White Ghosts: Zimbabwe
on Alex MacMillan (Namibia), 10/Mar/2012 11:06, 34 days ago
"Did you know what the woman was saying to me through the window? "The taxi driver asked us, as we sped through the streets of Harare,"No, what was she saying?"She was saying "are you the taxi driver now who takes the White Ghosts?""White Ghosts! Do we look like white ghosts then?""Yes. If you went to Victoria Falls, you would hear the local children call you White Ghosts, in the local language (Ndebele)" and he muttered some words that we recognised."Yes, actually, we did hear that.""You see? White Ghosts."White Ghosts, we thought. How appropriate.We'd arrived at the border crossing into Zimbabwe late, having been delayed on the Zambian road by a truck that had decided to crawl along at 20km an hour, whilst the police cleared the road to let it through. We had just half an hour to get ourselves and the car through the formalities before the border post closed - we weren't entirely sure we'd make it, but thought we'd give it a try. If not, we'd camp another night nearby.We approached the building and looked inside - complete chaos. Truckers jostled and shoved each other in a desperate bid to get stamped through before nightfall. We went to the visa counter and said hello to the border guards - who werenothappy that we'd already got double-entry visas at Victoria Falls and glowered at us as they stamped us out of Zambia and into Zimbabwe. Joining the crowd of truckers at the customs desk, we were hurriedly given the documents for the car to fill out and directed to Interpol for 'car clearance'.Walking up to the office of Interpol Zimbabwe, we knocked and said hello. Two officers lounged languidly behind their desks, and another packed beers into a small fridge in the corner. The gentleman behind the largest desk looked up without smiling."Where are you from?""UK, sir. We want to stamp our car into Zimbabwe. We've already got our visas. We'd be most grateful for your help in this matter.""UK? You have to have the car cleared by Interpol Zambia first. The guy's outside, about to leave, run and you'll catch him."Alex ran out, and the officers immediately burst into laughter."He won't find him, good luck, see you tomorrow!!""Thanks a lot, that's not very polite is it?" I replied, immediately realising that they'd sent Alex on a wild goose chase in a bid to make sure we spent the night in the car park. They looked at me. Just then, another gentleman walked in and asked if he could also stamp his car into the country. The Interpol man turned to me with a smirk and barked"Go to the back of the queue""Why? I was here first""Go to the back of the queue. Now.""I'll wait outside for my husband because I don't want to stay here, but I can see this gentleman wasn't told to go see Zambian Interpol, was he?" I marched out, furious, while the officer threw me a guilty glance. I wondered just how comfortable the car park was going to be that night.A few moments later, Alex returned. I explained what had happened, and he walked back into the room where the officers sat."There is no Zambian Interpol. The gentlemen outside told me there isn't one here and that you are deliberately wasting our time. I'm calling the management upstairs." Panic registered on their faces."Oh, I'm sorry Sir, come and sit down."Two minutes later, our paperwork was checked through and stamped. We marched out without saying goodbye, and walked back over to the long truckers queue - now resembling more of a scrum - to pay the customs fees and get them to stamp our car through - the final procedure. We waited a long time, and the office closing time came and went. The jostling and shoving in the queue became fiercer as people shouted to be stamped through - truckers usually drive all night and make a lot of headway on their journeys, so being stuck at customs isn't something they really want. The customs official noticed that I was getting shoved around in a crowd of men, even with Alex holding onto me tightly, and must have felt something between amusement and pity, as he called me to the front. The crowd parted and suddenly people were laughing good naturedly. Three minutes, two stamps, and US$70 later, we were through, into Zimbabwe.As we drove down the road, spotting elephants munching on trees by the roadside as we passed, we realised we only had an hour of daylight left, and a lot of terrain to cover in that time. The map showed an expanse of green through the mountains of the Hurungwe safari area. "We'll have to stay in the first lodge we come to, there's nothing detailed in the Lonely Planet for this area." We drove on into the countryside in silence. The roads were a little dilapidated, and the crash barriers at the side of the roads were broken and falling apart. A sense of sadness pervaded the twilight. The radio picked up only static across all the bands, and as we drove up hills and looked out over the landscape, it became increasingly apparent that there wasn't anything for miles around. Horizon to horizon was nothing but bush. Stunningly beautiful bush, but we didn't particularly want to be driving in it in the dark. We continued cautiously for two hours, driving first in the diminishing light and then in the pitch black. We