Zimbabwe Absurdity

On page 88 of the February 2007 issue of National Geographic there is a photograph of Port Harcourt in southern Nigeria. It is a shanty town by any description; filthy, rundown, corrupt. But in the middle distance there are 2 structures with satellite TV dishes on them. They look genuine – they are both pointing in the same direction though I suppose there is nothing to say that they are connected to anything inside.

I don’t have satellite TV though it is easily available in Zimbabwe. I suppose I could afford it (foreign currency only please!) if I really thought it worthwhile but past experience showed that there was frequently nothing to watch on the 80+ channels and I have better things on my wish list.

The article describes the appalling corruption that oil money has brought Nigeria and how the very few have got very wealthy. It is worth a read as it clearly illustrates the corruption endemic that is the scourge of Africa. Yes, of course it exists elsewhere but in Africa it is particularly destructive, and dare I say it, even admired.

Let me give an example from Zimbabwe. Last week the Finance Minister, Gideon Gono, gave his year end (a bit late) policy speech. Now with inflation exceeding 2000% and the black market exchange rate doubling in 10 days you could have been forgiven for thinking that something radical was in the offing. Apparently not. I happened to pick up a copy of his address whilst waiting somewhere. I did not bother reading more than an excerpt which from memory stated that “… we are pricing ourselves out of the tourism market. When you look at the price of a bottle of water, using the official exchange rate of ZW$250 to US$1, it costs US$10! Etc….”  The obvious thing to do would be to bring the “official” exchange rate into line with the black market rate which is currently around ZW$5000 to one US dollar. No. It has not been moved. I did not trust myself to read further, it is illegal in this country to criticize the president, the police and who knows who else and why push the blood pressure up unnecessarily. Anyway, why should Comrade Gono (yes, the socialist title is still used here and I believe in Cuba) change the rate when it is so easy (for the connected) to get wealthy. Hear is how it is done; buy US1000 for 250000 Zim dollars at the official rate (a toilet roll is ZW$4500 – today’s price). Sell it on the parallel market (politically correct term for black market) at x20 the official rate and go back and get US$20000 from your contact the Reserve Bank. Repeat twice and become a real millionaire. Obviously you could not do this straight off but the point is made – why change they system? For a paltry sum you too can join the waBenzi (as they are known in South Africa for the Mercedes Benz cars that they drive).

Sadly being ostentatious is all the rage in Zimbabwe and I presume in other parts of Africa. It’s not how wealthy you ARE, it’s how wealthy you APPEAR that is important. I can remember many years ago as a child, asking my father why the black labourers on the forestry estate where I grew up did not wear shorts. Men wear trousers, boys wear shorts was the reply. Even to this day I wear shorts whenever possible; we live in a warm climate so I just don’t see the point of trousers. Even as a child I was struck by how well the blacks in general dressed, and to a large degree they still do dress well, though with the harsh economic climate it is slightly less noticeable and I do see men wearing shorts more though I suspect these are those who are following western fashion and ironically, are more able to afford good clothing. At about the same time as I asked my father this the directive came down from the head office that labourers had to be offered the choice of getting paid cash instead of the weekly rations (meat, tea, maize meal, salt and sugar) that made up a part of their wage.  The men voted for money, the women for rations. It is a male dominant society so the rations were discontinued. I was also disappointed. I loved the smell of the shed where the rations were stored and especially the foil lined tea chests (must have been a boy thing). I also loved digging around under old sacks but became a bit more circumspect when I pulled back an interesting looking sack and was confronted by a cow’s head. Oh yes, they eat everything, my father confirmed.

One of the more painful things one has to endure about living in Zimbabwe is saying goodbye to friends who for a variety of reasons, often economic, find it impossible to stay in the country.

Yesterday, Fred, an oldish customer of 70 odd, called by to drop off an old paraglider of his son’s and say goodbye. Both he and his wife had decided that they could no longer realistically get by in Zimbabwe’s deteriorating economy and were going “back” to the UK. I put back in quotes because after 45 years in a country it really becomes your home. I could see Fred was not at all happy with the prospect but he is luckier than most in that he does have a bolt hole to head for and he and his wife will get looked after even though he is used to working for his living – the idea of drawing the dole or pension or whatever state assistance he will be entitled to was deeply disturbing. It’s a funny thing with us older Zimbabweans, we were brought up to understand that you work for your living and only once you had earned your pension could you feel entitled to it.

Fred and I are not close friends but he is such a nice, gentle guy that I could not help but feel sad for him and more than a bit depressed that yet another “Zimbo” was abandoning the obviously sinking ship! He lost his farm in a particularly unpleasant manner some years ago. They were farming about 1/2 hr out of Harare to the north on a model farm that he’d built up over the years. I remember going through a cotton crop that was truly spectacular an complimenting him on it. He was justifiably proud of it. When the time came to go they were given 2 hours to pack up and get off. A lot of personal belongings had to be left and the invasion was immaculately timed to allow the invader to reap the potato and soya crops with negligible input and take over a fully functioning dairy. The new “owner” went up to Fred’s eldest son, snatched the Leatherman multitool off his belt and said “Mine!” I have that snippet first hand. There was nothing the son could have done, the snatcher was surrounded by goons.

