Christmas and day after Christmas went to Clarence’s place, spending time also with others around town, saying goodbye, etc. Had great talks with Clarence about life and politics.
Haven’t shaved since I left!
Yesterday, went to Harare in the morning and spend the afternoon there with Oscar, seeing one of the nicest places (if not the) in Africa that I’ve been to. Really a well laid-out city. This morning, I left Harare for the border in a very comfortable coach, and five hours later I was across the Mozambican border, on a chapa for Tete, speaking Portuguese again. Got into Tete at about 3:30, found Akisha, and hung out for the night. Tomorrow, the long trip starts for Nampula – probably two days of traveling. Car, bus, train … should be another adventure!
Peace,
John
Thursday, March 03, 2005
12.25.04
Spent day with Clarence, talking about everything … present, past, future. Wondeful guy. Visited Sanford, a drunk soldier who reiterated that I could go to him ANYTIME and he’s THERE, about fifteen times. And offered me a bunk at a Harare military base.
Got a Shona book!
Christmas is “let’s get drunk!” day.
Peace,
John
Got a Shona book!
Christmas is “let’s get drunk!” day.
Peace,
John
12.24.04
Went to the Great Zimbabwe yesterday, and it definitely was amazing. These incredibly built stone structures, ruined by colonialists eager to show the world that Africans weren’t capable of anything.
Yet what was most shocking was that, despite being home to all national symbols (the soapstone bird is, on the flag, the conical tower is replicated everywhere), Oscar and I were two of a handful of people visiting yesterday. We walked into the Great Enclosure, the museum, and several other ruins alone. We walked up and down trails to the hill complex without accompaniment. We were the only ones to see a family of baboons cross the path from forest to forest. Nobody comes to the Great Zimbabwe, relatively speaking. I realize it was a weekday, but close to a holiday, school’s out, etc. and there’s almost nobody around. Why? Money. Everyone says they’d love to go, and maybe they were there once a long time ago, but they don’t because just to travel there – cheaply – cost Oscar and I about $45, money that most Zimbabweans can’t possibly afford to spend. And we’re relatively close!
Well, today I’m headed out to a nice mountainous area to spend the night and Christmas. On Sunday, I’ll probably go to Harare and stay Monday, leaving Tuesday for Tete, Wednesday for Malawi, Thursday for Nampula. Spend Friday in town, Saturday at Ilha de Moçambique, Sunday to Gurue, Monday to Beira … busy!
It’s Christmas Eve. 9pm. Firecrackers are going off outside a silent house. Thinking of Christmas Eve gets me thinking about when I was a little kid, staying up late because I couldn’t get to sleep, opening the present my parents left for me in order to satiate my desire for new stuff. But the feeling of being together and enjoying a day where all that is done is cooking, eating and sitting around – comfortably – in stark contrast with the last three I’ve had. All by phone, counting this one. Mozambique, Portugal, now Zimbabwe. I hope the next one brings me back here. It’s definitely the loneliest time to be away from family.
But I wanted this adventure for every part of me. It’s something I needed to do. To prove to myself that I could, and to really try and get an idea of what this “Africa” thing is. I’m not about to say that I know it – I only have an idea of one part of Africa, but I feel like that idea is a well-formed one. And the more that I experience different cultures the more I realize my own. That my own is changing all the time as I see bits and pieces of other lives that I like. And so my culture is unique, and it’s not here and it’s not there. So what am I going to do with this? Where do I go from here?
Everyone says that something gives – you go one way or the other. Well, I will never be “American” (in the sense of being “African”), as if I ever were. I will not be labeled. I will be me, whatever that is. I’ve been writing notes to myself lately, to remind myself of what I might like to do when I get home: Social studies teacher, actor, social worker, math teacher, landscaper … the list goes on. But what irks me inside is that none of it seems quite right. I’m realizing that it matters less what you do than how you do it – meaning, life.
I read these stories of people who had convictions when they were young, then got “caught up” in jobs and families and the fire died out. They said they regretted their decisions, and that they wish they had retained some of their activism.
I fear.