hadn't known it at the time, but a power cut meant that even remote buildings couldn't be seen.At long last: a lodge glowed in the distance: it obviously had its own generator for power. We pulled over and gratefully climbed out of the car, and followed the sound of laughter into the bar area. Twenty young men looked up in surprise, falling silent as we walked in."Hello" we said, wondering why they were looking at us, "how are you? Is this a lodge?""Yes, of course it's a lodge." The leader of the young men looked up and smiled a slow smile."Is it possible to stay here?""Yes of course, ask her for the keys". He pointed to a waitress hiding by the kitchen door, peeping round nervously at us. Feeling a little uneasy, we walked over and said hello to the timid girl. She told us to go around the back and she'd meet us there with the manager. Nodding in agreement, we walked back through the bar and out into the night. Alex and I glanced at each other and looked around to make sure no-one was listening."There wasn't a barman in there. They were just helping themselves to drinks from the bar." We stood and wondered what to do, when suddenly a trucker who had been in the bar hurried outside and spoke to us in a hushed voice,"Look, I know you're from Namibia, I can see from your car sticker. You need areally niceplace, so I wouldreallyadvise you to go to another place up the road. There's another lodge a few kilometres away, called Twin Rivers, go there, it's very nice. This place... this place used to belong to someone else and now... it doesn't. Go. Now."Hearing the urgency in his voice, we got in the car and left.We found Twin Rivers easily enough, and pulled into the car park. Already, the atmosphere was lighter - and the power was back on. We were showed to our room by a polite young woman, and went to the restaurant for dinner. We were just having a drink when the same trucker who had warned us about the previous lodge walked in."Thank God" he said "you're safe. I couldn't go without making sure you'd found it and were ok." He turned to the waiter who was bringing us a drink. "Can you imagine? They went to Springs." The waiter looked at us worriedly."But it's okay, now you're here. That other place, it was taken over. And now it's run by... not nice people. If you'd stayed... if you'd stayed your car would not be safe, nothing would be safe. Really, nothing. So I am so glad you are okay. I can continue now and not worry about you!" We called him back and bought him a beer. "No, no, I didn't do it for that. It's important to look after visitors to our country, tourism is important, and we don't want you to go back and say, ah, Zimbabwe, not a good place." We insisted on buying him at least a beer for helping us and checking in on us.Once he'd left, we looked around as we waited for our food to arrive. The service was impeccably polite and the people very sweet and friendly. The lodge, however, although cheerful and bright, also felt a little sad and run-down. We were its only guests. Parts of the walls were crumbling. A sign saying 'Caroline's' hung above the dark, empty bar and swayed silently. The tablecloths were old and frayed and a dozen or more tables were laid out. It just looked like they hadn't been used for two decades. Old colonial photographs lined the walls. One showed a cart being pulled by zebras with a black driver and two white settlers perched in the back with improbably bushy moustaches. We looked out of the window and watched as a young boy cycled into the night, gradually blending into the darkness until nothing could be seen but a white t-shirt flapping in mid-air.The next morning, after breakfast, we walked back to our room and found one of the porters cleaning our car."Sir, please excuse me, but I just couldn't see this car stay dirty. It's a beautiful car."We laughed, a little bemused, and Alex tipped him, prompting a broad smile. "Sir, if you know of any work, here is my phone number".We were on our way that morning to Harare, and decided to stop by the Chinhoyi Caves on our way down. These lovely caves, composed of limestone and dolomite, are an extensive cave network in Zimbabwe, and the cobalt blue water is beautifully impressive. After posing for some photos, we were on our way to Harare. The weather in Zimbabwe being more temperate, we watched the scenery with amazement. There were times we asked ourselves whether we were driving through Zim or through parts of Devon.Coming into the capital, the number of hitch-hikers increased. We have a policy of never picking up men, but since there were two lonely women on the side of the road, we offered a lift. One of them only wanted to go a short way, the other woman together with her sleeping baby came right into the capital with us. Offering us petrol money - which we refused - she smiled brightly and with a short 'Thank you, God Bless', she jumped out and walked to her home.Harare surprised us after the quiet orderliness of Windhoek and the ugliness of Lusaka and Lilongwe. Lovely colonial architecture stood on tree-lined avenues, which were filled with traffic that weaved, smoked and honked incessantly. Swerving to avoid potholes, we arrived in the centre of town, passing a rusted sign for 'The Embassy