Trip Start Nov 30, 2012
57Trip End Jun 02, 2013
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The majority of you I guess will be somewhat familiar with Zimbabwe's political history. President Mugabe, who came to power in 1980 and still rules today. Under his tenure, his country has gone from being one of the most productive African economies, consistently held as a shining African example to being an isolated, regressive place, with 96%25252525 unemployment! 96%25252525!
From the border to Victoria Falls we got a taxi. We shared it with a rather talkative French guy who pushed the driver quite a bit about Zimbabwean history. Thankfully the driver was relatively ok with this, but clearly indicated that some issues where not up for discussion (anything to do with Mugabe was not allowed) and advised us, for our own safety, not to discuss political issues with Zimbabweans. The driver spoke openly about the system of land reform, which he agreed with. The land reform was a process whereby Mugabe declared that all land held by the white farmers to be illegal and initiated a system of land reallocation. This effectively meant that he and his cronies brutally evicted the white land owners (the vast majority who had been there for many generations) and allocated it to his closest political allies
That was a bit of a digression, but we arrived nonetheless in Victoria falls, having already bribed a police officer. We checked into the local backpackers which was a small, empty place. It was ok. It was run by a lady, Lia and her son Ruan, both white Zimbabweans. Lia told us to be very careful walking to/from town at night, and not because you might get robbed or murdered, but rather that elephants and hippos often wandered into the streets. There was also a leopard around town which had killed off a few dogs and hadnt been captured yet, but otherwise it was fine and very safe! Thankfully all we met was a few warthogs. We got to know Ruan quite well and even though he was just 18 he spoke quite openly about the experience of growing up in Zimbabwe. He had lived on the family farm, which he described as paradise, until it was confiscated by Mugabe sympathizers in 2003. He had spent his schooling years at boarding school in South Africa as the education system in Zim was in shatters
The first impressions of Vic Falls is that life seems to have been put on pause somewhere in the mid 1980s, the houses, the shops, the cars, even the clothes people are wearing. its a bit weird. Victoria falls itself was a town built originally as a tourist destination. it is a pretty, little place with tree lined avenues and small little shops, a few restaurants but unfortunately some pretty nasty mega hotels, which would not look out of place in Disneyland. there are also very few tourists here, the vast, majority opting to visit the falls from the relative stability of the Zambian side, despite the fact that the falls are much more impressive from this side. The falls themselves are only a few hundred meters from town and as such the mist hangs like a curtain overhead and the tremendous roar of the water can be heard all over.
We had hoped to take a microlight spin over the falls but this was impossible to organize, so we opted for a helicopter ride instead. The weather at this stage had unfortunately taken a turn for the worse. For two months we had managed to avoid the rainy season but now it seemed to have caught up with us. The helicopter ride was postponed and we spent the day in our little straw shack washing clothes and watching movies. In the evening the weather relented and we ate dinner with an American guy. Later we were joined by another Irish guy and guess where he was from....Durrow, Co. Laois. And guess who he was first cousins with? The one and only Padraic Woods! What are the chances. That night we ended up downing far too many pints and I woke up with the fear that I would throw up in the helicopter which was scheduled for 9am
The following day we climbed aboard the Pathfinder bus service to Harare, just 1000kms and 12 hours away. This bus however, was unlike anything I have ever seen in my life, with almost fully reclining seats and complimentary onboard meals and drinks. It made the journey pass quickly . Outside we passed through endless, deserted fields and derelict farms. This was our first taste of real Zimbabwe. When we arrived into Harare it was dark, really dark. We assumed the electricity was out, but our taxi driver, named Fortune, told us that Harare Municipality could not afford to pay the city electricity bill. It had been like this for over ten years.
Our accommodation that evening was in a B&B run by a Danish couple, possibly the biggest mosquitoe infested hole we have both been subjected to....and they charged 50dollars. The guy worked as a consultant to an NGO, yet drove a 5 series BMW and his wife drove a similarly impressive land rover. They lived in a huge home, with a large pool, in one of Harare's exclusive white neighborhoods
We unfortunately didn't spend much time in Harare, but the sunday we spent strolling around the empty streets was really interesting. The actual city centre is pretty small and like elsewhere also a place where you get the impression that it's golden days have passed. The architecture is interesting, I liked it, especially the national gallery which was struggling to maintain some functionality despite the hardship. Its interesting that despite the economic woes, the government has promoted the arts and in particular traditional arts and crafts, singing and dance. Buckets were strategically placed throughout the gallery to capture the rainwater which came through the ceiling. But the vast majority of Harare's residents live in isolated suburbs with British-sounding names, such as Barrowdale, Avondale, Westgate and so on.