I fear becoming one of those people who’s wishing they did when they didn’t. Regret, above everything else, is my greatest fear. I tremble at the thought of it. Because I know I have one chance to see the mountain landscape, to take that train ride, to tell someone I love them. And so it’s fear of regret that keeps me going. And this fear is around every corner when I think about the next step. Every possible path holds regret come success or come failure. And so it halts me, it makes me think, “There must be something perfect.”
Pragmatically, I know there isn’t. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing that when I open up the want ads one day, everything will come together. I wish.
Yet there is … [got interrupted!]
Peace,
John
Yet what was most shocking was that, despite being home to all national symbols (the soapstone bird is, on the flag, the conical tower is replicated everywhere), Oscar and I were two of a handful of people visiting yesterday. We walked into the Great Enclosure, the museum, and several other ruins alone. We walked up and down trails to the hill complex without accompaniment. We were the only ones to see a family of baboons cross the path from forest to forest. Nobody comes to the Great Zimbabwe, relatively speaking. I realize it was a weekday, but close to a holiday, school’s out, etc. and there’s almost nobody around. Why? Money. Everyone says they’d love to go, and maybe they were there once a long time ago, but they don’t because just to travel there – cheaply – cost Oscar and I about $45, money that most Zimbabweans can’t possibly afford to spend. And we’re relatively close!
Well, today I’m headed out to a nice mountainous area to spend the night and Christmas. On Sunday, I’ll probably go to Harare and stay Monday, leaving Tuesday for Tete, Wednesday for Malawi, Thursday for Nampula. Spend Friday in town, Saturday at Ilha de Moçambique, Sunday to Gurue, Monday to Beira … busy!
It’s Christmas Eve. 9pm. Firecrackers are going off outside a silent house. Thinking of Christmas Eve gets me thinking about when I was a little kid, staying up late because I couldn’t get to sleep, opening the present my parents left for me in order to satiate my desire for new stuff. But the feeling of being together and enjoying a day where all that is done is cooking, eating and sitting around – comfortably – in stark contrast with the last three I’ve had. All by phone, counting this one. Mozambique, Portugal, now Zimbabwe. I hope the next one brings me back here. It’s definitely the loneliest time to be away from family.
But I wanted this adventure for every part of me. It’s something I needed to do. To prove to myself that I could, and to really try and get an idea of what this “Africa” thing is. I’m not about to say that I know it – I only have an idea of one part of Africa, but I feel like that idea is a well-formed one. And the more that I experience different cultures the more I realize my own. That my own is changing all the time as I see bits and pieces of other lives that I like. And so my culture is unique, and it’s not here and it’s not there. So what am I going to do with this? Where do I go from here?
Everyone says that something gives – you go one way or the other. Well, I will never be “American” (in the sense of being “African”), as if I ever were. I will not be labeled. I will be me, whatever that is. I’ve been writing notes to myself lately, to remind myself of what I might like to do when I get home: Social studies teacher, actor, social worker, math teacher, landscaper … the list goes on. But what irks me inside is that none of it seems quite right. I’m realizing that it matters less what you do than how you do it – meaning, life.
I read these stories of people who had convictions when they were young, then got “caught up” in jobs and families and the fire died out. They said they regretted their decisions, and that they wish they had retained some of their activism.
I fear.
I fear becoming one of those people who’s wishing they did when they didn’t. Regret, above everything else, is my greatest fear. I tremble at the thought of it. Because I know I have one chance to see the mountain landscape, to take that train ride, to tell someone I love them. And so it’s fear of regret that keeps me going. And this fear is around every corner when I think about the next step. Every possible path holds regret come success or come failure. And so it halts me, it makes me think, “There must be something perfect.”
Pragmatically, I know there isn’t. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing that when I open up the want ads one day, everything will come together. I wish.
Yet there is … [got interrupted!]
Peace,
John
12.22.04
It took almost five hours to get out of Beitbridge this morning, and so when we arrived in Masvingo, Oscar and I just walked around town for a while, saw some beautiful mountains, took some pictures, found a rest house and got some dinner. So tomorrow we’ll see the Great Zimbabwe and then head back to Beitbridge.
Zimbabwe is truly a beautiful country, heavily influenced and appreciated by the British. I can see so many similarities between British and Zimbabwean countryside – it’s really a little bridge back into Western society.
