Big Brother's African Brother #44: Harare, Zimbabwe, South Africa

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Harare, Zimbabwe
September 2002

(US $1 = 655 to 700 Z$)
Harare is a great, compact little city to chill out in - the closest we have ever come to urban utopia. Tom loved it so much that he said he could live here (praise indeed), wanting to stay another week. I'm sure this was more to with the fact that he was slowly working his way through the endless flavours of home-made ice cream in 'Scoop', indulging in freshly made waffles, visiting the cinema for the princely sum of Z$180 (18 pence) and spending hours shopping for dirt cheap souvenirs. I think it is every accountant's fantasy to find a country cheaper than India.

Of course, this utopia was only made possible by exchanging our hard currency (US dollars) on the black market. We changed money at Edgars (an upmarket department store) where officially the rate was 52 Zimbabwe dollars to a US dollar. This rate is written on the receipt, but unofficially we were given Z$655 to a dollar. The largest denomination bank note is Z$500 worth only 50 pence, so the wadge of notes received after changing US$100 was a nightmare to carry around, filling our day sack. Do not, under any circumstances, change money on the street. Hustlers will offer Z$800 or even 850, but even if you do receive bona fide notes (not a roll of blank paper), they may threaten to report you to the police.

There is always some consolation in knowing that whenever our former tour leader said a place wasn't worth visiting, i.e. Harare where the truck only stopped for one night in a camp site 20km out of the city centre, the opposite is true. We were in raptures about Harare after visiting the Avondale Centre, across the road from our hostel. We were just like children given a free rein in a sweet shop. Overnight we had stepped into a civilised first world of ample eating opportunities, a cinema, arts centre, hairdressers, two well stocked supermarkets, post office and market selling clothes, videos, CDs, soapstone sculptures and wood carvings. The hairdressers was another revelation. For Z$850, I had a shampoo, hair cut and free head massage. I could not believe that the country was in economic meltdown, facing inner political turmoil, on the brink of disintegration.

However, day by day, the atmosphere subtly changed. The queues for bread got longer, more and more beggars appeared on the street, white Zimbabweans balked at the prices in the supermarkets and rumours of fuel shortages abounded.

To collect our souvenirs dropped off by the truck, we took a taxi out to Backpackers and Overlanders camp site. Our taxi driver was an ameniable fellow, divulging information on the current state of Zimbabwe. To quote his words:

"Robert Mugabe is killing us."
"A hungry man is an angry man, liable to do anything."

He said he felt no animosity towards British or Americans, contrary to the Government's warped view. Most Zimbabweans want Mugabe out and another election called since the last election was rigged. The problem is that any opposition candidates or supporters are denied food aid or conveniently disappear. He agreed in principle to land reform, but what good was it when the farm went to rack and ruin afterwards. He stressed that local people were subsistence farmers, having no knowledge of how to run a commercial farm. Mugabe was paying the war veterans and his supporters money to carry out his dirty work, maintaining a tenuous grip on power through corruption and intimidation. He also told us that there were long queues for mealie meal and bread and we were not to venture out into the villages as people were desperate and starving. He admitted he often felt afraid of working at night as there were a growing number who had no qualms about using violence to steal money and were not interested in justice.

Under normal circumstances, he cannot voice these views or even contemplate supporting the MDC (Movement for Democratic Change) as he fears for his life.

Security is an issue here. In the white populated suburbs, all the houses are enclosed by a walled or electric fenced compound. Additional barbed wire is thrown in for good measure. A heavy metal gate across the entrance, barred windows and doors, and a night watchman employed to guard the gate, are mandatory.

A visit to the market at Avondale resulted in us returning with green soapstone hippos and two abstract family sculptures for Z$1800. We made a conscious effort to share the wealth by buying from three different stalls after stall holders begged us to buy from them so that they could feed their families. All the artists engrave their names on the bottom of the sculptures.

In African Unity Square, we were hassled constantly to buy from their stalls. The prices were much higher than Avondale but Tom fell in love with a carved stone head of a man; his features were so detailed down to the furrows in this forehead. It was a beautiful piece, 12 inches high, weighing 6 kilos. We negotiated the price down from Z$7000 to Z$4000. All of our souvenirs were sent back using air mail as the postage rates were ridiculously cheap. One of our parcels weighed an awesome 30 kilos but only cost US $30 to air mail.

If ever there was a case for long drop dunnies it was in the African Unity Square public toilets. Forget dignity or modesty, I was confronted by ladies with knickers round their ankles, bums hovering over filthy toilet bowls. No cubicle doors, no toilet seats, no flush and no running water from the sink taps. After all the bush camps and toilet stops on the side of the road (I fondly remember waving to passing trucks in Tanzania), I had no qualms about joining them having perfected my toilet bowl hover long ago.

To return to Avondale from Harare city centre, we often flagged down unmarked taxis, but only if other locals got into the vehicle as well. Many of these vehicles weren't even unmarked taxis but respectable business men, earning extra money on their way home from work. One of the vehicles we flagged down was a plush 4x4 with a guy impeccably dressed in a crisp, clean blue suit at the helm. I couldn't believe it was worth his while to earn an extra Z$125 by picking up five passengers.

The car before had appeared full; this did not deter one Zimbabwean from hopping into the boot - he waved goodbye to the rest of us with a broad grin on this face, pleased with his ingenuity.

One of our last suppers in Harare was at St Elmos who specialise in enormous pizzas, pastas and salads, adding in a weird tomato-like fruit called 'elmodew' that tasted hot and sour. The Thai chicken salad was heavenly and the Tandoori chicken pasta superb. However, it was noticeable that nearly all the patrons were white. This fact made me feel distinctly uncomfortable. I was wolfing down a lavish meal in first world luxury served by courteous black Zimbabweans, while the country was descending into chaos, violence reigned in the countryside and people were on the brink of starvation. Suddenly, Harare was not so attractive anymore - it was definitely time to leave.

In our travels in Africa, we have met many South Africans who refer to their country as "having had the best years" or "the country has gone to the dogs now". It is only possible to enjoy this fantastic lifestyle at the expense of others who work for paltry wages in poor conditions. That was how it felt in Zimbabwe - there was such a gulf of wealth between black and white. However, the tide was turning - it was the end of an era whether the whites liked it or not.


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