DAY FIVE
With each day spent here, my sympathy for the Zimbabwean people deepens. I've gone on and on about the hardships I've had to endure while traveling in this country. Feeling sorry for me yet? Don't bother. This isn't my world, I'm just a transient here. For Zimbabweans, this is real life.
As I was walking through central Bulawayo this morning, I came across a store where people were queued up. The line was enormous, 500+ people, the type of thing you might see in Canada when Rolling Stones tickets go on sale. Know what they were all lined up for? Sugar. Yep, these people where going to spend their entire Saturday waiting to buy sugar.
Waiting in lines is the national pastime in a lot of these countries, and the people do it with remarkable patience and good humour. Not so much for me. A few hours before, I had been waiting in a line for nearly 90 minutes to buy a train ticket, when a little old man sidled up and cut in front of me. It took every last ounce of my restraint not to sock him one. Why? I'm on vacation, I didn't have anywhere else to be. It was only because the waiting had made me cross.
I just wish that one of these poor sods would raise their fists in the air and put an end to all this bullshit. But who is going to speak out against the government? Not the media - it's state-controlled. And besides, publicly slandering Mugabe is a punishable offence. Instead, Zimbabweans have simply chose to ride out the storm and speak of this desperate time as if it's just another punch to roll with.
"What this country needs is leadership," says Chris, a father of 3 who lost his job in a factory and now sells cigarettes on the street corner. "We need change. Because the situation here is not fine."
I cringe when I hear that last bit, since Chris is about the 10th person to say that. That the situation is not fine is both the new Zimbabwean proverb and the world's biggest understatement.
DAY SIX
Bulawayo is a fantastic name, but the city is proper boring. Especially on Sundays. My train to Vic Falls didn't leave until 8PM, so I spent the day sitting in the hostel, drinking coffee and reading "news"papers.
I had booked a berth in a sleeper cabin for the overnight trip. It was a pleasant journey and i was comfortable and in good company. And, having seen the looks of some of the rogues who were riding in the economy cabin, I thanked myself for having splurged for the 1st class ticket.
The trip took 14 hours. There were frequent stops, and one passenger told me that the conductor must often slow down due to herds of elephant crossing the tracks. A train hitting an elephant? Sounds potentially messy!
DAY SEVEN
Victoria Falls is not like the rest of Zimbabwe. It is an island unto itself. Sure, there are many poor and desperate people, but because of the town's proximity to Botswana and Zambia, shelves are well-stocked and life is generally normal. And another thing: Vic Falls has tourists.
Up until this morning, I had met one other backpacker during my week in the country. Now suddenly, here were many. This was a welcome change, since I had started to feel conversation-starved.
Having seen the Zim side of the falls on my previous visit, I gave it a skip. I still have to see the Zam side anyway. Besides, I didn't return to Vic Falls to look at water flowing over a gorge. No. I came here to buy a giraffe.
Zimbabweans must be among the most talented artisans in Africa. Carvings, sculptures and jewelery are of the highest quality, and the Vic Falls market is THE place to shop. Since my last time here, I'd had my heart set on an olive-wood carving of a giraffe, and today I finally had the pleasure of being able to mosey through the hundreds of available specimens, looking for the most handsome candidate. After finding the one and taking care of a little business, I walked away with a 4' high giraffe, and a young artist named Clement walked away with $40 + my T-shirt + my shorts. Good thing I'd brought spares!
In the evening, I drank beers with some local guys who were giving "African names" to all the White people. I ended up with the title of Mchaza, which is Ndebele for "man's anus". Great. Just great.
DAY EIGHT
By this point, I'd eaten a big enough slice of Zimbabwe and it was go time. The plan was to cross the bridge over the Zambezi into Zambia, but of course nothing ever goes according to plan.
I had $59 to my name, and the Zambian visa costs $55. A quick internet search revealed that there were no banks on the Zam side that would give me money, and the prospect of arriving in a new country with $4 and a hope and a prayer wasn't too appealing. Food thing I had Plan B: B for Botswana.
