Wednesday, 11 June 1986: Road Trip with George to Harare

June 22, 3:30 PM, Emissary Community, Harare, Zimbabwe

I’ve made a few changes to my plans for the next two months.  First of all, I’ve decided to skip a trip to Malawi at this time.  It’s a beautiful country, but I’d either have to fly there (too expensive) or take an incredibly long bus ride there from Lusaka, Zambia.  Second, I’m not going to spend as much time in Botswana, Zimbabwe, and Zambia as I had budgeted for.  I keep feeling I should get back to South Africa, especially since the political situation seems to have heated up there lately.  If I do get the teaching job in Botswana, my South African travel time will have to be curtailed anyway.  I think I’ve gotten the contrasts of South Africa’s neighboring states I need, so why keep hanging around?  My plans are to return to Johannesburg on July 9 after taking a swing through Lusaka and Victoria Falls.  

Speaking of the UB job, I spoke by phone with the Environmental Science Chairman, John Cooke, after he met with the administration on June 9 about my application.  It appears that I’m still on track for the job.  Now, I have to get reference letters from the States to UB as soon as possible. 

On June 11, I left Bulawayo for Harare, Zimbabwe’s capital city.  I rode with George, a businessman who was stopping there on his way to a conference in the eastern highlands.  After spending the night with George and his family at their Bulawayo home, we left early in the morning.  George’s wife, Carol isn’t all that optimistic about their future in Zimbabwe.  For one thing, all the schools (even private ones) will soon be required to teach socialism, and Carol doesn’t seem enthralled with the idea of her kids being exposed to Karl Marx.  She also laments the fact that so many of their friends in Bulawayo have left the country.  So they are now making friends with people they wouldn’t ordinarily seek out.  Carol has lived a comfortable lifestyle here in Zimbabwe most of her life.  I think she will have difficulty adjusting to the new order that is evolving here.  She’s only about 35 but very set in her ways.  Her fervent Christianity makes it difficult for her to accept other value systems.  She commented to me that one of her friends is into meditation and wondered what I thought of that.  I told her that meditation seems valuable for body and soul for many people so I generally approve of the practice.  She doesn’t.  Carol disapproves of the idea of cleansing the mind of thoughts because it’s dangerous.  How?  Well, you see, it enables the Devil to infiltrate the mind.  Instead of clearing the mind, one should be thinking about and praying to Jesus Christ.  Now, how in hell is someone with a narrow attitude like this ever going to adjust to life in a black-ruled African state given the great cultural differences of the black African from the white?  

Our trip from Bulawayo to Harare covered 440 kilometers (about 275 miles).  By leaving early in the morning, we were able to make it to Harare in time for lunch.

 

June 22, 7:00 PM, home of Pete & Verity Mundy, Lake McIlwaine, Zimbabwe.     

In the morning, as we drive out of Bulawayo, George points out a drive-in theater, one of many examples of American influence here, including, of course, Coca Cola and the “Dallas” TV series.  Five large power lines crossed the highway bringing cheap electricity from the huge Kariba Dam on the Zambezi River.  We pass a sign that says, “Gweru 153” (kilometers that is).  George will be making a brief stop there to visit one of his companies.  He points out a brick works where clay pipes are made.  There isn’t all that much PVC pipe available in Zimbabwe.  Along one side of the highway is a government-built township for Africans.  George notes despairingly that they all look alike.  Actually, the housing looks fairly good for a developing country.  George points to the Llewellyn Barracks where he and many other Rhodesians did their national service training. 

As we leave the last remnants of Bulawayo’s outskirts, there is nothing but slightly rolling, bush-covered terrain on either side of the 2-lane, blacktopped highway.  This is poor farm land, but it’s good for cattle grazing.  We zoom around an African guy on a bike.  I’ve notice more blacks riding bikes here than in South Africa, where it seems like almost all of them walk or ride buses.  Not that they don’t ride buses here.  It seems like most of the traffic on this lightly travelled road consists of either trucks or buses jammed full of Africans with luggage piled on top.  We pass one of these old jitneys which is spewing smoke and has “Andrew Bus Services” lettered on the side.  

George shows me the contrast between the white-owned farm land and the tribal area land.  The latter has been very over-grazed and most of the trees have been cut down for firewood. 