We spent the next few days comtemplating where we should go next. Our original was to head East towards the border town of Mutare, also the gateway to the spectacular Eastern Highlands which we had read alot about. However the weather forecast was for a lot of rain, in fact it was supposed to rain for the next week throughout most of Southern Africa. This would make hiking in the mountains impossible, but would also destroy our hopes for a week of scuba diving on the Mozambiquean coastline. We contemplated different options to avoid the rain and seriously considered hopping on a flight to Cape Town, but in the end we decided to give the highlands a chance and in the worst case scenario we could just come back to Harare and fly out
This turned out to be a very good decision, although getting there was a bit of a nightmare. We took a combi, a Zimbabwean matatu. It was hot, we were in the back row, squashed. Our luggage was partly in the back, partly under the seat and my small bag (with all the passports and everything else valuable) was shoved under the feet of the guy who sat in the front beside the driver. The journey was supposed to take about 3 hours, but ended up taking almost five, mainly due to the amount of police checkpoints we had to pass through. I reckon we were stopped close to 15 times over the space of a 150kms. They are looking for anything to fine the driver over, lack of correct paperwork, speeding, something wrong with the bus. the fines are so excessively high it means that the drivers are not in a position to pay them, hence the drivers end up paying bribes to the polices officers to avoid receiving the official fine. We saw money being handed over, cans of soda, even sandwiches.
Mutare is a beautiful town set in a valley, surrounded on all sides by the Bvumba Mountains. These mountains are really spectacular, completely un-African if that makes any sense? They were a favourite holiday destination for royalty, heads of state and other celebrities. Queen Elisabeth 11 on one of her many visits to Bvumba apparently referred to the mountains as 'the most beautiful place in the whole of africa'.
The sun was setting as we drove into town, but it was still hot and we struggled with both our tempers to carry all our stuff to our accommodation a the other end of town, only to realize that the place we were staying was at the other, other end of town (Engelke had the map, and seeing as there were no street names, orientating was somewhat difficult)
We stayed at Ann Bruce Backpackers which was recommended by a guy we had met in Harare. He told us that the proprietor, Ann Bruce, was quite a character, a bit vulgar and not everyone's taste. We thought she sounded perfect. The place, Ann's home, built in colonial style, was absolutely in need of renovation, but nonetheless had a homely sort of feel to it. We took to it at once. Ann, who we reckon was about 70, wasn't there when we arrived, but we bumped into her on our way back from the supermarket. She was indeed quite a character, but seemed very friendly, not least very funny. She was white Zimbabwean, her grandfather, an agriculturalist, emigrating from England to join the first wave of colonialists. Her father had been one of the founders of the Zimbabwean Police Force and she spoke proudly how the Zimbabwean police was once one of the most respected forces in the world, the envy of not just other African nations. It was at this moment that I realized, which Engelke later agreed, that everyone we had spoken to in Zimbabwe, whether white or black, talks about things in two tenses, past tense, the ways things used to be (much better) and present tense (how terrible things are now). Ann and Engelke bonded instantly over their common love of Greg's Anatomy. They (and I, by force) watched it together that evening.
Ann's housekeeper told us that her nephew, John, could take us on a tour of the mountains in his car for just 50 bucks
We visited the botanical gardens which were very impressive and as immaculately manicured as anything we see at home. Yet again we were the only people there, although the steep entry price for foreigners ($20) was probably rather off putting for most travelers. We put on our best white African accents and pretended to be local. Engelke even spoke a few words of Shona, the local language. It worked and we paid just $5 in the end (which we feel a little guilty about now).
The afternoon was spent eating lunch on the terrace at Leopard Rock and then horse riding
When we returned to the backpackers, Ann and her friend Lynn, who we had also met the previous evening, were updating each other on the days activities. On the small table was a carton of white wine, a bottle of whiskey, 4 cans of soda water, a bucket of ice and some popcorn. We joined them over our dinner of Chinese takeaway (surprisingly good). The stories they told were truly remarkable and listening to them both was very special. Ann told us about her daughter, who moved to London to become a ballet dancer, but ended up, with her mothers consent, becoming a stripper. Ann also had all the gossip on the royalties and celebrities who had been in town, since her father and later her brother had been the police officers in charge during those visits. She also spoke about her ancestors and we both were really amazed when she told us that she was in fact a descendent of Cecil Rhodes, the man himself, the explorer who originally colonised this part of Africa and named it after himself, Rhodesia. She showed us letters from Rhodes to her grandfather. We spoke about how the backpackers used to be full, every evening, but how she now struggled to get guests. We were her only guests that week
We in turn admitted to her that we had almost not come to Zimababwe after reading so many awful things about the place. In particular we read two books by Peter Godwin, 'When the Crocodile Eats the Sun' and 'The Fear'. The first chronicles Godwins upbringing in Zim and the slow destruction of the country and the second an account of the horrific election circumstances in 2008. The books have received much acclaim, but within Zimbabwe, they have been very much critisced. Ann, who knew Godwin personally and showed us her signed copy, got really angry. She resented that he, who had spent most of his adult life living in the relative luxury in New York, could write such negative books. 'How dare he', she kept on saying. 'How does he know what's it like, he doesn't live here. I do, I know whats it like', she shouted at us across the table. We were a little taken a back, but sympathized with her and understood her grievance. So many people did read Godwin's books and were too afraid to come to Zimbabwe. She calmed down and said that despite all the hardship and the very few friends she has left, she still loved Zimbabwe and would never change. Lynn nodded in agreement.
She then recommended we read another book called, 'The Last Resort' by Douglas Rogers
The next morning John took us to the border, only 10 Km. It rained as we crossed the bridge into Mozambique. We were both truly sad to be leaving such an amazing, beautiful and completely unique place. There have been a few occasions on this trip when we have been overly presumptuous about a place or a person we have met and in hindsight have been proved completely wrong. This is the case for us and Zimbabwe. We'll be back!