistry things are stored on the counter in cardboard boxes and nothing appears new. Only one light tube in the ceiling is working and he got a bit short with the dental nurse for not turning on the compressor in the bathroom. Erm, I guess one could call it functional dentisty. Still, it all went without a hitch and the filling that had fallen out after some 30 years was quickly replaced.





Running amok

6 05 2009

It even made the Poetry Cafe where they read poetry every day at HIFA. A woman claiming to be a genuine war veteran (she was about my age so it was possible) said as part of a recital that a white farming family in Chegutu, some 70km out along the Bulawayo road, had been forced to frog jump all day in their underwear for “not obeying the rule of looting”. I confirmed that this area had been badly affected from a customer this afternoon though he did not know about this particular incident. 

The Poetry Cafe can be an interesting place and at times has an air of rebelliousness that can be quite exciting. The poets can be quite outspoken though there are not that many of them which I guess is why the thought police tend to leave the place alone. One show in particular this year that was surprisingly audacious was Beauty and the B.E.E. Put on at one of the theatres it was a political satire by a white South African male dressed as a black South African business woman. He skewered and insulted local and South African politicians, including our honourable president, men, women, blacks, coloureds, Indians, maids… Nobody was spared. It was very funny and he got away with it. Three performances were held to capacity audiences! Are the thought police slacking? Who knows!

Chatting to a black customer who comes from Bindura north of Harare this afternoon, he asked me what crops he could grow. It seems that his market has vanished. The mines in that area that were the mainstay of the economy have all closed due to falling prices and erratic power supplies. I couldn’t really help. Amazingly he was optimistic. He’d bought his farm in 1996 and it had done him well. He seemed to think he could survive. An unusual fellow he was very well spoken and had his hair in a pony tail – something you don’t see in blacks often. Even in the arts world.

South Africa has removed the requirement for Zimbabweans to get a visa to visit. I have speculated and discussed this with customers at length and the consensus is that it has to do with the World Cup next year. Zimbabweans are prized workers and often better educated than their South African counterparts (most speak English passably well). We’ll have to see if they have a change of heart.





The art of science and original thought

23 04 2009

I have just been reading an article in a recent Scientific American “Does Dark Energy Really Exist?” (April 2009). It has been known for some time now that the universe is expanding at what appears to be an ever accelerating rate. There is a problem though; nobody knows what is driving the acceleration so it has been called dark energy. Despite the best and most expensive efforts of scientists worldwide, nobody can find this dark energy. So what the authors of this article (and others) have postulated is that dark energy does not exist; what scientists have seen as evidence for a uniform expansion of the universe is in fact something else. This is not the place for a physics discussion and anyway, the original does it much better. What does fascinate me about this paper is its original thought.

In my early days at university I was somewhat conservative. Arts did exist of course but that was for people who hadn’t discovered science, or even worse, wanted to do an easy degree. Fortunately we all mature a bit and by the end of my university education I was wondering why there wasn’t at least one course requirement in my curriculum for a more “abstract” subject; philosophy say. If science has a fault it is to encourage a very regimented way of thinking which of course leads to incremental progress but the true geniuses of this world have original thoughts and ideas and sometimes they don’t know what made them think that way. This sounds suspiciously like art.

I now have a fascination with art in its various forms. HIFA (www.hifa.co.zw) is coming up next week and I am involved as a “communications assistant” meaning I am required to write reviews, take photos, and help update the website. I am certainly not doing it for the pay which will cover my travel costs and a bit extra. I will certainly be fascinated by what I see and will marvel at the artistic thought process which is just so different from what I was taught.

At a HIFA some years back I went to see a contemporary dance show by a French dance school. The first half was pretty much standard contemporary dance (I love dance because it is something that I will never be able to do and hell, those girls have great legs!) but the second half was abstract. I think I was one of the few people in the audience who actually applauded at the end. It was brilliant; how DID they think of that? Walking out with the audience I heard people grumble that they didn’t understand it; it was rubbish. No, I said, it was not rubbish because you did not understand it. It was abstract – it was whatever you wanted it to be (Zimbabweans are notoriously narrow minded).

