Posts Tagged zimbabwe
I can’t claim to know what it feels like to be poor. My dad always had a steady income. When my mom started working, I was mostly at the University. Although we were never rich, we always had the essentials – food, clothes, a house, and love. Here in Zimbabwe, as contrived as it might sound, I have started to feel what it’s like to be poor.
Working with SHAPE has been an experience. At times rewarding, at times an eye-opening introduction into the way that many people live in Zimbabwe. First, let’s talk about the bills. SHAPE has no money in the bank account. Well, there’s $700 in the Zimbabwean Reserve Bank, but the bank doesn’t have enough hard currency to allow people to withdraw. So, SHAPE has to transfer it to Barclays so they can withdraw it there.
Because SHAPE has no money, it can’t pay its employees. Some are going on their second month without pay. In addition, SHAPE has too many volunteers and employees, which means that the little money allocated from the one grant they do have has to be spread around everyone there. Of the 12 or 13 staff members, 5 are fully paid for. As you can imagine, the organization can’t pay its bills. There are no office phones and they can’t afford to repair the cars that break down on a regular basis. Because the staff hasn’t been paid, they can’t afford to buy airtime, put gas in the cars, or do much other than travel too and from work.
But Chris, what does that have to do with you? You see homeless people on the street in New York and you can’t really say you know what it’s like to be poor . You’re right. That’s not what’s given me the feeling. It’s that when you don’t have access to money – there are no ATMs to just withdraw the small cash savings I have left – you quickly take stock of your situation and think about how you spend it. I found myself wondering if I had enough cash on me to buy food for dinner, and pay for gas to get around town, and buy airtime because someone else used all mine to get a friend to rescue us when the car ran out of gas, again. Quickly, these expenses add up. Equally as quick, my reserves deplete.
The worry about money is ever present. As it the reality of not having enough of it.
Because you can’t get everything you need in Zimbabwe, my host family’s car is still not repaired. Hence, we make use of one of the dilapidated clunkers that SHAPE owns. This clunker ran out of gas. It’s an expected occurrence, first because there is a leak in the fuel tank, and second no one has any money to fill the car up. Because I’m the only one who ever really puts gas in, I don’t want to pay for other people’s errands in town.
Back to the story. Everton and I walked to the gas station about 10 minutes away. When we arrived, the power was out so no gas was pumping. We used my phone to call around for someone who could help. When the friends arrived with the gas about an hour later, they had unfortunately poured $7 of petrol into a container that used to hold oil. Of course, we didn’t know this, so when we poured it into the tank, we all felt our stomachs sink when we saw black stuff moving toward the tank. My stomach sank even further because I knew that $7, my $7, had been wasted and we wouldn’t be leaving the university any time soon. After a second ordeal – gas stations refusing to pump into a plastic container after waiting in the queue for 15 minutes – they returned with the petrol and we could finally leave the office.
When Everton and I finally arrive at home, it had taken three hours to go 11km (~7miles). There was no power at the house. Do folks ever get a break? No.
It’s this not-so-atypical day that makes me think this is what it’s about to be poor. Money constraints, car problems, stress about food and family. Add to that no power, no running water and you just feel like you can’t get ahead. This is the grind.
Compared to the Lower Zambezi, the still waters of the wide Upper Zambezi gave me the feeling of being on a lake rather than the mighty Zambezi that had tossed me around like a rag doll yesterday. However, adrenaline still coursed through my veins as I kept my eyes out for crocodiles and hippos surfacing near the canoe.
The morning was chilly, especially in the open bed of the truck carrying us and the canoes. We drove about an hour or so from town, into the Zambezi National Park. The road wasn’t too bad and the scenery was about person-high bushes, shrubs, and the scattered tall tree. It was mostly brown – it is winter and the dry season down here – and we saw a small herd of water buffalo checking us out as we drove slowly by.
At the river, we disturbed a group of baboons, but otherwise, we sat on the beautiful banks of the not-so-mighty-looking Zambezi. Here, the river is wide and dotted with hundreds of small, sandy islands that disappear at the height of the rainy season. For now, we enjoyed out breakfast and a safety brief before going for a lazy paddle.
I felt a little disappointed at first. We didn’t get on the water until the sun was well above the horizon and we didn’t see too many animals at first. Just a few birds, really. Then, our guide spotted a few hippos. These guys can move quick in the water and are pretty territorial, so we gave them wide berth.
A little later, we rounded the corner and, voila!, two elephants at the water’s edge. We quietly maneuvered the canoes so we could watch and take photos. I would say the elephants were no more than 50 to 100 meters away. Next time, I’ll be sure to bring my laser range finder to give you the exact distance.