Well, I got sunburned from our walk, so I’m about to pass out …
Peace,
John
Zimbabwe is truly a beautiful country, heavily influenced and appreciated by the British. I can see so many similarities between British and Zimbabwean countryside – it’s really a little bridge back into Western society.
Well, I got sunburned from our walk, so I’m about to pass out …
Peace,
John
12.21.04
I woke up this morning frustrated. I listened to the woman next door filling up water buckets and pouring them out into other buckets. Laundry, no doubt. I thought about the dinner I ate last night, cooked by the lone woman staying in the house I’m in. The movies – lots -- I’ve watched over the past few days, practically in a vegetable state. The fact that the most impressive thing I’ve done is fetch two avocadoes from a tree, with the husband of the wife who works, cleans and cooks, watching. It may be guilt, all of this, but it may be that I’m slowly being reborn.
Before I left, I took simple pleasures from my life piecemeal, and replaced them with more responsible ones. I did all this before knowing why I was doing it. When I arrived in Mozambique, I was in some of the best mental and physical shape of my life. It felt wonderful. I still look back to the middle of 2002 and seek that same peacefulness.
Because the last two years has temporarily ruined me. But it’s not due to any vice I have – it’s because I never quite eradicated all the vices I had. I never knew why I was doing it in the first place! And I missed some of the mental issues – like, looking to movies and television for escape (of course, only when necessary – you must understand my sarcasm here) and so when my mental pipes get blocked up, I look for the easy out. And after two years of an experience – er, of life! --- that I’m still trying to get my mind around, the mental pipes were blocked up.
And so I need to remove and artificial barriers (“I never want to work in computers again,” “I will never eat U.S. meat again,” “I must have a noble job”) before I can get my mind around it. When one uses never and must, one is saying that some part of life is intrinsically immutable – which isn’t right. Everything changes. I change every day. I have changed since I started writing this entry. So limiting that change, handcuffing it, produces conflict in life. When change happens internally, without being manifested externally, and you deny that change, there is a twisting and turning that stops you in your tracks.
And then it all falls down. If I say to not have any hard and fast rules to how I live, and it changes all the time, how can I ever know what I think?
Reset.
Banana and bread sandwich. Wheat bread. Fresh banana, from where bananas come from. The pen moving along the paper. Crow in the sky. Water boiling. Kids playing. Dishes rattling. Person scuffling. Silence in between. The silence occupies more space than any one of these things, like poorly used packing material. Poorly used, because packing material, unlike silence, should be sparingly used.
Peace,
John
Before I left, I took simple pleasures from my life piecemeal, and replaced them with more responsible ones. I did all this before knowing why I was doing it. When I arrived in Mozambique, I was in some of the best mental and physical shape of my life. It felt wonderful. I still look back to the middle of 2002 and seek that same peacefulness.
Because the last two years has temporarily ruined me. But it’s not due to any vice I have – it’s because I never quite eradicated all the vices I had. I never knew why I was doing it in the first place! And I missed some of the mental issues – like, looking to movies and television for escape (of course, only when necessary – you must understand my sarcasm here) and so when my mental pipes get blocked up, I look for the easy out. And after two years of an experience – er, of life! --- that I’m still trying to get my mind around, the mental pipes were blocked up.
And so I need to remove and artificial barriers (“I never want to work in computers again,” “I will never eat U.S. meat again,” “I must have a noble job”) before I can get my mind around it. When one uses never and must, one is saying that some part of life is intrinsically immutable – which isn’t right. Everything changes. I change every day. I have changed since I started writing this entry. So limiting that change, handcuffing it, produces conflict in life. When change happens internally, without being manifested externally, and you deny that change, there is a twisting and turning that stops you in your tracks.
And then it all falls down. If I say to not have any hard and fast rules to how I live, and it changes all the time, how can I ever know what I think?
Reset.
Banana and bread sandwich. Wheat bread. Fresh banana, from where bananas come from. The pen moving along the paper. Crow in the sky. Water boiling. Kids playing. Dishes rattling. Person scuffling. Silence in between. The silence occupies more space than any one of these things, like poorly used packing material. Poorly used, because packing material, unlike silence, should be sparingly used.
Peace,
John
Friday, February 25, 2005
3 weeks back ...