I caught a ride in the back of a truck, 70km to the Kazungula border crossing, for which I paid $3 (extortion). But who cares? My arrival at Zim's Western frontier meant that I had accomplished what very few travelers have been able to do in recent times: blitzkrieg across the whole country. As I walked forth to the border, I turned back for a moment of contemplation. I had just completed the most ambitious, challenging and calorie-deficient journey of my life. Tout seul.
Giraffe in hand, I marched into Botswana, walked 5km to Kasane town and checked myself into a luxury resort complete with full breakfast, fresh towels and a fine view of the Chobe River. Good old credit card!
I will return to Zimbabwe one day. There are still places to see such as Harare and Mana Pools National Park - both famous in Africa. But the real reason I'd like to return is my affection for the Zimbabwean people. They are classy, they are educated, they have infinite potential, and they deserve better. Someday, when the country stops being run by apes, Zimbabwe will one again thrive and find its place on the world stage.
Hope you all enjoyed this story.
-Mchaza
Monday, October 8, 2007
Friday, October 5, 2007
My Zimbabwean Diary
Dear Mom,
A short while back you made me laugh by likening my blog to Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. Perhaps, I've finally written the true African story you were looking for.
I invite you all to read the words I wrote while traveling in one of the most unforgettable countries I have ever visited: Zimbabwe.
P.S. This is long, so instead of making you all pack a lunch, I will divide it into two separate posts (next one to come in a couple of days).
DAY ONE
I entered the country at the Forbes' Road border crossing from Mozambique. I don't know why, but I always get a feeling of satisfaction whenever I cross a border on foot - it seems somehow romantic. I handed over $65US for the Zimbabwean visa - my second in as many months - and swallowed hard for two reasons. First, Canadians pay the second highest fee to enter Zimbabwe, after Angolans. Second, I can't help but imagine my precious money being transfered directly into the back pocket of supreme despot and rotten son-of-a-bitch President Robert Mugabe. Before heading to town, I had to change money, which is both funny and scary at the same instant. It's scary because it's illegal, unless you use an official exchange bureau, which will give you 30,000 Zim$ for $1US. Few people use that outlet, however, because the dodgy-looking fellow sitting under the tree outside the exchange bureau will pull banknotes out of a stack 6" high and trade at a rate of 200,000:1. It definitely pays to use this "parallel market", though doing so could land you in a local prison, which I'll hazard isn't much fun.
I paid a local guy to drive me to Mutare, a large and rather pleasant town in Zim's Eastern highlands, and walked to a guesthouse wherein I paid 1.7 million dollars to become their only resident. It would be my 3rd night in a row sleeping in a place that had no electricity, though the power did come on for 7 minutes a little later in the evening.
Mutare's principal attraction is a nearby national park, but I had no car to get there so I just walked around. I'd heard all the tales about the nationwide shortages of food and goods, though nothing could have prepared me for what I saw as I gazed in the shops. Supermarkets - massive ones - had almost nothing in them, perhaps just enough clutter to occupy 5% of the space. There are no eggs, milk, cheese, Coke or bread.
I walked home and ate the buns, tomatoes and cookies that I'd brought with me from Mozambique.
DAY TWO
I wanted to go to Masvingo, 400km away, but I had no idea how to get there. Fuel shortages have crippled the transportation network, which is a shame because Zimbabwe has excellent infrastructure and a reliable system of trains and buses. I was encouraged by a local guy named Ian, who remarked that "you can always get from Point A to Point B, it's just a question of how." I had a stroke of luck by finding a bus headed in the right direction, though I paid for my good fortunes by spending the next 7 hours stuffed into a seat, unable to so much as fidget, with my body pressed up against a window, face exposed to the hot sun while some lady's colic baby wailed in my ears at 20,000Hz. The passing view (one with many baboons) and a cheap 1960s romance novel were my only escapes.