We saw a few more elephants on the far bank of the river. You could tell they had been in the water because they were two toned. Light for about the top one-sixth of their body and dark the rest of the way down. When I saw the elephants, I felt the trip was worth it.
Just being outside in the sun, paddling on the river was great. The air is clean and the water cool – although you don’t go in because you might tempt a crocodile to nibble gently on your toes. I could easily have spent another day or two on the river, just watching the banks go by.
I love the outdoors and the adventure activities that put you close to nature. I can’t think of anything that puts you closer to the power of the mighty Zambezi (a.k.a., the Slam-bezi) than hopping in a raft with people I don’t know to paddle through some serious rapids. If you can think of something better, let me know.
On the Zambezi, there is low-water and high-water rafting. Apparently in the first ten rapids, there is a class 6 rapid – which means that your insurance company doesn’t provide liability coverage if you, a commercial enterprise, try to run through it with customers. To run the entire rivers, the rafting companies have their clients walk around this particular class 6 rapid. When the water is high, though, there is no place to walk, so the companies start at rapid number 11. In perhaps two-weeks time, they’ll be starting at rapid number 1. Ah well. Next time, on my five day float.
Despite starting on rapid 11, the river was great! The first wave that splashed into my face – maybe it smashed into my face – nearly knocked out my contact lens and had me sputtering and coughing after I swallowed some of the Zambezi. Naturally, I worried about parasites, toxins, blah, blah, blah. But two days later, I’m still alive.
After the first rapid, it was brilliant the rest of the way down. My favorite was number 17, where we rode the wave train up and down. That was such a rush. What was disappointing was my lack of stamina. Wow, I felt so weak. So weak. I could barely paddle for more than a few minutes at a time. Afterwards, I was wheezing, straining, and wanting to cry for my mommy. OK, it wasn’t that bad, but I definitely felt weak and stiff.
Amazingly, though, the guide decided to put me in the front. I don’t know if that was because he noticed how weak I was and the front doesn’t matter too much, or if he noticed that I actually pay attention to the other guy paddling and try to paddle in sync. There were two Ozzies, two Pommies, me, a Zim, a Zam, and our South Korean rafting guide (not really, our guide Colgate grew up around Vic Falls, but told us he was South Korean as a joke).
Colgate was a trip. So full of life, singing, and just ready to help everyone have a fun, safe time down the Slambezi. We went down the river with another raft – one steered and powered by the guide only. We switched guides at a calm point in the river. Colgate managed to convince the Belgian guys in the other boat to flop on their stomachs right at the bow of the raft. I think he told them it was a safety drill. He demonstrated, then had them practice a few times. On the last forward flop they did, he used the oars to quickly push the boat backwards. End result, they’re flopping forward, boat is moving backward … and voila, in the water. We laughed hard watching it. The Belgian guys in the boat laughed even harder!
At the end of the trip, we had to climb out of the gorge, probably 150m from the river back to the top. There, before us, was a veritable open air market of goods to buy for a shoe or a t-shirt or sun glasses and a little cash. Perhaps other people don’t know the value of their goods, but giving an $80 pair of sandals for a $2 item and giving cash does not appear to be the height of an astute bargainer.
I bought a couple things and thought it was reasonable, but I suspect I still over payed. I still loved the day.
I’m sitting in the Jungle Junction restaurant located in the Victoria Falls Hotel. I have a stunning view of the Falls’ mist and I can’t tell you how gorgeous the day is, with clear blue skies, light breeze, and nice, nice temperature.
When you’re inside the compound, it’s easy to forget and not acknowledge the reality of what surrounds you. You have about 13,000 residents in Vic Falls town. The industry here is tourism. Unfortunately, there are few tourists. I walked around the Kingdom Hotel, a big, Vegas-like structure with a casino, shops, big dining area, and lots of rooms. It definitely feels like an all-enclosed resort where you don’t need to leave for any of your needs, except for viewing the Falls in a helicopter or doing the bungee jump. Inside, though, it was empty.
I talked with two different workers in the gift shop, where they sell outrageously priced stuff. Well, they’re like US tourist-place prices. A hat for $20, a small souvenir picture book for $12, and postcards for $1. I couldn’t bring myself to buy anything, but I felt bad for the workers. At 10.30am, I was the first person to walk into the shop.
