Sijwa

Yesterday, Elle and I moved out of the tent and into a house. Three days of incessant rain, mud and damp clothing was enough to finally wash away any further illusions or sentiment about continuing to live under canvas.

We have moved to a beautiful place called Sijwa, which is a thatched lodge-type structure on the Kwando River. Built by a German missionary called Helmut, in the late 90's, it has a big kitchen, three bedrooms and bathroom. It has running water (both hot and cold!), solar powered electricity and a generator. It also has a viewing platform over the river and a croc pool to bathe in. (This is a wire cage actually in the river which keeps crocs out).

The house, which now belongs to a conservation NGO is empty for the most part of the year and the trustees, who offered it to Elle, are more than happy to have someone living in it and maintaining it, rather than it standing empty.

Last night, we had a proper meal cooked on a gas cooker washed down with a bottle of cold wine from a fridge. We then slept soundly in a dry bed with clean sheets while a thunder storm of biblical proportions raged outside. Amazing the things you appreciate when you've been deprived of them.

Can't help feeling this is the beginning of a new chapter.

Back in the Bush

Arrived back in the Caprivi four days ago. Have had no internet service until today, hence no blog.

My journey here from Victoria Falls last Thursday went like clockwork. Crossed the border into Zambia, took a taxi to Livingstone and caught the bus to Sesheke which is a short walk from the Namibian border post. There to greet me was Elle, looking as stunningly gorgeous as ever, proving that absence not only makes the heart go stronger but improves your eyesight too. Mr B, her dog, also pleased to see me.

Elle's camp a bit rundown since I was last here, through no fault of her own. The tent is propped up by makeshift tree poles after the aluminium crossbars bent under the weight of rain water which gathered on her tent roof during her four month absence. Alot of her stuff, mostly tools which she depends upon, have also gone missing, presumably stolen.

Elle covered in bites from mosquitos who are very active this time of the year. Not helped by the fact that she allergic to stings. Her feet are in patricularly bad state. Covered in welts and purple scar tissue from mosquito and other insect bites. She got stung on the back by a wasp yesterday and is still very swollen today.

Found nasty scorpion in the tent last night which I removed using a glass and a piece of paper, slipped underneath. (Up until now, I've only done spiders in the bath).

Elle has been offered a house on an island nearby to live in. It has electricity, running water and lots of other mod cons, including a proper kitchen replete with stove, fridge, freezer etc. This has posed a bit of a dilemma for her. Despite the everyday hardships, she enjoys the solititude, privacy and location of her tent which she knows she will forfeit if she moves.

Woke up to birdsong this morning and Elle fast asleep in my arms. Watched the dawn break through the tent shade cloth window. I understand exactly what she means.

Today Namibia celebrates Independence Day, which this year marks the 20th anniversary since liberation from white South African rule.

Check out the following link:
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Happy St Patrick's Day and mind the elephants as you go...

It has been a very long day today. Arrived in Victoria Falls at midday after a marathon fifteen hour train journey from Bulawayo. Was supposed to be an eleven hour journey but then a lot of things are supposed to be in Africa and never quite are. (Still trying to work out how it managed to be four hours late when it was traveling in a straight line with no other oncoming trains?)

On top of that, it had to rate as one of the worst journeys I've ever done. My compartment which I was confined to for the whole journey, was filthy and stank of urine and stale sweat. If you can imagine being locked inside a cubicle of a public toilet overnight with an endless procession of people banging on the door, it should give you a fair idea. I wouldn't have minded but I was traveling in first class!

The warning signs were there. The Zimbabwe Railways woman employee who sold me the ticket warned me 'to lock myself in' the compartment because of the thieves and the friend who said with composed resignation, 'so you have decided to take the train then'.

This was a great disappointment to me. Zimbabwe used to have the most amazing trains, consisting of old British train carriages replete with teak interiors, leather seats and brass fittings. To ride one, which I did back in 1993, was to be transported back in time and experience something of the elegance of early train travel. Sadly, like many things in this country, they are no longer. (My compartment was a shrine to Formica).

Victoria Falls is Zimbabwe's top tourist destination and 99 per cent of its business is geared towards it. These days, tourists are most noticeable by their absence. This makes a short walk around the town unbearable as hawkers swarm around you like flies, trying to sell everything from wooden carved elephants to now defunct, inflationary Zimbabwean dollar notes. This gets extremely irritating after awhile and really tries your patience. Have to keep reminding myself they just trying to make a living to stop myself from punching one of them.