Buses here stop often, mostly due to "fundraising" roadblocks set up by local police. It's a bit annoying, though one consolation is that many villagers congregate at the stops, waiting to sell their wares to the idle passengers. For several minutes, an impromptu market manifests itself, and commerce takes place through the windows. Most touts sell tomatoes and bananas, though today I was offered a selection of fried snacks such as roaches and whole fetal birds.
Masvingo is the access point to the ancient ruins of Great Zimbabwe, but the town itself is just a truck stop. I paid 196,000 Zim$ for a bowl of rice and sausage, ate 4 bananas and spent the rest of the night in the hostel, sitting alone in the dark.
DAY THREE
The realization sets in that finding even the most basic item in Zimbabwe is a tall order. Neither the hostel nor the supermarket has toilet paper, though I won't tell you how I solved that problem. I rise after a sleepless night courtesy of the 101st Mosquito Airborne Division and meander down to the only eatery in town. I wolf down a plate of beef stew and sadza (maize meal) before heading to the grocery store to arm myself with bananas, chocolate and soda water for the day ahead. Then I catch a minibus taxi to Great Zimbabwe.
Great Zimbabwe is an ancient Shona city, built of stone and thought to date back to 1200AD. It was once the focal point of one of the most powerful civilizations in the region, which is why, at independence, the Rhodesian government chose to rename their country after this exact place.
I strolled around the ruins for a while, somehow managing to avoid all the guys who wanted to be my guide, then headed back to my lonely room. It was only 1PM; wishing not to wallow in bed for the next 9 hours, I walked to the expensive hotel up the road and spent the afternoon drinking 600,000 dollars worth of beer and watching Spring Break Shark Attack on TV (no, really!) As I skulked home, I paused amidst a family of vervet monkeys and stared at the afterglow of the day's denouement as it reflected in orange off the old rock walls of the city. I thought that, once, the Zimbabweans were a powerful nation, led my a fearless chief who built great cities and led his people to glory. Somehow, things have regressed in the last 800 years.
DAY FOUR
By 645AM, I have already succeeded in hitching back to Masvingo. Upon arrival, I order tea and french fries at a confectionery, and discover that my Zim dollars had lost half their value overnight. My sights set on getting to Bulawayo, I staked out the petrol station until a bus arrived going the right direction. I should mention that I employ the term "bus" in the lightest sense imaginable... it's only my best guess that this bucket of bolts was a bus in its previous life.
20 minutes out of town and things begin to unravel. There is a loud bang and the driver screeches to a halt. Some shouting in Ndebele ensues, followed by a sea of groans. We have blown a drive shaft bearing. Everybody gets out, and there we all were, sitting in the grass on the roadside, myself speaking to a nice guy named Lawez who claimed to know Donovan Bailey, while meanwhile the bus driver was hitching back to Masvingo to find a mechanic.
To my surprise, they had the bus repaired within an hour and we set off once more. I must say I was enjoying sitting outside in the morning sun - Zimbabweans see very few tourists and I was quite popular as I took pictures of the debacle.
Hell broke loose for good shortly thereafter when the bus threw a second bearing. Picturing myself passing my 27th birthday on that ride, I grabbed Lawez and told him that if he found us a substitute set of wheels to Bulawayo, I'd pay for it. We waited nearly 2 hours, but eventually managed to pile into the back of a pickup truck along with 13 others. It cost me an extra million and it rained all the way, but I couldn't have cared. We got there.
To make matters more interesting, the only hostel in Bulawayo was full. Full? Up to this point I'd imagined being the only tourist in Zimbabwe. Perhaps I still am, because the other lodgers were locals, so in an act of desperation I paid $15US to rent a tent which I pitched in the hostel parking lots.
Travel in Zim sure ain't no picnic.
Stay tuned...
A short while back you made me laugh by likening my blog to Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure. Perhaps, I've finally written the true African story you were looking for.
I invite you all to read the words I wrote while traveling in one of the most unforgettable countries I have ever visited: Zimbabwe.
P.S. This is long, so instead of making you all pack a lunch, I will divide it into two separate posts (next one to come in a couple of days).
