The culture of appearance

10 12 2009

In Zimbabwe as in the rest of sub-Saharan Africa appearance is paramount. It doesn’t matter how successful you actually are so long as you look like you are.

I was reflecting on this on the way out to the Tobacco Research Board this morning to try and nail down a particulary persistent disease problem in our lettuce seedlings. There is a four lane highway (dual carriageway in local parlayance) being built from the airport to the city centre. It is not proceeding very quickly and there were a number of idle construction vehicles on the new road site (I know that the consultant engineers have not been paid for some time). We don’t need a dual carriage way from the airport into town – at least not from the traffic density point of view. That would require more aircraft using the airport than it could handle. So it has to be for appearances. I am told that most of the other southern African nations have a dual carriageway to their airports so I guess we are trying to keep up with the “Joneses”. I cannot believe that it will actually impress the people who count most i.e. the holders of purse strings who know as well as I do that the money would be far better spent on other projects. Traffic lights for one. Health and education for another.

Earlier this week I went past a minor accident on the intersection of Harare Drive and Kew Road. A minibus and a security reaction van had collided and there were injured lying by both vehicles. The only people assisting were two white women (one at each vehicle) – the usual crowd of gawkers gawked. On the way back there were more gawkers and the white ladies were packing up and the police had a arrived. I didn’t see any blacks helping out. I think I am reasonably correct in saying this lack of wanting to help their fellow beings is also represented in the charities in Zimbabwe. I only know of one that was started and run by a black person, the Jairos Jiri Organization though I am not sure that it is still functional. All the others that I know of were started or the idea imported by whites though they obviously have a contingent of black staff. I asked my friend Gary who works with the black community in Gorongoza in Mozambique why he thought this was. He didn’t really know but he told me of a very old black couple who could just about collect water and get to the toilet and back. He asked the locals why they did not help out. It seemed they were concerned that if they did the old folks relatives might accuse them of having designs on the old people’s property.

In the current environment of political correctness it is the done thing to respect another people’s culture. I am using culture in the all encompassing definition; “The set of shared attitudes, values, goals, and practices that characterizes an institution, organization or group” as defined in the wikipedia article (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Culture). To an extent I agree. When I travelled in South East Asia I was careful not to offend the culture of the people I was visiting – anyway, if people appreciate your attitude you are likely to see a lot more. It really irked me to see European girls swimming topless on Thai beaches where there were signs clearly asking them not too. That is insensitive and stupid. I do think the British have got silly about it all in the way that they fall over themselves to be “mulitcultural” and make sure no-one is offended to the extent that they are losing their own culture (they would not dream of walking around Pakistan in miniskirts but seem to think that wearing burkahs etc. in the UK is a good thing). I digress. Some aspects of a group’s culture can be odious by any standards – it was fashionable to burn suspected witches and heretics at the stake in Europe. Fortunately that has changed. I don’t see why the culture of selfishness and appearing to be what you are not cannot be changed here. And there are plenty more attitudes and practices I can think of to add to the list.





Zimbabwean resourcefulness

9 12 2009

Hope is eternal!

I spotted this dog nursing the kittens yesterday whilst picking up the artwork for the company calendar. I don’t carry my rather expensive camera around with me so went back today; I had a doctor’s appointment nearby. She is too young to nurse the kittens but they weren’t going to let that stop them trying! Their mother had been killed on the road and one of the staff was having a go at raising them. They looked rather malnourished to me and I told him that cats are obligate carnivores so have to have meat (or at least milk at this age). They were not playing like kittens should so I don’t hold a lot of hope for their survival. The dog’s mothering instincts were already well developed; not only was she allowing them to suckle but she was defleeing them too!





Dung beetles deluxe!

6 12 2009
There are no less than 17 species of dung beetles listed in my Field Guide to Insects of South Africa. Just goes to show how useful s**t can be! This one is Heteronitis castelnaui.

