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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Why I still love this country

12 03 2012

These photos were taken this past weekend on the east side of the Great Dyke near Ceasar Mine some 70km from Harare. Despite the generally poor rains the veld is looking good.


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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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Remembering Brezhnev

19 02 2012

Leonid Brezhnev was one of the premiers of the Soviet Union. I cannot for the life of me remember when, but I DO remember he had massive, bushy eyebrows. This moth reminded me of him with its massive, brushy antennae. I am pretty sure Brezhnev was not orange though! No, I have not adjusted the colour in any way.

Brezhnev the moth

Brezhnev the person


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Nothing new, or, Whatever happened to Aiden Diggeden?

16 02 2012

The police are everywhere these days. I see them under the big tree on the way into town trapping those who are careless with their speed. Other favourite spots include stop streets and certain traffic lights that people like to run. Mini busses are favourite prey and in Mutare they even pay a “levy” of around $5 which ensures that they are not pulled over for other infringements. It’s all part of a strategy to self finance the police. Spot fines tend to be inflated as most people are unaware of what they should be so several of my friends carry a schedule of the gazetted fines just in case. My friend Gary was in the local post office in Borrowdale this week having come up to Harare so that June, his wife, could have an operation on her broken leg. He got chatting to a gentlemen in the queue who seemed to know a lot about the subject. He told Gary that the police would even go so far as to release prisoners to do certain “work” and then they police would get some extra income, the prisoner would get a cut and go back to jail.

I mentioned this to Derek who had been in the  (Zimbabwe used to be called Rhodesia) CID (Criminal Investigation Department) of the Rhodesian BSAP (British South Africa Police) for many years. “Oh that’s nothing new” he said. “In the 1960s there was a certain criminal called Aiden Diggeden who was something of a folk hero around here. He was in jail in Bulawayo while there was a wage train robbery and the investigating officer noticed that Diggeden’s fingerprints were at the crime scene. A bit of investigation revealed that one of the prison warders had been letting him out at night to go and commit crimes and they would share the takings”.

Helen, Derek’s wife, was in the same class as Aiden at Chaplin School near Gweru and she said that his career in crime started when his step-father would not give him pocket-money so he would commit petty crime to get himself and his friends sweets. On several occasions her father gave him pocket-money.

Diggeden was a natural athlete and escaped Rhodesia to South Africa where he qualified for the South African Olympic team as a gymnast. An off duty Rhodesian policeman on holiday in South Africa saw him in a press photo under another name so he was extradited back to Rhodesia. He used his athletic prowess on several occasions to escape jail and used to keep fit in his cell by running up the wall and somersaulting back onto his feet.

On a well-known occasion he and another prisoner broke out of the jail on Enterprise road. They had managed to smuggle in some pieces of hacksaw blade and fashioned them into crude tools by inserting the pieces into the end of an old ballpoint pen. This was used to cut through the bars from the outside and Diggeden wrote a letter to Helen to ask her for paints, presumably to hide where they’d been cutting. They also sawed the frame of the door into pieces and put them back so that they were not discovered. Strips of canvas were stolen out of the prison workshop where canvas bags were made and on the night of the escape ladders were fabricated from the canvas and pieces of door frame. The attempt ran into trouble when Diggeden’s accomplice fell and broke a leg so Diggeden picked him up and left him in the chapel and tried to escape along the prison walls wearing canvas shoes also fabricated from canvas scraps to protect his feet from the glass on the wall. By this time the alarm had been raised and Diggeden’s route was blocked. Climbing up to the eves of the prison roof he hung by his hands and moved along to a trapdoor and then swung up into the roof. He was eventually apprehended in a water tank in the roof where he’d been hiding for 3 days.

“Diggeden was eventually deported to the UK where he got into more trouble and was locked up in Wormwood Scrubs” continued Derek. “I also heard that he got involved in crime in Canada and South America. Last I heard he’d committed suicide after getting tired of a life of crime and incarceration, but I am not sure about when or where” Derek concluded.


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Turning off the power

15 02 2012

Mozabique has threatened to turn off the power it supplies Zimbabwe over an unpaid bill of US$90 million. It turns out that the power supply authority in Zimbabwe is owed some $537 million. Zimbabwe has many financial woes, not least the lack of power. Agriculture in this part of the world, where droughts are endemic, is especially vulnerable to power cuts. Irrigation is essential for at least 7 months of the year and also in the rainy season in years such as this one when the rains were late. It is not clear why non-paying clients were not cut off as is usually the case but I should think that intimidation from those with political connections is a large part of the problem. The governor of Manicaland is said to owe some $145,000. It is about time the fat cats were made to go on a diet!


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Can do

14 02 2012

I saw this broken down truck in the Mazowe valley this morning. The cans are there to warn approaching motorists that there is a hazard ahead. Now about a year ago we all had to purchase red triangles (x2) and a fire extinguisher to be carried in all vehicles at all times. Yet I still see branches and various other unique warning signs used for this purpose.

A Zimbabwean answer to the red warning triangle.


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