Well, technically it's Friday and it's three weeks that I've been back in the States. I feel like it's been a WHOLE lot longer than that as all of the old routines and memories have come back so easily. I feel almost like I've lost all of the habits I had in Africa in terms of talking with people and just in general taking life so moment-by-moment. I want to stop using the computer and the TV and all of that. Actually, I think I'm making progress. I toured some of the parts of Canton and Collinsville that I haven't been back to for quite a while today. I took a walk in the reservoir, and bought myself a Spanish book to seriously study. What I really need to do is finish the job search, which I'm closing in on. I've pretty much settled on teaching, and there's this great fellows program in place in NYC, DC and Miami. So I'm applying to these programs, and hopefully I'll get accepted to at least one of them and be able to teach later this year. Once that's done, I'll be able to actually focus on what's important, spend less time on the computer, less time watching TV and movies, and more time just being.
I think I needed this time, though, just to let my body catch up and do all those things for which it was in withdrawal. But I'm running out of excuses for being lazy, and I'm feeling like I'm slipping into a depression. Which everyone says is "normal" ... screw that. It may be perfectly normal, but I refuse to slip into it. I'm going to remain active until it gets warm enough so that I can get my bike out and be a bike freak again. That will make me feel a LOT better. I may get a laptop and a cellphone so that I can be mobile and not feel so tied down. But then again, I don't have that much money! We'll see.
So what's the plan? Keep on with jobs until I feel pretty assured that I've got something, do some temporary work if need be, visit people, get in shape (which is actually very important to staying sane), and try to be a good son and friend. I feel like that's not enough, but I'll find more to keep me busy.
Peace,
John
I think I needed this time, though, just to let my body catch up and do all those things for which it was in withdrawal. But I'm running out of excuses for being lazy, and I'm feeling like I'm slipping into a depression. Which everyone says is "normal" ... screw that. It may be perfectly normal, but I refuse to slip into it. I'm going to remain active until it gets warm enough so that I can get my bike out and be a bike freak again. That will make me feel a LOT better. I may get a laptop and a cellphone so that I can be mobile and not feel so tied down. But then again, I don't have that much money! We'll see.
So what's the plan? Keep on with jobs until I feel pretty assured that I've got something, do some temporary work if need be, visit people, get in shape (which is actually very important to staying sane), and try to be a good son and friend. I feel like that's not enough, but I'll find more to keep me busy.
Peace,
John
12/19/04
I cooked some meat tonight and my hands still reek of it. Though it was quite good. Just hope I cooked it well enough -- we'll find out by morning, I suppose.
Mainly just lied around today and watched movies. I'm getting my fill for sure. Zimbabwe is turning out to be quite relaxing and a half-way to the States. I don't think that I'll go and see Victoria Falls, but I'm definitely going to go to the Great Zimbabwe and also see a little of Harare, the capital.
I'll call allison on Thursday to see if she'll be at site next week -- if not, I'll just give myself an extra day to get to Nampula.
Peace,
John
Mainly just lied around today and watched movies. I'm getting my fill for sure. Zimbabwe is turning out to be quite relaxing and a half-way to the States. I don't think that I'll go and see Victoria Falls, but I'm definitely going to go to the Great Zimbabwe and also see a little of Harare, the capital.
I'll call allison on Thursday to see if she'll be at site next week -- if not, I'll just give myself an extra day to get to Nampula.
Peace,
John
Thursday, February 24, 2005
12/18/04
[N.B. I wrote this entry as a series of brief notes to myself, which I almost never do. I'm expanding it now into something a little bit more ... literary. Also, I have changed names of people and places as Zim's government is a little sensitive about people reporting anything on local conditions.]
So, on Wednesday at 2pm we found ourselves BACK in Chokwe as the chapa had to turn around. No water crossing for us. So we all went to the train station, to catch the train that was supposed to leave at 6pm. I asked at 5pm, and they said 7pm. I asked at 6pm and they said 10pm. Yada yada. So me and the Zims huddled together and we dozed for most of the evening, until about 12am (Thursday) when we bought tickets for the train. It arrived at 1am, and then began the chaos.