Perhaps this is the source of the frustration that I feel with religion; people are just not prepared to challenge the accepted doctrine – you cannot know the mind of God so you just accept it (there  is of course a paradox here; to be religious you MUST accept the doctrine otherwise there is no point). That to me is denying our very raison d’être. We are what we are because we are so intensely curious and prepared to challenge what we are often led to believe is the accepted explanation for what we see around us. And that is called science.





Comrade Mapfumo is not happy

21 04 2009

Comrade Mapfumo was not a happy man. In fact he was nothing like the person who’d blustered his way through my nursery some 2 years ago and baited me for half an hour. Then as now he was the chairman of local branch of ZANU-PF and supremely cocky.

On Friday he’d come scrounging for funds or items in kind for the Independence Day celebrations to be held on Saturday. After much cajoling and pleading I’d given him R200 (about $20). This went on longer than I was prepared to listen to it so I took back the Rand and gave him $100.

I suppose I should have known there was something wrong when I saw 4 missed calls on my cellphone on Saturday, but I did not recognize the number and as it was a public holiday I did not phone back. Apparently he’d been caught using a fake $100 note at a local supermarket and they were all ready to lock him up for the weekend! Well, that was his story and I was not particularly moved by it.

On Monday I’d got a message from him to this effect and thought it prudent to go and see the supermarket manager even though no-one could prove that the problem note had come from me. The manager was philosophical about it all and helpfully showed me all the problems on the note. Apparently they’d had a number of them the previous week, possibly coinciding with the army being paid. He was careful to say that he thought someone was taking advantage of the extra money around to dilute some fakes into circulation.

Comrade Mapfumo continued that he’d only got off after borrowing $100 dollars from his wife to buy the groceries for the next day’s festivities. I bluntly told him that I was not giving him a replacement as why should I be left carrying the baby and end up now $200 down? I was unmoved by comments such as “my wife will never understand me”. This carried on for some time along with probing me to go into a dairy venture with him and supplying him with gratis seedlings. Politics were delved into (how the MDC was just talking but isn’t that what politicians do?) and even my marital status – nope not even illicit children. Eventually he left none the richer and still more than a little downcast. 

Of course we have now tightened up our vetting of $100 notes and customers have to sign that the notes given us with serial numbers listed have come from them. A pain but we don’t really want to get caught out again.





Funny money

14 04 2009

It was the colour of the head of Benjamin Franklin on the $100 note that alerted me that something was wrong – the background was white when it should have been grey. Closer inspection picked up other anomalies; the green colour-changing ink did not colour-change, the water mark was visible on the surface of the note and the serial numbers were the wrong font and not even in a straight line. The quality of the printing in general was below par; it looked like the ink had run on the paper. There was another in the pile that I picked out easily. What to do? I called the foreman in who’d accepted the money but he rightly pointed out that it had come in over several days.

I did a bit of sleuthing on the computer and there were only three customers who’d given us more than a 100 dollars in that time period. It was unlikely to have been the one who’d paid only $132 as two of the fake notes had serial numbers within a value of 5. There was another customer who’d paid in $400 as a deposit. Possible, but the most suspicion fell on one who’d given us a deposit of $2400 on a big order and who I knew was battling to find the money. Did he knowingly pass the notes on? I’d no idea and although I’d picked them out easily enough, I showed one to another customer and he admitted that he would not have noticed it was fake. Anyway, I could not prove who’d given them to us. I was more than a bit annoyed by the foreman’s lack of attention as I’d warned my staff to be on the lookout for counterfeit notes and had showed them the colour changing ink which is very difficult to forge. I told him if it happened again I’d use the notes to pay him. Then I wondered if maybe he needs glasses as he is not much younger than me.

So what to do with the money? Trevor suggested passing it on but I was pretty sure I would not get away with it though I could feign ignorance and I’m not a great actor. Trouble was where to use it? Zimbabwe being what it is I know most of the people in the places where I purchase inputs and there was no ways I could do that to them. A supermarket? Maybe, but they would be the most likely to pick up fake notes. The police? No chance, they’d just find a way to spend it! I was still mulling it over when I got home at 5 p.m. Then it suddenly hit me; WHY WAS I EVEN THINKING THIS WAY! What has this country done to me that I would even consider passing fake money on? So I guess I’ll just keep them for some rather expensive entertainment value.