“What the hell is a lay-by?” I ask George after seeing a sign announcing that we will pass one ahead.  I learn that it is a small roadside rest area with a picnic table and room to pull off the highway.  Never mind trying to learn the local African languages – I find it enough of a challenge just to learn all the unusual English terms here. 

I ask George if he and other whites carry guns in their cars for protection.  No way.  The government has very strict firearms laws here.  He hasn’t had a gun since the war ended more than 6 years ago.  Of course, black dissidents have guns.  These include common bandits who are motivated solely by thievery, not politics, as well as political dissidents who want to overthrow the Mugabe government.

George talks a bit about the recent South African raid on Harare.  He feels it was justified in order to show the Zimbabwe government and the ANC that South Africa can strike at them anywhere and anytime they want to.  He doesn’t seem too concerned that Zimbabwe’s borders had been violated.  He dismisses my contention that the raids were bungled since they really didn’t hit anything of strategic importance.  I feel that all South Africa had accomplished was to cause a loss of confidence by world money markets in the South African rand.  George feels the South African government actually doesn’t care if the rand goes down because it makes South African exports more competitive.  A valid point perhaps, but I wonder if any government in its right mind likes to see a precipitous decline in the value of its currency especially when it is related to a lack of investor confidence in the stability of the country.  Geroge thinks the Zim government probably knew about the raid in advance.  Then, why hadn’t they done anything about it?  He says it was like the big raids the Rhodesian army had done on guerillas based in Zambia during the war.  The Zambians had done nothing to stop them because there was little they could do without risking massive retaliation. 

George points out a luxury bus as we pass it.  It’s about ½ full (blacks and whites), and he wonders why they even bother with the service.  Most blacks use the cheaper, slower buses or the train, and most whites drive or fly.  Yes, I lament:  Public transportation opportunities in southern Africa aren’t always that great for a budget traveler like me.

We pass some African rondovals with metal roofs.  Even though some of these blokes still live in traditional housing, they aren’t destitute here in Zimbabwe.  For the most part, we are driving through miles and miles of open space with no towns or villages and only a scattered human habitation.

The Bulawayo-Harare rail line runs along the highway for part of this journey, and George and I get into a discussion about trains.  He says it was a big mistake to have settled on a 3’6” track gauge in Southern Africa years ago (the standard gauge in Europe and North America is 4’8½“) because it limits the speed of the trains to about 50 mph.  A number of strange-looking, powerful steam locos are still used in Zimbabwe.  The Victoria Falls – Bulawayo passenger train is pulled by these monsters, called Garratts, but unfortunately, it’s a night train which limits photo opportunities for rail buffs.  I point out to George that the country should be doing more to promote its steam trains because they could bring in mucho tourist dollars.  He replies that government tourist promotion is lousy.  I suspect that after a 15-year-long civil war, Zimbabwe is still regarded as unsafe – assuming, of course, that people have even heard of the country.

15^th Class Garratt locomotive on display In Kadoma, Zimbabwe in June 1986 has a 4-6-4+4-6-4 wheel arrangement.  Built in 1940, it pulled the Royal Train during the Royal Visit of King George VI and family to southern Africa in 1947.  Note the unusual placement of the water tank in front of the boiler and the royal coat of arms below the headlight.      

 

As we pass more relatively denuded tribal lands, I wonder aloud why the Africans aren’t more concerned about the future grazing and crop-growing capabilities of their land.  George says the African only lives for today and never worries about the future.  There is little wildlife left in this area – most of that is confined to the game reserves and the more remote areas of the country.  While the average rural African would probably be no more concerned about game preservation that he is about preserving his land, George credits the government for implementing strict game laws.  A number of poachers have been coming into Zimbabwe from Zambia, and the Zimbabwean army shoots them on sight.  This may seem a bit harsh, but they are, after all, entering the country illegally with weapons, and I suppose that could be considered an act of war.  And whose life is worth more – a poacher’s or a rhino’s? George says the Zim government has decided that its wildlife is part of the country’s heritage and must be preserved.  Good!