of The Republic of Yugoslavia.' "A little out of date now", Alex commented. "Do you think Serbia still sends an Ambassador?"We arrived at our backpacker's hostel, parked up and checked into a room with a high ceiling and bay windows. This particular backpacker's was filled with interesting people - musicians from the US collaborating with local artists, a woman who had previously worked with VSO Ethiopia and was currently doing research in Zimbabwe, travellers doing the Cape-to-Cairo. Plus a jolly, chucking woman who did night guard duty. Alex and I still occasionally woke in the night worrying our car was being broken into again - a memory of Botswanan hospitality - and Alex would rush out into the yard in the middle of the night to check on the car, much to her endless amusement."What you worrying for? I'm here!" She'd say before bursting into laughter at the sight of his shorts in the cool air. She would draw her shawl tightly around her and resume her position, sat five yards from our car. In the morning, she and her colleague killed a cobra who'd decided our car was a nice spot for a sleep.Zimbabwe was growing on us day by day. Since dollarisation, where Zimbabwe stopped hyper-inflation by bringing in the American dollar, the economy has stablised somewhat. The people are industrious - selling anything they can at the side of the road, cheerfully offering beautiful avocados the size of hams, orsoapstonesculptures. Culture is thriving - we watched street performers entertaining crowds in the centre of Harare, and enjoyed a couple of hours walking around the National Art Gallery. The quality of writing in the newspapers is significantly better than in some other countries in SADC, albeit heavily policed.The National Art GalleryA street entertainer performs for the crowdsSince there are more than 200 rock art sights around Harare, with paintings believed to be between 10,000 and 2,000 years old, we decided we would visit two of the most well-known sites, the Domboshawa Caves and Ngomokurira just north of Harare. Setting off in the car to begin the 90km round-trip, we arrived first at Domboshawa, and walked up the clearly guided path to appreciate the stunning views over the surrounding rocky countryside. Walking into the cave area, we were amazed by the sheer number that had survived over the years. Excitedly taking pictures, we examined the monochromatic paintings of elephants, kudu, and ancient man hunting game. A group of young white Zimbabweans lounged around drinking and smoking nearby, talking loudly about Facebook and the party they'd been to the night before. Upon returning to the ticket desk, we reported them. "They cause us so much trouble" sighed the security guard, "and they don't even realise that they are spoiling their own heritage."Continuing on to Ngomokurira, we asked a family along the way for directions. "It is just over there," they replied, "could you give us a lift if we show you the entrance?" "Of course," we said, "hop in!" Excitedly jumping into the vehicle, all five squeezed into the backseat, the children beaming as they looked around the car. We passed them a bottle of water, and they told us how they were originally from Durban in South Africa, and had come to Zimbabwe to find work. "Until it all went wrong. Life is harder now." The eldest sighed.Being waved off by the family after we dropped them off, we returned to the entrance to the cave paintings site, and climbed for well over an hour into the surrounding mountains. "This better be worth it" we muttered to each other as we sweated our way up. Rounding a rocky corner at the top of the mountain, a sharp intake of breath. The paintings stretched along the whole side of the mountain, and were huge - perhaps 10 metres wide and nearly two metres high. Elephants, women dancing, the sun beaming down on hunters, kudu, rhinos. We took photos and video of the paintings until we noticed the rapidly setting sun, and scrambled back down the mountain, which was growing increasingly shadowy. At the bottom, by our car, a group of children selling vegetables had assembled. We bought as much as we could carry and watched the children run delightedly back to their families as we turned the car around. At the hostel that night, we cooked a feast of carrots, tomatoes and avocados drizzled in olive oil with garlic rice, and shared some with the envious Dutch girls who were stirring their cup-a-soup and casting us longing looks.The next morning, studiously avoiding the smiling gaze of the night guard (we'd given her another surprise visit in the night, which had kept her chuckling for many hours), we set off for Masvingo further South. The number of police checks on Zimbabwean roads was nothing new to us now, but still made us tense up everytime we approached a stop. Fortunately, the only time a policeman decided he was going to try and 'fine' us, the two old ladies in our backseat, who we'd picked up as they hitched along the road, berated him soundly and he backed off. We thanked them profusely (although they didn't speak English, we made ourselves understood with a mixture of sign language and laughter) and dropped them off in town. They clapped their 'thank you's' as they exited the car, and we drove