Being St Patrick's Day, I went out for a couple of beers tonight. Just before I leaving, I asked the barman was it safe to walk the streets of Victoria Falls at night. Looking at the clock which had just gone eight he said: 'It is fine. Very safe. Nobody on the streets at night.' Reassured I eased off the bar stool and made for the door. 'Just be careful of the elephants', he added. I laughed and waved goodbye. 'No, seriously,' he shouted after me, 'they walk around the streets at night. You need to watch out for them.' (And they do apparently).

The 'Pothole Index'

I used to think potholing was exploring underground caves until I came to Bulawayo. Here its the art of manoevring your vehicle round large holes in the road in between running sets of traffic lights which don't work.

The size of the potholes in African countries is usually a good barometer of where's it at. A kind of 'Pothole Index' if you like. if you want to know about a country's rate of inflation, level of corruption or economic growth, just take look at the state of the roads.

South Africa and Botswana, both success stories, don't have potholes. The Democratic Republic of Congo has road craters which can swallow a truck. The Central Africa Republic is pothole free and that's only because it doesn't have any roads. There is a joke in Zambia, that if you see two eyes reflected in your headlights at night slow down. Chances are its a giraffe stuck in a pothole

Bulawayo used to have great roads. Famed for some of the widest on the continent, you could at one time, easily have landed the Space Shuttle on Selbourne Avenue, a massive runway of a road stretching straight for some 5km into the city. It still has the most elegant of streets bisecting what's left of its crumbling colonial architecture. Unfortunately, the state of the road surfaces today make driving into town like a 'Top Gear' challenge.

I'll leave you with this one. Question: How do you tell a drunk driving home in Bulawayo? Answer: He's the one driving in a straight line.

Once Upon A Time...

Paid a visit to 'Books of Zimbabwe', which sells books of antiquity. Was trying to find a book I bought and read years ago called 'Three years with Lobengula' written in 1894. It's the story of Irishman John Cooper-Chadwick from Limerick, a failed gold prospector who ended up spending three years at the court of Lobengula, the great Ndebele chief who once ruled Matabeleland, and whose kraal once stood on what is now the modern city of Bulawayo.

Lobengula, according to Chadwick, exhibited 'great cunning and cruelty', had eighty wives who spent most of their day ferrying pitchers of beer to the great warrior king, proving he had both in spades. The book documents Chadwick's time spent with the great King (who called him 'Charlie') and gives a rare insight into the customs, traditions and social structure of an African tribe at the turn of the century.

It's a very interesting book, made all the more arresting by the actual feat of writing it. Chadwick, who is described in the foreword as 'the epitome of the unlucky little man' wrote the book with a pen tied to his right arm, after losing both his hands in a shooting accident.

Leafing through other history books circa the late 19th century, and looking at old sepia photographs of men in Fedoras and droopy moustaches, you can't help feeling a sense of awe. It was a time of the 'white' hunters, prospectors, explorers, adventurers and various shades of assorted villains who descended on the dark continent in pursuit of untold riches and opportunities. In America, it was called the 'Wild West' and has been chronicled and celebrated in thousands of books and films. In Africa, it's called 'colonialism' and can only be found in rare, stuffy old bookshops.

State of Grace

Zimbabwe's First Lady Grace Mugabe has ordered the destruction of a hundred family homes to make way for the expansion of her latest pet project - a children's orphanage. Making people homeless to house the parentless seems to be a reasonable offset for a woman more noted for her Harrods spending sprees rather than her compassion for others.

When completed, the state-of-the-art orphanage on 48 hectares of land, will have a children's home, a nursery, a school, a vocational training centre and a hospital. But that's not all. Also included in the development, are 30 five-bedroom houses, a shopping centre, a restaurant and guest chalets. Perhaps the inclusion of an orphanage was just enough to tug heartstrings at the planning office. Even Lady Macbeth has to go by the rules it seems.

While on the subject of orphans. I visited Chipangali wildlife sanctuary (Former patron Princess Diana) on the outskirts of Bulawayo the other day. They too are suffering. With no tourist revenue and hardly any local visitors, they are really struggling to look after and feed their animals. (I went on a Sunday which in the past was normally their busiest day and I was the only one there!)

To compound things, last year the orphanage lost its only two last remaining Rhinos, killed by poachers for their horns. It has also suffered numerous break-ins with heart-breaking consequences.

Chipangali director Kevin Wilson told me: "We used to have a domestic children's zoo in the Princess Diana Memorial Education Centre with rabbits, ducks, goats and sheep for the children to play with and touch. Unfortunately, they've all be stolen over the years for food."

Zimbabwe 1 (own goal) - Tourists nil

Zimbabwe's Ministry of Tourism (and you thought your job was tough) is gearing itself up for an influx of tourists to the country during the World Cup. Quite why it thinks, football fans would want to come here is another matter. There's nothing for them to do here, except bungee jump at Victoria Falls. Everyone has already been beaten up and there's nothing left to vandalise.