Fred’s parting comment to me was, “You know, I came out to this country 45 years ago with nothing, and now I’m going back to the UK with nothing”.  He is not the only one.

I have a customer who owes me quite a lot of money (by Zimbabwe standards). He came and bought two batches of seedlings some 8 weeks ago and neglected to pay for them. Could he bring the cheques tomorrow? Yes, of course he could. I had no reason to believe that he would not do so and besides, business is bad so it helps to humour customers. The cheques eventually arrived some 2 weeks later after much badgering. They both promptly bounced. That should not have happened he said, there should have been money in the account. By now I’d made a few enquiries around town and it had been revealed that he’d done the same with other nurseries, so when he promised to bring cash around the next day I was more than a little skeptical. It has yet to arrive.

The customer probably never had the money (in that bank account) in the first place. But he knows that if he can keep me and the debt collectors at bay long enough he can get the cash from selling the crop for which has not paid and pay off his debts. With inflation running at around 2000% he will pay a fraction (in real terms) of what he would have paid had he done so on time (It would take at least 2 months to get the debt collectors into action). He then might have enough money next time around to pay cash up front for the crop (no-one will touch him unless he does) and he will have established himself. Maybe.  Yes, I will deal with him again if he brings cash up front. He knows that we are pragmatic and will not turn definite (this time) business away. He is not the first to do this and I’m sure he will not be the last to at least try it.

There is a skeleton of a heron just outside the fence of my house. I noticed the corpse a few days after the bird must have died, crumpled pathetically under the tree which had been its last roost. There was no sign of foul play that I could ascertain; after all, some things DO terminate naturally in this part of the world!

The corpse is on a short walk around the cluster of four houses on the promontory where I live. I often take Jenni for a short walk around the houses and though it would take most people about 10 minutes, it takes me a fair bit longer because of my disability and the rapidly growing grass and weeds. So I have been watching the corpse become a skeleton and a pathetic pile of feathers, no longer the glorious, streamlined bird that it once was.  Yesterday I noticed that the grass around the skeleton was noticeably greener from the nutrients that had leached out and recognized a metaphor for Zimbabwean agriculture. Yes, it is also a skeleton of its former magnificence, an exporter to the region, and yes the region is now a bit greener, benefiting from the skills that have migrated outwards.  It is only the grass and emerging cosmos immediately around the skeleton that has benefited and of course the effect will not last long. Maybe the skills of those who migrated will benefit the region for a bit longer.

On a lighter note; I picked up the skull and beak a couple of days back, they are a bit grubby and in need of bleaching. I remember from school biology that we used hydrogen peroxide for the purpose. I wonder what the reaction of the local pharmacy staff will be when I ask if they have any! I think I’ll have to milk that one for all the entertainment I can get! I am really not sure what I’ll do with the bones, maybe I’ll transfer them to the wooden stork I bought on the Kariba road in September. It fell over the other day and lost its head. Maybe a grey heron skull would suit it better than the less than perfect gluing job I did.

Yes, this is an unashamed plug for a favourite web site of mine, Edge. Provocative, yes, entertaining, always, it is a collection of essays and articles by leading scientists and thinkers and definitely worth a bookmark if you like to give your brain cells some aerobics.

A couple of days ago I was reading an Edge article by Jaron Lanier on why he thinks anonymous collective web sites, such as this one, that allow anonymous postings are such a bad thing. He explains far better than I can so I would refer you to the page. Having realized that this blog falls squarely in the criticized I have decided that maybe I should explain why I have chosen to be anonymous (though all my friends know who the author is!).

I initially set this all up to try and explain just what goes on in Zimbabwe and just how absurd it all is. It can be difficult to explain even to people who are visiting the country just how weird it all is, often defying the most basic logic (I will address more of this in the next post). I was anticipating being very critical of the Zimbabwe government not to mention the highest authority of the lot. However, it is illegal to be critical of the president (and the police force) and that could get me into serious trouble. One can be held without charge for up to 21 days in Zimbabwe and like most third world countries, Zimbabwean jails are just not worth visiting. So, I thought that maybe staying anonymous and being critical was a good idea. Then I realized that maybe the “authorities” are not that stupid and could if they wanted find my email address and track me down from there. Call it paranoia, but there is a law lurking in the background called the “Interception of Communications Bill”. The title speaks for itself and as I understand it, it would require the various ISP’s to install the hardware and software to filter incoming and outgoing communications (this would also allow the government to eavesdrop on phones). For the moment it has been withdrawn under the recommendation of a parliamentary select committee as being “unconstitutional” (seriously!) which it most certainly is, though this has never stopped the government doing whatever it likes in the past.

So I have not been nearly as critical as I intended and I have stayed anonymous.

The dog and her author. 