DAY ONE
I entered the country at the Forbes' Road border crossing from Mozambique. I don't know why, but I always get a feeling of satisfaction whenever I cross a border on foot - it seems somehow romantic. I handed over $65US for the Zimbabwean visa - my second in as many months - and swallowed hard for two reasons. First, Canadians pay the second highest fee to enter Zimbabwe, after Angolans. Second, I can't help but imagine my precious money being transfered directly into the back pocket of supreme despot and rotten son-of-a-bitch President Robert Mugabe. Before heading to town, I had to change money, which is both funny and scary at the same instant. It's scary because it's illegal, unless you use an official exchange bureau, which will give you 30,000 Zim$ for $1US. Few people use that outlet, however, because the dodgy-looking fellow sitting under the tree outside the exchange bureau will pull banknotes out of a stack 6" high and trade at a rate of 200,000:1. It definitely pays to use this "parallel market", though doing so could land you in a local prison, which I'll hazard isn't much fun.
I paid a local guy to drive me to Mutare, a large and rather pleasant town in Zim's Eastern highlands, and walked to a guesthouse wherein I paid 1.7 million dollars to become their only resident. It would be my 3rd night in a row sleeping in a place that had no electricity, though the power did come on for 7 minutes a little later in the evening.
Mutare's principal attraction is a nearby national park, but I had no car to get there so I just walked around. I'd heard all the tales about the nationwide shortages of food and goods, though nothing could have prepared me for what I saw as I gazed in the shops. Supermarkets - massive ones - had almost nothing in them, perhaps just enough clutter to occupy 5% of the space. There are no eggs, milk, cheese, Coke or bread.
I walked home and ate the buns, tomatoes and cookies that I'd brought with me from Mozambique.
DAY TWO
I wanted to go to Masvingo, 400km away, but I had no idea how to get there. Fuel shortages have crippled the transportation network, which is a shame because Zimbabwe has excellent infrastructure and a reliable system of trains and buses. I was encouraged by a local guy named Ian, who remarked that "you can always get from Point A to Point B, it's just a question of how." I had a stroke of luck by finding a bus headed in the right direction, though I paid for my good fortunes by spending the next 7 hours stuffed into a seat, unable to so much as fidget, with my body pressed up against a window, face exposed to the hot sun while some lady's colic baby wailed in my ears at 20,000Hz. The passing view (one with many baboons) and a cheap 1960s romance novel were my only escapes.
Buses here stop often, mostly due to "fundraising" roadblocks set up by local police. It's a bit annoying, though one consolation is that many villagers congregate at the stops, waiting to sell their wares to the idle passengers. For several minutes, an impromptu market manifests itself, and commerce takes place through the windows. Most touts sell tomatoes and bananas, though today I was offered a selection of fried snacks such as roaches and whole fetal birds.
Masvingo is the access point to the ancient ruins of Great Zimbabwe, but the town itself is just a truck stop. I paid 196,000 Zim$ for a bowl of rice and sausage, ate 4 bananas and spent the rest of the night in the hostel, sitting alone in the dark.
DAY THREE
The realization sets in that finding even the most basic item in Zimbabwe is a tall order. Neither the hostel nor the supermarket has toilet paper, though I won't tell you how I solved that problem. I rise after a sleepless night courtesy of the 101st Mosquito Airborne Division and meander down to the only eatery in town. I wolf down a plate of beef stew and sadza (maize meal) before heading to the grocery store to arm myself with bananas, chocolate and soda water for the day ahead. Then I catch a minibus taxi to Great Zimbabwe.
Great Zimbabwe is an ancient Shona city, built of stone and thought to date back to 1200AD. It was once the focal point of one of the most powerful civilizations in the region, which is why, at independence, the Rhodesian government chose to rename their country after this exact place.