If you choose to leave the confines of your compound on foot, the hawkers descend upon you. This morning someone who obviously smoked more than a fair share of weed came to offer me trinkets – stone carved representations of the Zambezi river god called nyaminyami. I told him, and the guy with him, that I wasn’t interested, yet, the stoned guy with his glassy eyed look thought that perhaps no meant yes, so he offered me Zim dollars instead – a crisp one trillion note. I was rude to the guy – I asked if he was deaf because I had already said that I wasn’t interested in anything. He then glared at me until he decided I really meant I wasn’t going to buy anything. He left with, “You come and you don’t want to give us anything. It’s just like you …” the rest I don’t remember, but he was really saying you’re a white tourist, so you must give me money – you owe it to me.
Other people have tried to use a similar tactic. First they try to be friendly, then they try to use guilt to make you buy something. They may be smooth talkers in their own mind, but they have yet to learn that business is about relationships and until you’re in the business of hostile take overs, getting angry with people who might at some point in the future be inclined to buy something is not a way to generate business.
But it’s these interactions that you deal with, when you walk through town to and from anywhere, that tend to wear you down. There is always a Zim dollar to be traded – “Five dollars for one trillion.” Um, I can easily get three trillion in change from the bus drivers in Harare. I ‘m certainly not giving you $5. It gets old real fast.
Despite how old it gets, I’m not oblivious to why. These guys – and they’re all guys – are hustling for anything. They’re all young, too. They’re not old men and they’re not young kids, they’re maybe the 16 – 30 year-olds who don’t have work. Life is tough for pretty much everyone in Zimbabwe, job or not, so I can’t blame them for trying to hustle the tourists. I try to be firm, but not rude.
I felt bad about being rude to the stoner. I saw his compatriot – Temba or Trust in English – and apologized for being rude. He said, “No problem. That one is crazy. He smokes to much weed and drinks too much beer. If you don’t want to do business, no problem. We are just trying to make money.” I asked about the t-shirts, everyone wants old clothes, “Do you sell them or keep them?” “We keep them. We can’t afford to buy new ones. Some of the mean ones, like that guy, they try to sell them.”
A little later, I saw the stoner and apologized. He wasn’t interested at the time, but later in the day, he smiled and laughed with me when I saw him.
I return my attention to the gorgeous view in front of me. The green, manicured grass being watered as I type is a good metaphor for the compound. Where the sprinklers reach, it’s green and carpet like. Just outside the reach of the sprinklers is the dry, brown natural vegetation of this area at this time of year. The boundary is clear and abrupt. It’s just as abrupt as walking outside the gates of your compound and onto the streets of Vic Falls.
We were burning the midnight oil last night preparing for the OxFam Australia financial audit for today. By we, I mean they, because I don’t have anything to do with the finances. Unfortunately, midnight comes at around 6.15pm because the groundskeeper kicked us all out – he wanted to go home and had no audit in the morning.
To square away all the paperwork, we needed to get an invoice from the producer of the album. We got about 100m from the building and the car stopped. Oops, no gas. Everton and I decided to walk to the nearest gas station. It seemed awful dark, as in no street lights. When we arrived at the station, no power. So, Everton called a friend. They said they’d come bring us gas.
About an hour and a half later, they arrived. Great! They went to pour the gas into the tank and it was black. Oops! They filled up an old oil canister with the clean petrol. Power was still out in the area, so the crew had to go drive around to find another pumping station. The first one they went to – on the second trip – said they wouldn’t fill a plastic gas canister. They learned that only after about 20 minutes in the queue.
To make a long story short, it took an additional one and a half hours to get clean gas. With 6L of gas – maybe 50km of driving – we head to get the receipt. It’s about 8.30pm-ish now. When we arrive, well … no power, so he can’t print the invoice. The producer didn’t even have enough petrol to get home.
We left there around 9.45pm-ish. No visit is ever short in Zim, hence the half hour visit. From there, we had to drive Winnet home, which was about 20 to 30 minutes from the producer’s studio. Everton lives on the other side of town. Another 30 or so minutes home. When we arrive 10.30pm-ish – no power.
OK, we’ll just get up early in the morning. Next day – 6am, I’m up. We leave to get the invoice and arrive at the office by 7am. Well, we need gas. The 24hr station near Everton’s is closed – of course. We had to drive into town through a smog of exhaust to find a pumping station with gas and no queue. That took us through the crazy part of town – people and commuter mini buses everywhere. Did I mention I was driving?
After getting gas, we headed to the studio, got the invoice and made it to the office by 8am. Perfect.
Except, OxFam Australia cancelled the meeting and rescheduled for Tuesday.
I’m sure many of you must be wondering what a typical day in the life of Chris de Veer is while he helps out his fellow world citizens in Zimbabwe. Wonder no longer. I will tell you.