We cross the Somabula Flats which are almost completely devoid of trees.  George notes the wind often whips across here unmercifully.  As we approach the Vungu River bridge, George says he was delayed here on his last trip to Harare.  The police had just discovered a body under the bridge which was missing a head.  Off in the distance is smoke from various factories in Gweru.  Before we reach the town, we are slowed down by a couple of road maintenance crews.  George waves to the African flagmen and acknowledges that the government is doing a laudable job of keeping the highways in reasonably good shape.  George speeds back up to about 130 kph (80 mph) which doesn’t feel all that excessive on this lightly-travelled highway in his late-model Japanese sedan. 

George points out a rail line which joins the one we have been following.  This is the line which comes up directly from South Africa.  The Zimbabwe government has been threatening to impose sanctions on South Africa.  If they do, it will be curtains for the Zimbabwean economy according to George.  The South Africans would immediately close off this rail line as well as the highway connections to the south.  Zimbabwe is a land-locked country and can’t survive without its rail and highway links through South Africa.  The only other rail, highway and pipeline corridor (besides the one through Botswana to South Africa) goes to the seaport of Beira, Mozambique, 350 miles southeast of Harare.  The Zimbabwean army currently has a large force in Mozambique assisting the government there to keep the corridor open.  It is periodically attacked by the South African-supplied, right-wing MNR guerillas who are hoping to overthrow the Mozies’ Marxist government.  George feels the South Africans will make sure that the Beira corridor is rendered inoperative should sanctions be imposed by Zimbabwe.  That would force the Harare government to its knees.  However, it’s interesting that George’s corporation is planning to invest in some businesses in Mutare, Zimbabwe which is near the Mozie border and the principal city along the Beira corridor.  He says Mutare is booming because of its potential importance should links through South Africa be cut.  But wouldn’t the South Africans make sure the Beira corridor was cut anyway?  I guess you have to be prepared for just about any option in this part of the world where the future is so dicey!   

As we arrive in Gweru, it seems to have a heap of industry for a relatively small city.  We drive past a Bata Shoe Company plant, the PG Timbers Plate Glass Co., Zimbabwe Alloys (a ferro-chromium refinery), and Kew Castings on our way to Steyns, a foundry and precision engineering equipment company.  Steyns was recently acquired by George’s company.  With all the potential industrial pollution, I wonder if the government has any environmental regulations.  Apparently not for air emissions, although they have tightened up on dumping chemical effluents into lakes and streams.  The country has a history of nasty water supply contamination.

There is a large Zimbabwe Air Force base near Gweru, and a number of new fighter planes were destroyed there by saboteurs not long ago.  Were they South African spies or local dissidents?  No one here seems to know.

As we drive through downtown Gweru (not much to it), George points out a technical college which is turning out skilled labor for the area.  We exit Gweru on an attractive boulevard with pines and flowers in the median.  North of Gweru, we drive through good forest land.  George speculates that the government will buy this land from the white owners eventually and turn it over to the rural Africans.  They will cut down the forests for firewood and the area will become another wasteland.  He does acknowledge, however, that the government is now actively conserving forests.  I saw evidence of this a few days later in the eastern highlands where there is an active program of reforestation side by side with timber industry harvesting.

As we drive north, the land is more fertile and the average rainfall higher and more predictable.  This is good farmland and there appears to be plenty of it.  As for the future, don’t be too sure.  George says there are 90,000 Zimbabweans leaving school every year and only 15,000 new jobs for them.  The government has started to encourage family planning, but you still have to have four kids before you can get sterilized at a government clinic and abortion is illegal.  Unless something is done about Africa’s population explosion, you can write off its future as far as I’m concerned.

I spot a duiker alongside the road.  It’s a cute little tan and white deer-like critter only about two feet tall with big mule ears.

Just south of Kwe Kwe, the next sizeable town north of Gweru, we pass the large Zisco iron and steel foundry.  Our route goes by a boys’ school where African kids are dressed in smart blue uniforms.  Kwe Kwe was spelled Que Que before Zimbabwean independence.  The black government has Africanized many of the names of towns, streets, etc.  Some of the changes are subtle – Gweru used to be Gwelo – and some are considerable such as the city of Fort Victoria becoming Masvingo.  Kwe Kwe has a modern downtown, and we drive through it on a well-maintained four-lane street.  We pass a mosque which seems out of place here.  Then we leave town on another palm and flower-lined boulevard.  The English seem to have made use of traffic circles in this part of Africa.  I didn’t see many of them in South Africa.  Northeast of Kwe Kwe, a chrome refinery spews out ribbons of black shit.  It appears to me that foreign investors have profited by the lax environmental regulations here – that and cheap labor certainly must have played a role in their locational decision-making. 