Power cycle

11 04 2009

Lunatics are affected by the full moon – so I am told. Others get PMS. With me it’s the ZESA cycle. ZESA is the acronym for the local electricity utility. To say they are in dissarray would be something of a criminal understatement so when the power went off on Monday night I was in not expecting a quick solution. By Tuesday night I was getting a little tetchy but… at 18h30 the power came on! Hey, life in Zimbabwe is not so bad! At 20h40 it went off in a bad way; off, flicker, off – not the clean and decisive OFF meaning “see we can switch you off whenever we feel like it”. Wednesday it transpired that ZESA was “in a meeting” – that ever so useful catchphrase that is we all use to fob off annoying customers etc. We even knew where the broken lines were which made it that much more frustrating. By Wednesday night I was getting really ratty and looking forward to an Easter weekend at work seeing that everything was getting watered. But Thursday morning I bumped into Charles, my next door neighbour who has “connections” at ZESA and I was assured that things were “being attended to”. Sure enough, at lunch time the power was on and I was actually looking forward to the weekend again. It also transpired that someone had tried to pick up one of the downed lines. 11,000 volts has a way of spoiling even Easter weekends.





The shakedown

31 03 2009

“Do we understand each other?” the cop asked.
“Yes, I can understand you” I replied.
He asked the same question again, and I replied with the same answer.
He was not asking if I could understand English, he was asking if I was interested in paying a bribe. I had been stopped on the R512 that goes east across Jo’burg from the Krugersdorp highway to the western bypass or ring road.

“We need to search your car” he said, calling over a woman cop to the passenger door. He was impatient or making out that he was. The passenger door had been deadlocked so needed opening from the outside but I was not getting out to help. They eventually got it open and the woman started to rifle about in the shopping on the floor.

“What’s this?”
“An air filter”.
The male came back onto my side.
“Show me your driver’s licence”.
I did.
“But this is not a SADCC licence”.
“I know, but it is a valid Zimbabwe licence” (I happen to know that they are a different format).
“It must be a SADCC licence”.
“Well it is a Zimbabwe licence and it’s the one we are issued so if you have a problem with that take it up with the Zimbabwe government”.
This continued a bit further but I was not going to budge.
“What is this?” the woman cop asked, now rooting into the first aid kit behind the seat.
“A first aid kit” – it had the relevant writing on the bag.
“What is that?” the male asked.
“Zimbabwe dollars”.
“Oh, so you are rich then” – another hint (there were lots of zeros on them).
“Do you want some?” I asked. “Not even any good as toilet paper” but they were losing interest and I was soon on the go again. It was just your average JMPD (Johannesburg Metropolitan Police Department) shakedown.

It happened again at the South African side of the border at Beit Bridge. This time the “facilitator” actually knew me from my Hortico days (he knew the names of my co-workers there). I was a bit more receptive this time as I had something to gain from this; I definitely did NOT want to be paying duty on the camera that I’d bought in Jo’burg. I was mildly surprised that I’d been approached by a Zimbabwean on the SA side as they are not usually that forward but I was assured that “everybody knows me” and sure enough nobody even blinked that there were now 3 on a gate pass for one (it seemed that we’d picked up and “assistant”). Sure enough I was through the notoriously congested Zimbabwe side and out into the Beitbridge dust and heat in all of 15 minutes. A bit poorer for sure too but, in my books at least, worth it. I guess I am a real African!

Evening sky looking north

Evening sky looking north

This is the view from my verandah last night. Notice all the city lights (just joking, there aren’t any).





Civilization – sort of

17 03 2009

Well at least the internet works. I am sitting in the “porch” area of Gillian’s house, not far out of Groblersdal in Mpumalanga province of South Africa. I took it easy getting here, stopping off at a guest house outside Louis Trichardt last night.  I think I have got to the age now where I can take my time getting to places and don’t have to tear around getting to places quickly in order to save money – old habits die hard.

For the first time in a while fuel was easily available on the Zimbabwe side. The road was not in great condition though and the last 50km were littered with people, goats, cattle and donkeys which made for tedious driving. The contrast on the SA side was stark; clean, well maintained roads and no animal obstacles. Getting used to SA prices is still an ongoing process though – my entire bill for the whole night was R520. Was it a lot? Convert to US dollars – $52, OK that’s a bit better!

Buying a cellphone sim card is simplicity itself; as it is in most civilized places but getting it to work took 4 hours. Oh, well, we ARE still in Africa!