I have settled into a sort of rhythm that starts around 7am. I wake up, pack my sleeping bag, and get dressed for work. Yes, I sleep my sleeping back. It gets chilly at night and I love the comfort a down bag gives me. Getting dressed takes about three minutes because I don’t have a dazzling array of clothes to choose from. Although I have two pair of brown pants to choose from, I wore one pair for the first 10 days, so I’m switching to the pair I just bought. For a top, I have three collared shirts – light blue (anyone remember me recuperating at Grandma’s last summer? Same shirt), light beige (thanks to Moustaffa’s in Singapore), and white (Target?). One pair of shoes. So, there’s not much decision making to do.
After I’m dressed, I go outside in the front yard and do about 20 minutes or so of taiji. Before anyone asks what the neighbors think, we’re behind a seven or eight foot cinder block wall. The only people who see me moving around are the folks I live with.
Having started the qi circulation, I come in for some tea or coffee and breakfast. Then off to the office where I begin the daily struggle with the Internet. The struggle for information nirvana involves starting multiple page requests and cycling through them until one or more are done. Usually it’s best if you have something else to do like read documents, compose your emails, or translate War and Peace from Russian into Shona. You know, the stuff you normally do.
After a long day of reading nd answering ten or so email messages, trying to download files, and organize my thoughts that are scattered across 15 different tabs, it’s time to go. Lest you think I just came to Zimbabwe to sit in front of a slow Internet connection all day, I don’t just do this. There are periods where I talk with staff to get a better feel for the organization and what it needs.
The past couple weeks, SHAPE has had some artists in the recording studio laying down sick beats for the SHAPE’s fourth album. This process often required staff members to swing by the studio to listen, talk with the producer, deliver food to the artists, or simply pick them up to bring them home. It could take an hour, it could take three. It just depended on the day, whether a power surge had blown up electrical equipment, someone had run out of gas, or the diesel generator was choking on too much lubricating oil.
Upon arriving home, we would eat dinner. South African, affectionately called SA (sounding like essay) soaps would be on TV and sometimes the brilliantly produced Zimbabwean TV news. Usually, we go with BBC or SA news. If we have a game, we might play, or not. We often talk about Zimbabwe and the US.
I prefer to bathe at night, so they’ll heat up some water and I go do my thing. Did I mention where I’m staying there isn’t running water? Not sure what the problem is, but the house has taps and sanitation, the city’s delivery system is broken. The same can be said for electricity. It’s usually off on Thursday, but it can be cut any time for any amount of time. Makes bathing in a room with no lights interesting.
After I finish all that, I usually lay out my sleeping bag again. I either read a magazine or write in my journal. Then I pass out, to do it all over again the next day.
When you earn a few hundred dollars a month, you don’t have money to fill the tank. When your car is so old and beat up that the fuel gage doesn’t work, how are you to know when to fill up? Well, you actually figure out how many liters of gas you put in the car and keep track of how many kilometers you drive the car.
Literally, when we put gas in the cars, it’s a few dollars at a time and the driver always makes a serious mental note about how many kilometers they can drive before they run out of gas. I have never seen so many people who know how many kilometers it is from the house to work, from Harare to Masvingo, Harare to Bulawayo.
Yes, we generally have an idea of the distance between Richmond and Virginia Beach, or New York and DC, but … how many people can tell you exactly? Almost everyone I’ve talked to who drives a a car knows it’s 346km from Harare to Mutare. Folks know it’s exactly 11km from home to the office. New Yorkers may know how many minutes to the subway and from the subway to work, but we’re thinking in time, not distance.
It’s amazing how attuned to the different rhythms of life you become when adversity is imposed upon you. Low wages, expensive gas, and crappy old cars all conspire to make driving less than reliable and always a challenge.
I needed another pair of pants. I came for about 30 days and brought one pair of work pants. Not only are the people in the office getting bored with my drab, monotonous wardrobe, I’m tired of wearing the same slightly itchy polyester pants day-in, day-out.
So yesterday, I went on a mission in Harare to find a new shirt and a new pair of pants. I thought I might pay $5 to $10 for pants and about $5 for a shirt. No, try $15 for each. You want a short-sleeve polo shirt? Try $18. All the stores offered their wares for about the same price.
Well, that’s what you get for high-quality, Zimbabwean made textiles. Not so fast. These prices are for the cheapest, Chinese imports available. My friend told me Zimbabweans usually go to South Africa to buy clothes where prices for the same exact brands are about 1/5 the cost of Zimbabwe.