to our campsite within the site of Great Zimbabwe, where our guide Stressman ("Is that actually your name?" "Yes. Apparently I gave my Mother a lot of stress during birth") showed us around and enlightened us on the history of the ruins.Great Zimbabweis a site of a ruined city (Zimbabwe means 'stone walls') that was once the capital of the Kingdom of Zimbabwe (about 1100 to 1400). It's pretty big - it was once over 700 hectares and had up to 18,000 people. The construction on top of the hill acted as the palace, where the King would look down on his 200 wives and shout "Wife number 34, get me food!" Stressman reenacted this for us. We began to understand why his mother had chosen the name. The architecture of the place is truly amazing - the walls are overfive metres high and constructed without mortar. The city was an important trading post - pottery and gold has been recovered, demonstrating that trade routes through the city extended as far as China.Eventually the city was abandoned and fell into ruin.The ruins were then encountered by the Europeans in the late 19th Century, and they quickly realised that they were in trouble: essentially, the site proved that Southern Africans had a rich, complex history and culture, and that they weren't, in fact, 'savages'. The government of Rhodesia put huge pressure onarchaeologiststo state that Great Zimbabwe had been constructed by whites or 'yellow people' at a pinch. The site has since given the country its name, and the symbol of Great Zimbabwe, the stone walls, has been adopted by Zanu-PF as the party emblem. Vote against us, and you vote against Zimbabwe itself.Zimbabwean music and danceThat night, we cooked a dinner of veggie burgers and rice over our campfire, and took some rice and vegetables to the night guard on duty. He came and sat with us, and we asked him about his life."I have five children, and I want them to go to school. It's hard because for each child, it's US$50 each term for school and I earn US$200 a month. But I like my job, although I miss my wife."Alex slipped him some money and asked him to keep an 'extra special' eye on our car that night. He sat right by our tent all night and didn't move - when we opened the tent in the morning, he was right there outside. We made him a cup of tea before his shift ended.Travelling down to Bulawayo, a family that we picked up by the side of the road regaled us with tales of the farms that the road skirted around."That one there, that was taken over. There's no-one there now to pick the fruit and it doesn't produce much." We looked at the huge piles of rotting oranges that lay on the ground. The family sighed.Drawing up to the lovely town of Bulawayo, we decided to treat ourselves and stayed one night in a fabulous hotel called 'Nesbitt's Castle'. This outrageous copy of an English gothic castle was once a family home, and now functions as a hotel. Alex and I explored the small stairways, the billiard's room, the ladies powder room, the gentlemen's smoking room and marvelled at the architectural extravagance. A wedding was happening in the grounds - although everything was finished and everyone was home again by 8pm - and we watched as the bride danced away with the small bridesmaids. We settled in for dinner with whisky, and read by the low lamplight as the Sun set over the town.Nesbitt's CastleOur roomThe next day, we drove down to Matopos park to find some more cave paintings and, having blown all our money in Bulawayo, set up our tent in the park grounds. The park was unkempt and run-down, but eerily beautiful in the afternoon light. We drove around, examining Cecil Rhode's grave, and the lovely view.Cecil Rhodes' graveDriving over to an area just outside the park to see some cave paintings, we recognised the click language that the people were speaking, and realised that the village was inhabited by Bushmen. We asked a young woman with a baby strapped to her back to show us where the paintings were, as we couldn't quite locate them from the pencil map given to us at the park gates. She nodded and led us into the bush, before she began scrambling up the side of a mountain."Are you ok climbing up here with the baby?" we asked, out of breath and sweating."Yes, I am" she replied, grinning, not a hair out of place.As we reached a ledge half-way up, the girl rounded a rock and we realised that there was a cave just hidden from view. Walking in, we stopped short. The paintings were amazing: hundreds of them covered the cave from wall to wall, up to the roof. Some were huge, others small enough to almost be mistaken for dirt. We stood there for half an hour, just staring. The girl swung her cooing baby gently in her arms. We eventually re-descended the mountain crawling backwards on our feet and backsides. Returning to our campsite, some wild horses, smelling our food, decided to come and say hello. As they munched through whatever we'd tried to cook, we shut ourselves in the car to eat. They stayed there all night, occasionally kicking the erected tent outside. Without too much choice in the matter, we slept in the car.The way home took another four days, travelling through Botswana and the Trans-Kalahari highway. Coming back into Windhoek felt familiar, almost like home.