Tourism and Hospitality Industry minister Walter Mzembi is counting on a spill over of 130,000 World Cup visitors, spending US $200 million while they're here. Where he's getting his figures from is a mystery. My guess is he's been chatting with Mugabe's nephew, businessman and former ZANU PF MP Philip Chiyanga, who 'won' the exclusive and lucrative contract to sell Fifa's World Cup hospitality packages despite being on the international sanctions list. (How did that happen? Does anyone read at FIFA?).

Walter, obviously hasn't been paying attention to FIFA who have slashed ticket prices after admitting that their prediction of 450 000 international football tourists coming to South Africa was over-optimistic. But like many of Mugabe's cronies, Walter is clearly suffering from World Cup fever. The symptoms being a combination of greed and delusions.

Hard Times

I try and walk every morning for at least an hour, weather permitting. Fortunately, I'm staying on the outskirts of Bulawayo which is bordered by 'bush'. I enjoy traversing the numerous little worn ochre paths that weave through the bush because it offers a sense of adventure (have to watch out for snakes) which pounding the road doesn't. I also love walking too because it gives me time to think. The thought process combined with exercise seems to produce a positive outlook and generally fires me up for the rest of the day. (Must be the endorphin release!)

You also notice things when walking which you wouldn't otherwise if driving in a car. To get to 'the bush', I have to pass through what was once middle-class white suburbia. I notice many of the houses now stand empty and that many of the once pristine gardens have been turned into vegetable allotments. Ian, my host, says that many people have just upped and left, part of the great Zimbabwe diaspora over the past decade.

Some people have emailed me and asked me why I didn't blog for the past three months. To be honest, it has been an unsettling period. Moving to another country as well as a new relationship has not been easy. Like moving to two countries at once. Trying to find work in one and trying to work out the other. It has been very difficult and insecure period in my life. Not knowing where I'm going to live, what I'm going to do, how to have a relationship with someone who lives for the most part of the year in a tent in the bush etc. All vexing questions still without answers for the time being.

Fortunately, I thrive quite well on the move and have an army of welcoming friends in this part of the world with spare rooms and guest cottages. None of whom seem to mind having a increasingly pensive Irishman pacing about the house for a few weeks at a time. As for work, I've had to go back to journalism again at a time when the profession has never been more unwelcoming. Global recession, a huge drop in advertising and a general loss of appetite for foreign news in the UK has made things increasingly tough. Finding and writing the stories has never been the problem. It's finding newspapers and magazines willing to publish and pay for them. But I have little choice. Apart from film-making, I'm not really qualified to do anything else.

Elle is having it tough too. She's dependent on raising funds to continue her Hyaena project at a time when funding has receded worldwide. She needs to raise a minimum of fifteen thousand pounds just for her research alone (not counting a salary!). It doesn't sound alot but in the present economic climate its a small fortune.

She's back in the bush now, living in a semi-collapsed tent besieged by mosquitos and constant rain. We haven't seen each other since we parted company in Cape Town about a month ago and have kept in touch by text and email. She's about 600km from where I'm staying and I planning to visit her in the next ten days. It's hard being apart sometimes and not without its doubts and concerns. But then again they say 'absence makes the heart grow fonder'. I hope so.
　

Back in Never Never Land

UK and Irish residents are now being charged R550 (£50) for a tourist visa to enter Zimbabwe. This is bit like paying your way into a funpark knowing all the rides are broken. When the visa man at Bulawayo airport asked me how long I intended to stay and I replied a month he asked me why? Which is a good question. Why indeed would anyone want to stay a month in a country which looks like Haiti.

It's been four months since I was here last (see blogs passim) and little has changed. Power cuts are daily and at irregular times. Shop shelves are stacked with food which only the few can afford with prices almost double that of South Africa. (A 400ml bottle of 'Head and Shoulders' costs £6 !). The roads are potholed (made worse by the heavy rain right now) and the traffic lights don't work, which makes driving like a video game. But somehow, life goes on.

The new Unity government here continues in political stalemate. Mugabe hasn't helped matters by passing the new legislation (Economic Indigenisation and Empowerment Act) which demands that all major foreign companies in the country sign over 51 per cent shares to black Zimbabweans. (This all sounds very empowering until you read the small print which says the shares have to be bought. The only Zimbabweans who can afford this are Bob's golden circle of rich mates).

This latest move has sent jitters through the stock markets and put the frighteners on those thinking in of investing in a country which needs all the help it can get to pull itself out of the economic morass it finds itself in. Already, a number of multinationals who have a prescence in the country, have put a hold on expansion plans. If Zimbabwe was a football match, it would full of 'own goals'.