Grooved dung beetle





Change

5 12 2009

“No I don’t want a credit note”, I said. “Maybe I don’t want to come back here”.
“Well, can I get you something?” the till operator asked.
“Yes, you can get me my change” I replied.
“But we don’t have any” came the reply.
“Well, 48c on 186 dollars is not a lot, why don’t you just take it down to 186 dollars then?”.
“We are not allowed to round it off” was the less than helpful reply.

Change in the form of coins is hard to come by in Zimbabwe (though sometimes South African rands are used as they are smaller than US dollars) so supermarkets keep boxes of small items at the checkout tills to make up the value to a round number but I was really tired of being offered ball point pens, sweets or chewing gum and the alternative was a credit note that I would almost certainly lose before I came back for another purchase.I’d also been driving around the industrial sites of Harare all day and about 10% of the traffic lights I’d been through had been working so the rest required nerve and good luck and along with the pothole doging I found it all very tiring. On top of it all my knee was giving me hell and that always makes me tetchy. They’d got me on a bad day. Tough. I was not giving in and was quite prepared to leave the vacuum cleaner at the till and walk out.

“Well then, tell the people who programme your computers to make sure everything is valued to the nearest dollar – you can do ANYTHING with computers. I know, I programme my work computer!”.
“What are we going to do then?” the till operator said avoiding a reply.
“WE are not going to do anything. Do YOU want this sale?”.
“Yes”.
“Then call the manager” I replied moving away from the till as though I was about to abandon the trolley with the box in it. I was fed up and on the verge of walking out.

The manager made an appearance, tapped at the keyboard and I was given the vacuum cleaner for $186.





Lucy and the cutting boards

3 12 2009

“What is this?” I asked as I looked into the freezer upon seeing some rather odd shaped pieces of wood.

“Cutting boards” said Lucy.

“Umm, yes, but why…?”

“To sterilize any nasties” said Lucy.

I knew that Lucy was taking the said cutting boards (fashioned from offcuts at a project where she had been working in Mozambique) back to the UK.

“So you think customs are going to take your word for this?” I asked.

“Yes” she replied with what I suspected was more optimism than she felt.

I was sceptical but the next day the cutting boards were gone and there were bottle gourds in the freezer. Customs did not even check her baggage.





The Scan

2 12 2009

I had an MRI scan done recently on my neck.

It took 4.5 hours over 2 days.

It cost US$500.

There are only 2 working MRI machines in Zimbabwe; the other is at the Pariranyetwa Hospital (previous post) and a scan on that one costs $1000.

“I was there 3 hours” said the swarthy man in the waiting room upon hearing what I was there for. So I was prewarned. Whatever, I did not have much else to do and after an hour’s wait for the previous scan to finish I was duly called to change out of my clothes and into a “dressing gown” (fortunately not the surgical type that leaves ones back and bum exposed and feeling vulnerable).

I am not at all claustrophobic so I settled down to wait under the MRI with a large dog collar like “coil” around my neck. I asked if I could go to sleep and was told that was OK but I did not feel like sleeping. The operator sat down at her console outside the room and the machine started. Clunk-clunk-clunk. Clunk-clunk-clunk. Nothing. The door opened and the operator came back in.

“Let’s try another coil” she said. I was slid out from under the magnet and another coil placed around my neck and plugged in. There was a sign above me saying “Do not look at the laser” so of course I did but it was aligning on my neck. She slid me back under the magnet.

Clunk-clunk-clunk. Clunk-clunk-clunk. Silence.

The process was repeated for the last cervical coil to no effect. And the cable was changed – just in case.

“It sometimes works if we start it off with a thoracic collar” she said. I was removed from under the magnet, the thoracic cover plugged into the bed and slid back under the magnet.

Clunk-clunk-clunk. Clunk-clunk-clunk. Chatter, chatter, chatter. This was hopeful!

“Right, now let’s see if it will work with the cervical collar”. It was plugged in.