Another eye opener from Zim-land. Think about how far $15 goes at Old Navy, TJ Max, Ross, or the thrift shop. Then think about earning just a few hundred a month for a family. So, yeah, it’s expensive. You either pay in money to have the convenience of shopping in Zim, or you spend your time on a bus to South Africa where everything is cheaper.
And remember, $15 may still not seem like much, but the government workers here earn about $100 a month. Some nonprofits pay $400 a month. Then you need to pay rent ($100 – $250), utilities ($50), gas if you drive, food (minimum $100) … not much left to buy a $15 pair of cheap trousers.
I’m not quite sure what drives these high prices. Are there import restrictions, high duties, high demand, low supply? What? It’s probably a combination, but the government recently suspended duties on all products imported into the country, effective immediately. Hopefully that relieves a little pressure on the cost of goods; I still need to buy a shirt!
So, at around 8.50, I received a text message asking for help. A friend ran out of petrol (gas) in a dark area (as in, there were not many light) in the city center (Harare). (Do you like the parenthetical inserts?)
Everton and I jumped in the newly repaired Rasheen. What’s that you ask? It’s looks like a poorly miniaturized Jeep of some sort that Nissan made for right-hand drive countries. Luckily, they don’t exist in the States, but we do have equally, as well as more, ridiculous looking cars named the Aztec, the Rav4, and the stretch Hummer limo.
Now that you know what the car is, you should know it’s had trouble working. The mechanic assures SHAPE that it’s fixed, but a quick drive resulted in at least one stall, erratic engine RPMs, very low idle RPMs, and trouble shifting gears. Mint condition.
It’s into this beast, we jumped to rescue our friend. And, I was driving. Not really knowing rules of the road in Zimbabwe, I made a left turn on red (that’s the equivalent of right on red in the States) and Everton laughed a nervous laugh and said I couldn’t do that. Anyway, we made it there with only one stall the gas station. Did I mention this is an automatic, so there are no gear shifts for me to botch.
Amazingly, we had a real, spare gas can. It had a flexible nozzle, a rubber gasket to create a seal between the flexible nozzle and the hard cap, as well as a rear air vent to allow the gas to flow into the thirsty tank. Our friend was also shocked to see a real gas can.
With 5L of gas, he was ready to go. Except his car wouldn’t start. We didn’t have jumper cables. So, we ran down the street pushing the car that wouldn’t start. No luck. Hmm. Maybe our Rasheen could push the car somewhere. Let’s try … turn the key in the ignition … and … all power in the Rasheen is lost. Completely dark. Luckily the friend knew what he was doing and quickly reseated the terminal on the battery and the Rasheen was up and running.
Then, he took our battery, ran it to his car, started his car, put his battery back in, then put ours back in and it’s all good.
So, that was a fun evening and something a little out of the norm for me, but something that’s probably a not-so-uncommon occurrence here.
I arived in Zimbabwe a few days ago. Shep met me at the airport and I was wisked to the SHAPE International Offices. After quick introductions to the staff, I headed to my host’s home. Bleary eyed from a long flight to Harare, it was all really a blur.
Over the weekend, SHAPE had some student musicians in the recording studio for an upcoming album release. Brilliant! Their voices were great. If I had a cord to download the video from my camera, I would upload it to YouTube and post the link here. In the meantime, text will need to suffice.
On Sunday, I rested! Thankfully. I met some of my host’s friends on Saturday evening. We played a game of 30 Seconds until 3am. I still can’t think of what the game is called in English, but you have things you want to get people to say, like garfield or To Kill a Mockingbird, and you can use any clues you like except sounds like and saying the answer. People guess. And, you guessed it, you have a maximum of 30 seconds per card to guess all five. Needless to say, at 3am after a long day, long flight, and little sleep, I was knackered.
Now it’s Wednesday and I’ve had my first few discussions with folks about work in the office. Looks like fund raising, information & communications technology, and some basics in management are the main areas to help with. The next step is to set them up with a few, free Internet-based resources to start organizing their contacts, their volunteers, and their donors. I also have a few management tools in mind. Ever since I was introduced to Salesforce.com, I’ve been a big fan. I set up the resource for HOGC, for myself, and am now in the process of setting it up for Hands on Zimbabwe (aka, SHAPE Int’l).
I have talked with a number of the staff about their individual project areas. There is a real need for project management training, information technology training, and some old-fashioned computer networking. Anyone have old routers or two and a server they’d like to donate and ship to Zimbabwe?
Everyone is quite appreciative of the advice I’ve provided and I hope they feel the same way when I leave.