I strolled around the ruins for a while, somehow managing to avoid all the guys who wanted to be my guide, then headed back to my lonely room. It was only 1PM; wishing not to wallow in bed for the next 9 hours, I walked to the expensive hotel up the road and spent the afternoon drinking 600,000 dollars worth of beer and watching Spring Break Shark Attack on TV (no, really!) As I skulked home, I paused amidst a family of vervet monkeys and stared at the afterglow of the day's denouement as it reflected in orange off the old rock walls of the city. I thought that, once, the Zimbabweans were a powerful nation, led my a fearless chief who built great cities and led his people to glory. Somehow, things have regressed in the last 800 years.
DAY FOUR
By 645AM, I have already succeeded in hitching back to Masvingo. Upon arrival, I order tea and french fries at a confectionery, and discover that my Zim dollars had lost half their value overnight. My sights set on getting to Bulawayo, I staked out the petrol station until a bus arrived going the right direction. I should mention that I employ the term "bus" in the lightest sense imaginable... it's only my best guess that this bucket of bolts was a bus in its previous life.
20 minutes out of town and things begin to unravel. There is a loud bang and the driver screeches to a halt. Some shouting in Ndebele ensues, followed by a sea of groans. We have blown a drive shaft bearing. Everybody gets out, and there we all were, sitting in the grass on the roadside, myself speaking to a nice guy named Lawez who claimed to know Donovan Bailey, while meanwhile the bus driver was hitching back to Masvingo to find a mechanic.
To my surprise, they had the bus repaired within an hour and we set off once more. I must say I was enjoying sitting outside in the morning sun - Zimbabweans see very few tourists and I was quite popular as I took pictures of the debacle.
Hell broke loose for good shortly thereafter when the bus threw a second bearing. Picturing myself passing my 27th birthday on that ride, I grabbed Lawez and told him that if he found us a substitute set of wheels to Bulawayo, I'd pay for it. We waited nearly 2 hours, but eventually managed to pile into the back of a pickup truck along with 13 others. It cost me an extra million and it rained all the way, but I couldn't have cared. We got there.
To make matters more interesting, the only hostel in Bulawayo was full. Full? Up to this point I'd imagined being the only tourist in Zimbabwe. Perhaps I still am, because the other lodgers were locals, so in an act of desperation I paid $15US to rent a tent which I pitched in the hostel parking lots.
Travel in Zim sure ain't no picnic.
Stay tuned...
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Under da Sea
While working on the game reserve in South Africa, I gained a great deal of knowledge with regards to the many wonderful creatures that live and roam on the land.
And so when I arrived in Mozambique, I decided to expand my zoological horizons a wee bit further by turning my eyes to the sea and completing my Open Water Scuba Diving Certification course.
Well, it wasn't exactly that simple. Before, when I thought about Scuba diving, a lot of dangerous scenarios popped into my head...
Riptides!
Drowning!
Decompression sickness!
Getting eaten by a seahorse!
It wasn't until I hung out with a Captonian guy in Maputo who happened to be a diving instructor in nearby Tofo that I gave diving some serious thought. Then all I had to do was part with $400 and I was on my way.
Getting your open water certification is quite an easy task, actually. You watch some corny videos, write a few exams, tool around in the swimming pool for a while, and you're all set to head out on the boat.
Which isn't to say that there's no intimidation factor. It's one thing to practice recovering a lost breathing regulator in a swimming pool, and quite another to do the same thing with 18m of ocean above your head. There are many challenging tasks to master on a dive, including mask flood purging, buoyancy control and emergency assents.
But let's cut to the chase here: Scuba diving is excellent. One, you're breathing underwater. Two, you're moving around in a 3-D environment, almost as if in slow motion flight. Three (and this is the big one), you are immersing yourself in a world that is far more rich in species diversity than on land.
Throughout the course, we did 4 dives, ranging in depth from 10-18m. Tofo has many reefs, all of which go by rather interesting names such as Hogwarts, The Office, Krakatoa, and my personal fave, Big Boobs Canyon. Well okay, I made that last one up.
The first 4 dives sucked, actually. Conditions were poor (as in bad visibility and strong swells) and I spent most of my time underwater trying to avoid crashing into the reefs instead of looking at fish. No harm done though... the purpose of a training dive is to hone your skill sets and not to identify the resident species of grouper anyway.