Clunk-clunk-clunk. Clunk-clunk-clunk. Silence.

“Maybe if we let it rest for a while…” So I sat in the courtyard in my dressing gown feeling a bit exposed and watched the terrapins in the pond for half an hour. I wondered if anyone had studied terrapin social behaviour; it would require extreme patience – they don’t do much.

“We are terribly sorry but please can you come back on Tuesday”, the visibly frustrated operator said after another couple of attempts. “It seems to work better early in the morning so if you can make it at 9?”

We repeated the process on Tuesday. God’s help was asked but God was not interested. Another operator was called. She accused the machine of PMS. I thought it was time to get more actively involved and a bit more analytical.

The machine works with the thoracic collar – right? Right.

So the machine works. Yes.

So the cable to the coils is good? Yes.

Do ANY of the cervical coils work. Well, 2 don’t and the other one occasionally does.

Let’s have a look. The coils are semi-flexible in a quite hard plastic and have to be closed around the neck and plugged in. 10 years of opening and closing must have taken its toll on the coils and I strongly suspected that something inside was cracked. We finished the job with a cranial coil pushed down over my neck and I was instructed to push my shoulders down and DON’T MOVE!

The Diagnostic Imaging Centre is trying to get a loan to get another MRI but a quick bit of Googling revealed that any number of companies will sell working second hand coils, reconditioned coils or even fix existing coils! Whatever happened to the Zimbabwean can-make-a-plan attitude?





Hospital visit

25 11 2009

“150 dollars a month” she said and giggled. “I am not doing it for the money!” “I can see that!” I replied.
“I have a diploma in clinical neurophysiology, and I need the practice” she replied to my question on her qualification.
I did not say that both of my foremen at the nursery earned more than she did and neither even had “O” Levels.

It has been some years since I was in the Pariranyetwa Hospital in the Central Hospitals complex in Harare. When I was last in the hospital it was still known as the Andrew Fleming and was the main teaching hospital in town and was quite new and very well run. Last year it took a decidedly bad turn for the worse and had to be closed due to staff strikes over abysmal pay and also a lack of power and water.

I had to admit I was quite pleasantly surprised that the place was clean, orderly and functioning although I had come into the Outpatients Department where the less than critically ill waited patiently on benches in the very long corridors that I’d remembered from so long ago. I quizzed the staff I met about conditions and all admitted that it was better than last year but was still sub-standard. “At least we are getting medication and clean linen, but the equipment is very short” said the doctor I’d come to see about a test for carpel tunnel syndrome. The equipment he used was privately owned by the Neurology Department. “The medical school is up and running again after closing last year but there are no lecturers in some courses” he added..

Godfrey, the doctor who did the tests was an affable fellow and quite happy to talk. He’d been in an aircraft crash a few years ago in which the two other people, a neurologist and a urologist had died. The left side of his face is still a bit disfigured and he admitted that he’d changed seats with one of the other doctors just before their attempted takeoff. He felt a bit guilty about it.

The tests cost $200 to tell me what I knew already; I have carpal tunnel syndrome in both wrists. I guess the real reason I wanted the tests done was to see what the inside of the hospital was like!





Crime, punishment and forgiveness

19 11 2009

I see from last week’s Financial Gazette that the trial of Roy Bennett, the MDC’s Deputy Minister for Agriculture-designate, has started. He is charged with “possessing wapons for the purpose of terrorism” and treason and if convicted could face the death penalty. Considering Bennett’s popularity in the province of Manicaland that is unlikely (he speaks perfect Shona and just mentioning his name in that region promotes a look of awe and adoration) and the whole trial smacks of political manoevering. Why Bennett, a white ex-commercial farmer who was evicted off his land in the Chimanimani area, is being targeted is unclear; after all he is a relatively small player in the Government of National Unity. Maybe it’s because the Attourney General who is firmly in the pocket of ZANU-PF thinks he has a chance of some sort of conviction. Maybe it’s racially motivated (racism is alive and thriving in Zimbabwe) but it is going to take and extraordinary brave judge to call a not guilty verdict.