The morning grinds on.  It was 62kms from Gweru to Kwe Kwe.  And another 72 to Kadoma (formerly Gatooma).  Along the way we cross the Sebakwe River.  The flow looks good after several previous years of drought.  Beautiful poinsettia bushes line the highway in places.  There is always something or other in bloom in this part of Africa.  George points out the principal fertilizer plant for Zimbabwe as we pass it.  I note that the roadsides are very clean.  Some South Africans had told me, “Wait till you see Rhodesia [as many of them still call this country].  The ‘Afs’ [Africans] have buggered it all up.  There’s trash everywhere.”  Not true in my experience so far. 

George points to a gold mine.  The Government nationalized a couple of mines after black independence, but found running them was a drain on the treasury.  There’s not much talk of nationalizing mines now, he says.  The government knows that privately-run gold mines export a commodity that is an excellent source of hard currency.  It’s a golden goose they can’t afford to kill.

Kadoma is in the center of the cotton district.  We pass the David Whitehead Textiles spinning mill.  George points to maize (corn) stored in huge sacks.  The government has started constructing grain elevators, but you still see large stacks of these maize sacks at transport centers around the country.

We pass a roadside stand where George says you can typically buy hand-crocheted table cloths for around Z$20 (US$11.50).  Those of good quality would sell for at least 80 bucks in the States.  The government stopped locals from exporting hand-woven goods like this because it felt the knitters were being exploited.  But what if an American importer came along with hard currency?...hmmm.

As we pull up behind a slow-moving Ajax Motorways Bus, an African chucks a bag of trash out the window.  “See,” George says.  “They don’t care.” This seems to conflict with what I said a few paragraphs back (I’m typing this chronologically from notes).  Maybe there aren’t that many people chucking out garbage to make a noticeable difference.  Also there is a deposit on all glass beverage containers.  I’ve been told that deposits aren’t for environmental reasons.  Zimbabwe simply doesn’t have enough glass to have it wasted.  The country reaps a nice anti-litter benefit as a result. 

We’re heading northeast 30kms to Chegutu (formerly Hartley).  I notice more cultivated farmland:  dairy farms, maize fields, irrigated cotton fields.  Chegutu has another big Whitehead textile factory. 

 

The scenic Umfuli River north of Chegutu

107 more kms to Harare.  We’ll be there in time for lunch.  In the meantime, George and I talk about a couple items (among many) that one can’t get in Zimbabwe:  foreign newspapers (the dailies in Harare and Bulawayo are government propaganda rags) and sea fish.  You can sometimes find the latter, but god knows how long the critters have been lying around unrefrigerated between Mozambique or South Africa and here.  George recommends chambo, a tasty fresh-water fish from Lake Malawi which is sometimes available. 

George points out an old strip road.  These were the main arteries in Rhodesia until the 1960s.  They consist of two paved strips each 1-foot-wide – one for the right tires and one for the left.  When two vehicles met (probably not all that often back in those days) each pulled off to one side to pass.  George doesn’t know how many of these roads are still in use.  There are, however, a number of roads in Zimbabwe which are paved one lane-width in the center with dirt on either side.  These are quite exciting when you’re doing 100 kph and you meet a big lorry (truck) at the crest of a hill.      

Road east of Bulawayo with one paved center lane.  Drivers slow down and move to the side when meeting another car. 

We pass several fields covered with dead maize stalks which are still standing.  Ever since I arrived in South Africa in early autumn (April) I’ve been noticing dead maize stalks, something I don’t remember seeing in America.  Yes, of course.  My slow mind finally puts it together that all the ears must be picked by hand here instead of with combines.  George confirms my “brilliant” assumption.  They don’t plow under the dead stalks until planting season in the spring. 

We are now driving through an area owned by white gentlemen farmers and white commercial dairy farmers.  We pass one herd of a couple hundred Jerseys.  Definitely not a poor African’s subsistence operation. 