We had been waiting with approximately 200-300 other people, most with a TON of cargo loaded into waiting train cars. Many market woman returning to their homes in the north of Gaza, some Zimbabweans headed back home after buying and selling goods that are much more affordable than in their own country. And so the train arrived FULL from Maputo (it took 12 hours to get from Maputo, a trip that takes 3 hours in a car or chapa). That meant we had to all squeeze on. This required a mad dash as soon as the train arrived, in the dark, through puddles of who knows what, just to find a car that you could hang off of until people made enough space inside just to stand in wall-to-wall humanity. I laughed out of necessity the entire time. I was smiling because it was one of those moments where I knew I was having a wonderful experience and could afford to recognize it.
12 hours later, we arrived in Chicualacuala. We departed Chokwe at 2am, as it took an hour to load everything. I spent the night very close to my locked bag, with nothing in my pockets, luggage key in my sock, money in my other shoe, random change and train ticket in my hat. I was bundled up as there were no doors or windows to protect from the wind. I tried sleeping standing up unsuccessfully, then managed to push enough people inches away from me to squat down and try and get some sleep, but to no avail as an ankle or leg was always turned the wrong way. After a while, I stood back up as it was more comfortable and essentially kept this pattern until the late morning, when I just stood up from sheer exhaustion! At a few stops, me and the Zim husband would jump out of the train and take a breather, talking about the differences between Mozambique and Zimbabwe. And complaining about the conditions. But it was all funny. Well, now, but maybe not at the time.
So we arrived at the border at 1pm Thursday and after navigating to the actual crossing, waiting for the immigration official (who I knew and helped me out), I crossed into Zimbabwe at 3pm. I got on a bus, hoping to be in Bulawayo by nightfall so that I could find somewhere to sleep there. Believing it was a three hour ride, I knew I was cutting it close.
Well, there are no surprises. It ended up leaving at 6pm, just to be stopped by border police. I fell asleep on the crowded bus next to a woman who was twice my size and eating food that smelled SO good. I had thrown away food just an hour into the train ride because it was crowding me and everyone else. Now I was regretting that. I vowed to be more opportunistic with food from now on. I woke up at 12:30am Friday as we were taking a long break to let the driver rest. We had already stopped to fix the engine and a flat. We weren't yet in Bulawayo. I bought some much needed food, made friends with a young Zim Humphrey who helped me out. On his advice, I realized there was no point in stopping in Bulawayo and bought a ticket to get me into Harare. We passed Bulawayo at 2am.
At 10am on Friday we arrived in Harare. Humphrey took me to his neighborhood, introduced me to a few friends, then at my urging got me to a bus to take me to Beitbridge. I was very thankful, but impatient as I desperately needed a full sit-down meal, shower, and bathroom. I hadn't pooped since Wednesday morning. I had successfully constipated myself.
I got on the Beitbridge bus at 11:30am, and it left almost right away. It was quite a nice bus, like American buses, but no bathroom. I knew I was close, even though I had gone way out of may going to Harare. Though it was the only relatively safe way to get there. I don't suggest travelling at night, however. That was quite the hair-raising experience. It was better than trying to find a place to stay in the middle of the night in a strange town in a strange country all alone with a big bag.
I got into Beitbridge about 4pm and a man who I met on the bus showed me to the right combi (Zim chapa) to get me to Valley 10, Oscar's village. At 4:30pm Friday, after consulting with another friendly man, I got to Oscar's house and finally sat down. I went into town with Oscar and a friend, we got fast food pizza and walked around town for a bit (seeing all the Christmas lights) before heading back home for a wonderful night's sleep in chilly Beitbridge in a queen bed in a room in my own!
Today, Saturday, I watched movies at Oscar's house, went into town, got sadza (xima in Moz, or polenta in US) for lunch, saw the flea market, did some internet, came back to the house to watch more movies, met with an older artist who bought us some traditional beer that looks like puke and tastes marginally better. And he gave us more movies to watch. You can say I went on a binge!
Peace,
John
So, on Wednesday at 2pm we found ourselves BACK in Chokwe as the chapa had to turn around. No water crossing for us. So we all went to the train station, to catch the train that was supposed to leave at 6pm. I asked at 5pm, and they said 7pm. I asked at 6pm and they said 10pm. Yada yada. So me and the Zims huddled together and we dozed for most of the evening, until about 12am (Thursday) when we bought tickets for the train. It arrived at 1am, and then began the chaos.