So in the end, I elected to fork over a bit more dinheiro to go on a deep water dive, which took us to Manta Reef, a massive dive site that rests 28m below the surface.
You know that tingly sensation you get when you bust your hump at something and end up being rewarded for it? Well, this is NOT what I was feeling at Manta. Sure there were tingles, but those were due to the nitrogen narcosis (a feeling of lightheadedness due to excess nitrogen in solution in the bloodstream) you get at such depths. It's a bit like having a few too many martinis, which can be quite disconcerting when you are at the bottom of the sea. The dive, however, was incredible. I saw dolphins, moray eels, lionfish, devil rays, parrotfish, scorpionfish, lobsters, octopi, (duh) mantas, and a giant sea turtle who came so close to me I could have kissed him. Though, that may have been awkward.
So now, as I travel further up the East coast of Africa, I can use my newfound aquatic talents to visit other famous dive sites, such as Lake Malawi, Zanzibar, and Comoros. Booyakasha.
"Each little snail here know how to wail here
Each little clam here know how to jam here
Girl we in luck here down in de muck here under da sea."
-Sebastian the Crab
And so when I arrived in Mozambique, I decided to expand my zoological horizons a wee bit further by turning my eyes to the sea and completing my Open Water Scuba Diving Certification course.
Well, it wasn't exactly that simple. Before, when I thought about Scuba diving, a lot of dangerous scenarios popped into my head...
Riptides!
Drowning!
Decompression sickness!
Getting eaten by a seahorse!
It wasn't until I hung out with a Captonian guy in Maputo who happened to be a diving instructor in nearby Tofo that I gave diving some serious thought. Then all I had to do was part with $400 and I was on my way.
Getting your open water certification is quite an easy task, actually. You watch some corny videos, write a few exams, tool around in the swimming pool for a while, and you're all set to head out on the boat.
Which isn't to say that there's no intimidation factor. It's one thing to practice recovering a lost breathing regulator in a swimming pool, and quite another to do the same thing with 18m of ocean above your head. There are many challenging tasks to master on a dive, including mask flood purging, buoyancy control and emergency assents.
But let's cut to the chase here: Scuba diving is excellent. One, you're breathing underwater. Two, you're moving around in a 3-D environment, almost as if in slow motion flight. Three (and this is the big one), you are immersing yourself in a world that is far more rich in species diversity than on land.
Throughout the course, we did 4 dives, ranging in depth from 10-18m. Tofo has many reefs, all of which go by rather interesting names such as Hogwarts, The Office, Krakatoa, and my personal fave, Big Boobs Canyon. Well okay, I made that last one up.
The first 4 dives sucked, actually. Conditions were poor (as in bad visibility and strong swells) and I spent most of my time underwater trying to avoid crashing into the reefs instead of looking at fish. No harm done though... the purpose of a training dive is to hone your skill sets and not to identify the resident species of grouper anyway.
So in the end, I elected to fork over a bit more dinheiro to go on a deep water dive, which took us to Manta Reef, a massive dive site that rests 28m below the surface.
You know that tingly sensation you get when you bust your hump at something and end up being rewarded for it? Well, this is NOT what I was feeling at Manta. Sure there were tingles, but those were due to the nitrogen narcosis (a feeling of lightheadedness due to excess nitrogen in solution in the bloodstream) you get at such depths. It's a bit like having a few too many martinis, which can be quite disconcerting when you are at the bottom of the sea. The dive, however, was incredible. I saw dolphins, moray eels, lionfish, devil rays, parrotfish, scorpionfish, lobsters, octopi, (duh) mantas, and a giant sea turtle who came so close to me I could have kissed him. Though, that may have been awkward.
So now, as I travel further up the East coast of Africa, I can use my newfound aquatic talents to visit other famous dive sites, such as Lake Malawi, Zanzibar, and Comoros. Booyakasha.
"Each little snail here know how to wail here
Each little clam here know how to jam here
Girl we in luck here down in de muck here under da sea."
-Sebastian the Crab
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