The landscape is relatively flat with hills in the distance.  As we get closer to Harare, the landscape becomes more undulating as we drive through granite tree-covered hills.  We pass the Lake McIlwaine Dam, a few kms west of where I am currently staying.  George points out the movie set for “King Solomon’s Mines”.  It was apparently a big hit overseas through I’ve never heard of it. 

We are now at the outskirts of Harare, Zimbabwe’s capital and largest city.  Originally, Harare was the name of a black township outside of Salisbury.  With Africanization, the government simply gave the name of the township to the larger city.  George thinks the name change was a dumb idea (but why should Africans want to have their capital city named for a 19^th Century British politician?).  He also doesn’t like the high density, low cost housing in clusters along the approach to the city.  George considers these homes for the black masses little more than ugly shanties.  I don’t think they look all that bad, but George feels they have ruined the once scenic entrance to Harare.  I suppose the Africans are more concerned with adequate housing than with aesthetics.  Perhaps they could have planned better.  Actually, a worse example of planning is on our left a few more kilometers up the road.  The Chinese are building a huge stadium for soccer and political rallies.  But this highway, which will carry the bulk of the traffic to and from the stadium is only two-lane.  George notes that this problem may obvious to him and me but doesn’t think it will occur to the government until the first post-game traffic jam. 

 

1953 Queen Elizabeth II coronation cover (envelope) sent from Salisbury (renamed Harare).  At that time, the self-governing British colony that eventually became Zimbabwe was known as Southern Rhodesia.  After Northern Rhodesia became independent Zambia in 1964, Southern Rhodesia was renamed Rhodesia.

  

Just before we reach downtown Harare, George points out another third-world boondoggle. The paint on the modern grey Harare Sheraton is peeling off.  It seems that the Yugoslavians who built it didn’t realize that their paint might not be adaptable to tropical climates.    It reminded me of a situation in Boston where I lived 12 years ago.  The new John Hancock Tower was called the “plywood palace” because the windows kept popping out causing a hazard to life and limb on the streets below.  For months the errant panes were replaced with plywood until the engineers figured out a solution to the problem.

We drive into downtown on Samora Machel Ave.  It’s a modern six-lane boulevard that was renamed in honor of Mozambique’s inept communist strong man.  Seems like they could have come up with a better choice.  The avenue is lined with modern 10-20 story buildings.  For lunch, we stop at the Monomatapa, a curved, modernistic and somewhat posh hotel.  I pile my plate high with a delicious chicken curry buffet (Z$6.95, about US$4).  After lunch, it’s off to one of George’s companies.  I am introduced to Zed, a smartly-dressed African chap with impeccable English who has been educated in England and the U.S.  George tells me that if the country had 2000 more Africans like Zed running it, they would be in great shape.  Zed apparently has relatives in the government, but he minces no words when criticizing the ineptitude of the Zimbabwean socialist bureaucracy.    

George arranges for one of the guys at the company to drive me around in his car so I can do some errands while he is in meetings.   The driver is a white guy probably in his 40s named Neville.  He has lived here most of his life and speaks fondly of the past when the country was still “good old Rhodesia.”  Neville points out that the blacks drive very carelessly.  He says they don’t seem to care even though there are no spares (spare parts) available.  Exhaust pipes, for example, are few and far between.  They are made from steel, and Neville claims Zimbabwe exports most of its locally-produced steel in order to get hard currency. 

Neville stops by a Datsun dealer to see about getting a new starter for his 1200.  No luck. They tell him a big shipment of spares will be in on Monday.  He’s been waiting quite some time for the starter and has had to rely on a motorbike for transportation in the meantime.  While autos are assembled here, all the spare parts come from overseas.  It takes foreign currency to buy them, and that’s something Zimbabwe never seems to have enough of.  “But what happens to all the foreign currency earned from exports?” I ask. “Nobody knows,” replies Neville with a smile.  I can imagine.  A recent issue of Time reported that Comrade Prime Minister Robert Mugabe is the eighth wealthiest man in Africa.

George and I spend the night in Harare with his in-laws and leave for Nyanga in the eastern highlands the following afternoon.  More to come on that trip.