We had been waiting with approximately 200-300 other people, most with a TON of cargo loaded into waiting train cars. Many market woman returning to their homes in the north of Gaza, some Zimbabweans headed back home after buying and selling goods that are much more affordable than in their own country. And so the train arrived FULL from Maputo (it took 12 hours to get from Maputo, a trip that takes 3 hours in a car or chapa). That meant we had to all squeeze on. This required a mad dash as soon as the train arrived, in the dark, through puddles of who knows what, just to find a car that you could hang off of until people made enough space inside just to stand in wall-to-wall humanity. I laughed out of necessity the entire time. I was smiling because it was one of those moments where I knew I was having a wonderful experience and could afford to recognize it.
12 hours later, we arrived in Chicualacuala. We departed Chokwe at 2am, as it took an hour to load everything. I spent the night very close to my locked bag, with nothing in my pockets, luggage key in my sock, money in my other shoe, random change and train ticket in my hat. I was bundled up as there were no doors or windows to protect from the wind. I tried sleeping standing up unsuccessfully, then managed to push enough people inches away from me to squat down and try and get some sleep, but to no avail as an ankle or leg was always turned the wrong way. After a while, I stood back up as it was more comfortable and essentially kept this pattern until the late morning, when I just stood up from sheer exhaustion! At a few stops, me and the Zim husband would jump out of the train and take a breather, talking about the differences between Mozambique and Zimbabwe. And complaining about the conditions. But it was all funny. Well, now, but maybe not at the time.
So we arrived at the border at 1pm Thursday and after navigating to the actual crossing, waiting for the immigration official (who I knew and helped me out), I crossed into Zimbabwe at 3pm. I got on a bus, hoping to be in Bulawayo by nightfall so that I could find somewhere to sleep there. Believing it was a three hour ride, I knew I was cutting it close.
Well, there are no surprises. It ended up leaving at 6pm, just to be stopped by border police. I fell asleep on the crowded bus next to a woman who was twice my size and eating food that smelled SO good. I had thrown away food just an hour into the train ride because it was crowding me and everyone else. Now I was regretting that. I vowed to be more opportunistic with food from now on. I woke up at 12:30am Friday as we were taking a long break to let the driver rest. We had already stopped to fix the engine and a flat. We weren't yet in Bulawayo. I bought some much needed food, made friends with a young Zim Humphrey who helped me out. On his advice, I realized there was no point in stopping in Bulawayo and bought a ticket to get me into Harare. We passed Bulawayo at 2am.
At 10am on Friday we arrived in Harare. Humphrey took me to his neighborhood, introduced me to a few friends, then at my urging got me to a bus to take me to Beitbridge. I was very thankful, but impatient as I desperately needed a full sit-down meal, shower, and bathroom. I hadn't pooped since Wednesday morning. I had successfully constipated myself.
I got on the Beitbridge bus at 11:30am, and it left almost right away. It was quite a nice bus, like American buses, but no bathroom. I knew I was close, even though I had gone way out of may going to Harare. Though it was the only relatively safe way to get there. I don't suggest travelling at night, however. That was quite the hair-raising experience. It was better than trying to find a place to stay in the middle of the night in a strange town in a strange country all alone with a big bag.
I got into Beitbridge about 4pm and a man who I met on the bus showed me to the right combi (Zim chapa) to get me to Valley 10, Oscar's village. At 4:30pm Friday, after consulting with another friendly man, I got to Oscar's house and finally sat down. I went into town with Oscar and a friend, we got fast food pizza and walked around town for a bit (seeing all the Christmas lights) before heading back home for a wonderful night's sleep in chilly Beitbridge in a queen bed in a room in my own!
Today, Saturday, I watched movies at Oscar's house, went into town, got sadza (xima in Moz, or polenta in US) for lunch, saw the flea market, did some internet, came back to the house to watch more movies, met with an older artist who bought us some traditional beer that looks like puke and tastes marginally better. And he gave us more movies to watch. You can say I went on a binge!