I was discussing with Lucy a while back the concept of punishment and how one has to be pragmatic in Africa. Our Dear Leader has substantial blood on his hands, the like of which would have had Slobodan Milosovic impressed (Google Gukuruhundi massacres). It would be great to see him on trial at the Hague or preferably at some African venue with similar powers but that is very unlikely to happen. While this would send a powerful message to the rest of Africa’s autocracy a speedier and more pragmatic solution would be to consign him to obscurity in a rural village not of his chosing. The rest of the sycophants could be put against a wall as a gentle reminder to those who think supporting his ilk is acceptable behavior.

At last year’s HIFA the cast of Truth in Translation (a musical about the Truth Commission in South Africa) ran a workshop on forgiveness. About 30 of us sat in a circle and related to the person next to us in not more than 4 minutes our life story and an issue of forgiveness with which we stuggling to come to terms. This was then related to the rest of the group. I had to think a bit and then chose an incident some years back where I was beaten up by a soldier just down the road from my work. It wasn’t really an issue any more but it was the best I could come to terms with at short notice. Afterwards I commented that forgiving was not so much an event as a process and indeed my pocket OED defines forgive as: “cease to feel angry or resentful towards (person) or about (offence)”. I don’t think I could go up to the person who beat me (it wasn’t bad but very unpleasant – I got a cracked rib) and say – “I forgive you”. Yes, the incident has ceased to be relevant to my life but it is certainly not forgotten! I did report the incident to the 2IC of the barracks just down the road where the lout who beat me was based and of course nothing happened. A lawyer friend advised me to drop the issue; it would not have been difficult for the person to find out where I lived and make life “difficult”.

Caro teaches art at a private girls’ school and I have known her since my university days. We were chatting last Sunday about art and how it works as a catharsis and is often an early warning sign of psychological problems. Another woman (I’ll call her Gail – not her name) who teaches with her and whom I know slightly helps out black women in a nearby community with a sewing group. Gail was obviously upset by something and Caro asked her what the problem was. A younger woman in the sewing group was a continual trouble causer and finally Gail had told her to either settle down or get out. Others in the sewing circle had then decided to discipline the woman and beat her and killed the baby on her back. That Gail even goes so far as to help out in the community is remarkable considering that her aunt who was kicked off her farm in Ruwa was raped by 4 of her assailants at the time of the eviction. Gail’s brother was a GP here at the time and ended up testing the 4 assailants for HIV – all were positive. He decided this was incompatible with his Hippocratic oath and emigrated to New Zealand.

It is perhaps not surprising that at an art exhibition I went to over the weekend there were some very disturbing works on violence. One was a small box in which there were 4 feminine dolls; Barbie dolls mostly with other heads on them. All had been mutilated in one way or another –
burnt, legs carved up etc. Another painting showed the internal machinations of a torture chamber that I am told was accurate although the artist had not been a victim. There was no shortage of other political statements. It was all the more poignant as it was very much a case of preaching to the converted. The theme of the art exhibition was “Walls”- a competition sponsored by the German Embassy to commemorate the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall.





Muddy paws

15 11 2009

It’s the season of muddy paw prints in the kitchen. No matter how much I nag her Jenni just will not wipe her paws before she comes in!

The first storm has arrived – smack on time and it didn’t even trash the UHF aerial next door. I’d left it too late to go and unplug the aerial so just sat on tenterhooks until it had passed. Just as I unlocked the door the power came back on and the screen on the proxy server turned on – weird, for a moment I thought there was a ghost in the machine!

 

Acacia karroo

This acacia karroo has been flowering in my garden for the past 3 days

 

 





Reflections on the first half

3 11 2009

Please see the link to the page on the right side of the blog.

Updated 6th November