Well, Unity Day is nearly over for another year. It is not nearly as traumatic as Christmas Day with all it’s obligations and it is a public holiday so I suppose it has that in its favour too. Why we need a public holiday this close to Christmas is anyone’s guess – it really is a hassle to organize staff to come in to water seedlings at this time of year anyway. Unity Day’s origins are as obscure as they are dubious. We are apparently celebrating the end of the civil disturbances that marked the latter part of the 1980’s with substantial bloodshed in the south of Zimbabwe. It was largely an ethnic conflict between the ruling Shona and the minority Matabele (see the Wikipedia reference to Gukurahundi) but all sorts were caught up in it. The death toll probably exceeded 20000, mostly civilians massacred by the army’s N. Korean trained 5th Brigade, and at the end of it Joshua Nkomo who headed up the Matabele rebels signed a peace accord and now we are celebrating (the result of the government enquiry into the massacres was never released). Now Josh is toted as the “Father” of Zimbabwe and seen as a hero for coming to the negotiating table. The waters of history are however a lot murkier than that. Back in the days of the Rhodesian conflict when Josh headed up the ZiPRA faction, his troops were responsible for shooting down 2 Vickers Viscount civilian airliners. He was filmed for the BBC laughing about it. His “excuse” was that they were legitimate targets because there were Rhodesian military on the planes, even though they were on civilian business at the time. There were also women and children. I was at university with a girl who lost both parents on the second crash. Not quite the overweight cuddly father figure depicted on the Econet cell phone service provider billboards.

Some years ago I was staying in a backpacker hostel in the red light district of Sydney (Kings Cross). Yes, I was propositioned by a prostitute and NO, I did not take advantage of her, or pay her to be taken advantage of either. In the drawer next to my bed a previous occupant had left a letter from his mother in a farming area somewhere in Matabeleland at the time of the Gukurahundi massacres. I remember little of what she said save that she’d been talking to Father “someone” at one of the local missions and he was so looking forward to going on leave the next day and doing some fishing but that night he was murdered.

I have not noticed anyone celebrating anything vaguely nationalistic today. harare is mostly shut down anyway, most businesses are closed and staff have gone into the rural areas to visit family. They call it going “kumusha” . So I guess it was a good time for the government to allow the bakers to double the price of a “government” standard loaf of bread.

Otherwise it has been a perfect day. Incredible visibility; I could see the Great Dyke clearly 70km away. Not too hot, about 27 C. I was sitting having coffee on the verandah at 6.30 a.m. and enjoying the morning when a long crested eagle landed in a tree at the bottom of the garden about 30m away. He chose badly. It was a small branch that sagged badly so he had to move on to another better perch. They are impressive birds, large and black with a long crest of feathers on the head and big white “windows” under the wings.

The stars are very clear tonight. We are spoilt for stars in the southern hemisphere. We have the Milky Way and at the moment Orion is overhead in all its glory. Taurus is off to the west and Sirius is climbing just behind Orion. I was at a party earlier but had little in common with the people there who were only really interested in talking cycling (it was a cycling club do that my cousin organized). No-one seemed to care about the stunning sky overhead, still clearly visible despite the lights of Harare. I left early. Sometimes it is easier to be a social hermit and anyway, a friend once remarked that I have no social skills. No diplomat is Suzanne, though she is married to one!

In a country that has never seen snow and is unlikely to, it seems a little incongruous to have black men hawking faux fur lined Santa hats and children’s inflatable swimming pool Santas; overweight little round white men with rosy cheeks. But it’s the silly season so anything goes. “Season’s Greetings”, “Compliments of the Season” (what exactly does that mean?) and cards of daft looking puppies with equally daft anthropomorphic smiles wearing, you guessed it, a Santa hat. Excessive drinking and excessive eating in a country where some 80% are unemployed, the average male can expect to live to 35 or less by the time you read this and there still has not been significant rain – it is too late anyway, maize planted now will only produce a paltry harvest. Never mind. Those of us who can will and so what if the minimum wage for agricultural workers is US20c a day (or US$2.20 if you use the “official” rate)? Let them eat cake, or grass or roots or whatever pathetic bird has the misfortune to stray within range of a “rekken”. Surely they can take comfort in the knowledge that we are celebrating the birth of a man some 2000 years ago who was born around September in our calendar and almost certainly was not given gifts by long bearded white men following some star in the east (where did they come from anyway that they could travel for so long without having to swim across the Mediterranean?). OK, so maybe it was north east before that. Then one must remember that this was a virgin birth (right, so who was not paying attention in human reproduction in biology class – EVERYONE in my class was paying attention) so what is a little aberration in map reading anyway? If you pause for just a little thought you would realize that Jesus was carrying God’s DNA – imagine that, sequencing God’s DNA from a sample of the True Cross!

What the hell, it’s only a day that we have to put up with the nonsense and then we can all go back to being bitchy as hell to our nearest and not so dearest and we won’t have to feel bad about it for another year. So eat excessively, drink too much and have a hangover the next day. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Try not to drink and drive (outside of Zimbabwe that is) – the genuinely brain dead are not a pretty sight.

Snow clouds building near Harare!