Peace,
John
15/12/04
2 hours from Chokwe. Stopped. Dirt road. Washed out. We're looking to see if we can ford it or if we can make a trade with a car on the other side to take us to Chicualacuala. The "search party" is returning right now to let us know what the decision is. Saving grace is that it's pretty out here and I'm translating for some Zimbabweans who are travelling with us. I hope my next entry finds us closer to Zim!
Peace,
John
Peace,
John
12/13/04
I'm really neglecting the journal, but I realize that I'm doing it now because I don't want to have to catch up. So suffice it to say that I finished up all the schoolwork, saw Jenna off, then came back to Chokwe to spend a little more time with Nanosh and Chokwe folk in order to prepare for Maputo, then went to Maputo from Tuesday to Saturday where I got ripped off for $100, then came back to Chokwe. I'm still there right now and have been organizing my trip to Zimbabwe and beyond ever since. This first leg might prove to be the most difficult in terms of politics. If all goes well, I should be fine, as I've arranged it. But you never know in Zimbabwe, because the wrong person might think you're doing the wrong thing there. Which very well might be the case.
You see, Zimbabwe's economy is currently suffering because of the president's stifling economic policy of kicking white farmers off their land and replacing them with blacks. But the blacks don't have the equipment or the same know-how to handle these industrial farms, so the economy is spiralling downward. At the banks, I can buy $5,000ZIM for $1US. On the street it's double. And the highest issued note is $1000ZIM, or the equivalent of one dime. Bread costs about $3500ZIM. So to remedy this, the government has started to issue special notes that can be pulled back in at any time of $5000, $10,000 and $20,000ZIM. This, from a currency that wasn't far from the dollar (1 to 1) not so long ago.
And tonight I have been speaking with one of the secretary-generals for the opposition MDC party, who has promised me a visit with the foreign minister of the party, a well-travelled woman named Priscilla. I'm going to have to be quite careful if I do meet her, however. The whole situation is very reminiscent of apartheid-era South Africa. This secretary-general was beaten unconscious and left for dead by the current regime. I figured that was why his English was so slow and deliberate.
But it sounds like if I don't get made out to be a politico for the West all will be fine. I just have to be careful.
It's Monday and I leave on Wednesday. Almost all the gaps have been filled in, except for my visit with Allison. I haven't told her about it, mainly because I can't but also because it's Christmas time and if she's not there, I don't want her to feel guilted into being there. For that reason I may or may not go to Zambia. I will probably call first ...
If not, I can just skip out from Zimbabwe back into Mozambique, but that seems a lot less adventurous.
It's 1AM. Still haven't tried to get any sleep.
I know I can do this trip, but it'll be on of the hardest of my life.
Peace,
John
You see, Zimbabwe's economy is currently suffering because of the president's stifling economic policy of kicking white farmers off their land and replacing them with blacks. But the blacks don't have the equipment or the same know-how to handle these industrial farms, so the economy is spiralling downward. At the banks, I can buy $5,000ZIM for $1US. On the street it's double. And the highest issued note is $1000ZIM, or the equivalent of one dime. Bread costs about $3500ZIM. So to remedy this, the government has started to issue special notes that can be pulled back in at any time of $5000, $10,000 and $20,000ZIM. This, from a currency that wasn't far from the dollar (1 to 1) not so long ago.
And tonight I have been speaking with one of the secretary-generals for the opposition MDC party, who has promised me a visit with the foreign minister of the party, a well-travelled woman named Priscilla. I'm going to have to be quite careful if I do meet her, however. The whole situation is very reminiscent of apartheid-era South Africa. This secretary-general was beaten unconscious and left for dead by the current regime. I figured that was why his English was so slow and deliberate.
But it sounds like if I don't get made out to be a politico for the West all will be fine. I just have to be careful.
It's Monday and I leave on Wednesday. Almost all the gaps have been filled in, except for my visit with Allison. I haven't told her about it, mainly because I can't but also because it's Christmas time and if she's not there, I don't want her to feel guilted into being there. For that reason I may or may not go to Zambia. I will probably call first ...
If not, I can just skip out from Zimbabwe back into Mozambique, but that seems a lot less adventurous.
It's 1AM. Still haven't tried to get any sleep.
I know I can do this trip, but it'll be on of the hardest of my life.
Peace,
John
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